A Quiet Day
by Purupuss
Summary: Since when have the Tracys been able to have a quiet anything? A sequel to "A Quiet Year". * Warning! Purupuss length *
1. Chapter 1

_I've finally decided that it's time to upload my latest Purupuss epic: A Quiet Day - part of my "A Quiet" series (as found in the C2 of that name) and the sequel to "A Quiet Year." (Since when have the Tracys been able to have a quiet anything?)  
_

_As this is Purupuss length, and I like to have yet another proofread in FanFiction dot net to ensure that Gordon's gremlins aren't playing about with things (and expect to fail at finding all their little jokes), I'm only planning on uploading on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, New Zealand time. Of course there will be exceptions to this rule, for instance if I'm home on public holidays or not home over the weekend. Rest assured that the story is complete and will have been uploaded in full at some point in the future._

_As usual, I would like to thank my proofreaders Quiller, Red Hardy, and D.C. for their assistance with proofing this story.  
_

_Also as usual, I will admit that none of the canon characters belong to me. The Thunderbirds cast and ships belong to ITV and I'm so glad that I get the opportunity to play with them. The ACE crowd and some of the pod machines are mine - although they will probably all regret that._

_This story was published on Fan Fiction dot net. If you are reading it elsewhere, it is a stolen copy. I usually do not mind people displaying my stories elsewhere, but I do appreciate the courtesy of being asked if the site, or C2, it is being displayed on is acceptable. Thank you. _

_Dedicated to those affected by the 2010 and 2011 Canterbury earthquakes. Especially those who are still dealing with the aftermath._

_Enjoy?_

_FAB_

:-) _Purupuss_

* * *

"**_Nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal; nothing on Earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude." _**  
**_\- Thomas Jefferson_**

**A Quiet Day**

**Chapter One: A Quiet Beginning**

_7:15 am_

Bruce Sanders, tall, wiry and with a tan that had deepened his already dark complexion, pushed open the door to Aeronautical Component Engineering and turned right; heading for the locker-room. He entered and was greeted by a slightly younger and definitely stockier man.

"Ah, ha!" Louis Fleming crowed. "So, you've returned to the real world to slum it with the rest of us, have you? How'd you enjoy living it up with the rich and famous?"

Bruce chuckled. "I'd hardly call the Tracys _the rich and famous_… Well, not famous anyway."

"Apart from our boss," Louis corrected. "And Alan..." He nudged his workmate. "Did you hit Mr Tracy up for a raise?"

"No, of course not!" Bruce feigned indignation. "I was on vacation, and vacation means not thinking about work! I was there to visit Virgil, not talk about ACE with Mr T… I mean Mr Tracy. Gotta get out of that habit now I'm back." He picked up his navy overalls from where they were neatly folded in front of his locker and started putting them on.

"_Mr T_, huh?" Louis looked into the mirror in his locker and ran his fingers through his red hair to smooth it into place. "A pity. It sounds like you missed out on a golden opportunity."

"It was enough that Mr Tracy was feeding me and housing me for the week," Bruce reminded him. "Not to mention the flight out to their island and back…"

"…To enjoy his palm trees, golden sands and clear blue skies…"

"How do you know the skies were clear and blue?"

Louis indicated Bruce's skin. "You don't get a tan like that out of a bottle," he said before playfully punching his friend on the abdomen. "Looks like they fed you well."

"The whole family was very hospitable," Bruce agreed.

"Well, before you get sucked back into the real world," Louis smirked, "there's a surprise waiting for you out there." He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the door.

"Surprise?" Bruce looked intrigued. "Where?"

"At a guess; in the cafeteria… Having a cup of coffee."

Having a cup of coffee as fortification for the week's work ahead, sounded like a good idea to Bruce and, still mystified by Louis' hints, he went into the cafeteria, grabbed himself a steaming brew and retreated to his traditional table…

He stopped. "Well! Hello, stranger!"

Lisa Crump looked up from her seat at the table and grinned. "Hello, stranger yourself! At least I worked last week."

"Worked?" Bruce clapped her husband on the shoulder by way of greeting and sat down. He took in her navy overalls with the ACE logo on one side and her name stencilled on the other. "What's happened? Have you run away from home?"

"No," she responded. "Ginny's settled into preschool so I'm taking the opportunity to refresh my skills. Mr Mickelson's letting me work here part time so I'm at ACE for three days of the week, leaving the other two free to help out at Sunbeam Preschool."

"Great!" Bruce spooned a quantity of sugar into his coffee, placed the sugar bowl next to the condiments, and reflected that motherhood had done nothing to diminish Lisa's appeal. "Is that the one next door?"

"That's it and it's perfect. I can drop Ginny off in the morning and get her settled before I come here to work. When I've finished at ACE I've got plenty of time to collect her and take her home for her afternoon nap. By the time Butch has finished work she's awake again and ready to play with him."

"It does sound perfect," Bruce agreed. "You get to be a mother _and_ a career woman."

"An' ACE gets its best welder back," Butch beamed. "Itsa win-win situashun."

"I'll say," Bruce teased. "It means I can look at something a darn sight prettier than your ugly face." Butch guffawed and Lisa blushed, heightening her beauty. She looked like a model kitted out for a safety apparel photo shoot; and he, with his broken nose and sole remaining tattoo bearing his wife's name peeking through his open overalls, looked like the reformed biker he was. Not for the first time Bruce reflected on what an odd, but devoted, couple they were.

"Well, that's our news," Lisa said. "Now tell us all yours. How's Virgil?"

Bruce cast his mind back over the past week. "He's fine. He told me to send the pair of you his best."

"How's Mrs T?"

"Delicious," Bruce chuckled. "That woman's a mean cook. She sends you her love and said that she can't wait to see her honorary grand-niece. Speaking of which, I was going to call in to see you guys after work because I'm under strict instructions that I'm to give Virginia a big kiss and a little present from her 'Uncle Virgil'."

Lisa gave a sigh of mild exasperation. "He shouldn't do that. Ginny's got enough toys. She doesn't need any more."

"Don't tell him that," Bruce insisted. "I think he gets a kick out of being an honorary uncle. And you know full well that it's not as if he's got any chance having kids of his own any time soon. Not when he's stuck out in the middle of nowhere."

Lisa pursed her lips in thought. "Is there any chance of Virgil becoming a _real_ uncle? What's the situation with Alan and Tin-Tin?"

Bruce shrugged. "From what I could tell, it's the same as it was last time I visited. They're serious without being serious."

This time Lisa's sigh was full of exasperation. "What's wrong with Alan?!"

"Nothin's wrong with 'im," Butch protested. "'E's great!"

"Alan Tracy might be the fastest thing on four wheels, but when it comes to wooing women he's slower than Winston."

"Did I hear my name taken in vain?" Winston Patterson, ACE's draftsman, had been walking past and he stopped to greet his workmates, placing his mug on the table. Because he was stationed in the dust free environment of the computer aided design room of ACE, he wasn't required to wear the standard blue overalls of his workmates and today he was wearing a rainbow coloured shirt, deep purple trousers, and a badge which declared: _I'm happy and gay… You're just happy._ If he ever did have to venture onto the factory floor he did so with great reluctance and a dust coat wrapped tightly about his impeccable clothes. "Who is slower than moi?"

"Alan Tracy," Lisa explained. "He's been dating the same girl for years and they still haven't formalised their relationship."

A twinkle sprang to Winston's eye. "If I had Alan Tracy's looks I wouldn't think about settling down with a girl either."

Lisa matched his mischievous grin with one of her own. "You're just as good looking, Winston." She batted her eyelashes at him. "Any girl would be thrilled to be seen on your arm."

"Oh, sacrebleu." Winston fanned his face as if he'd come over all faint. "I shouldn't know what to do with her." He fixed Bruce with a beaming smile. "And how was the holiday at Maison de Tracy, Bruce?"

Bruce smiled up at Winston. "Fantastic. They really looked after me."

"Wonderful," Winston gushed. "And how is cher Virgil?"

"He's great. He said to say hi."

"He asked after me? Oh, be still my fluttering heart." Winston clasped his hands together in delight.

"Watch it, Winston, you'll make Rex jealous," Lisa smirked.

"Never!" Winston declared. "Rexy will always be top chien to me."

Butch frowned. "Top what?"

"Chien," Winston elucidated. "Dog. Rex is top dog."

"Oh..." Butch's frown cleared. "What's happened to ya? Y've gone all foreign."

"Rex has done his sums and we're off en vacances to France," Winston nudged Bruce. "You're not the only one who's going to get the opportunity to live it up."

"France," Lisa exclaimed. "For how long?"

"Two weeks," Winston sighed. "Rex and I have been together for ten years and we decided to celebrate by visiting gay Paree."

Bruce grinned. "You're a lucky chien, Winston."

"I know." Winston picked up his coffee and retired to another table where he started buffing his nails and humming _Frère Jacques_.

"Ten years..." Lisa mused. She placed her hand in her husband's. "We've been married ten years next year."

Butch gave a goofy smile. "Oh, yeah..."

"We should start thinking about a celebration of our own."

"Yeah. Somethin' special."

"A party?"

"Yeah…" Then Butch made a face. "But with no Skulz."

"Yes," Lisa agreed. "With no Skulz."

"Good idea," Bruce agreed. "My head hurts just thinking about it."

"Poor Bruce." Lisa gave him a sympathetic pat on the hand. "What else do you want to do for our anniversary, Butch? We should make it something romantic... Stop it!" She hit Bruce when he pretended to retch. "It wouldn't hurt you to settle down either."

"Slight problem there, Lisa," Bruce grinned. "Gotta getta girl first," he said and suddenly felt uncomfortable at the look Lisa gave him.

"If we're going to have a party," she mused, "we should start thinking about who we could ask. Virgil promised he'd play the piano... Rita Garrad thought he was cute, so we'd have to invite her. Then there's Flo... And Anne..." She eyed up Bruce. "And Georgia..."

"Why are you looking at me like that, Mrs Crump?" Bruce pretended to enter a text message into his phone. "Virgil," he quoted. "Warning from one red-blooded bachelor to another. Lisa's got us in her match-making sights. Run!"

"Is thisa celebrashun for us, or a lonely-hearts club?" Butch asked.

"If it's a lonely-hearts club, then you can count me out," Bruce warned. "I'm not lonely."

Lisa gave him a sweet smile. "We can discuss it later..."

A group of women entered the canteen, giggling together. They were a varied group; workers from the shop floor, stores' personnel, and administration.

Nancy from the paint bay planted herself next to Bruce. "Welcome home," she said.

"Uh, thanks," he responded, a little nonplussed by her greeting. Normally they weren't on much more than nodding terms.

"Maybe you can solve a mystery for us," Nancy continued.

Bruce frowned. "Mystery?"

"Yes. Olivia's got herself a boyfriend and all she'll tell us is that he's tall, dark, and handsome…"

Olivia, the General Manager's personal assistant, blushed. "Nancy…" she complained.

Nancy ignored her. "…And I'm guessing that it's one of Jeff Tracy's sons. You've just been to their island, Bruce. Which one is it?"

"Tall, dark and handsome, huh?" Bruce smirked at Olivia who turned a deeper shade of red. "Well… They certainly qualify for tall. Not so sure about handsome though…"

"Oh, they are," one of the ladies sighed.

"Definitely," another giggled.

"Top class eye candy," Lisa stated and laughed at her husband's subsequent expression. "Nearly as cute as you, Honey."

"Okay," Bruce conceded, "so from a female point of view they are handsome. What's the other criteria? Dark? Well, that counts John and Alan out; you can't get much fairer than that. Gordon's got a tan, but I don't know if that colour hair qualifies as 'dark'. Which only leaves Scott and Virgil…"

"I knew it!" Nancy crowed. "I knew it'd be Virgil Tracy."

"No!" Olivia protested. "It's not Virgil."

"Sure…"

"I think Olivia's telling the truth," Bruce informed her. "Think about it. Virgil invited me to visit _him_. Now, if he and Olivia were an item, don't you think he'd rather come _here_ so he could visit _her_?"

"Oh…" Her theory blown out of the water, Nancy seemed momentarily downcast. "Well," she said, regaining some of her enthusiasm. "Then it must be the other one."

But Bruce was shaking his head again. "I doubt it. I didn't see anything to make me think that any of them have girlfriends… with the exception of Alan and Tin-Tin. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that I'm 99% sure they don't."

Nancy pouted. "You're no help, Bruce." She took the P.A. by the arm and dragged her away, closely followed by the others. "Come on, Olivia. You've got to tell us all about him! Why the secret? Who is he...!?"

"You know, I think Tin-Tin should give up on Alan," Lisa mused. "He's obviously hopeless, and he seems to be away more often than he's on the island. Tin-Tin would probably be happier with a man who's not always flitting about all over the world. And she wants someone with similar interests."

Butch gave his wife a sideways look. "Who ya thinkin' about, Liesl?"

"Well… Tin-Tin's an engineer… Virgil's an engineer… Don't you think they'd make a cute couple?"

"'N y'd start World War Three on one little island," Butch told her. "They's all gotta live togetha, rememba."

"I'm sure they could work it out between them..." Butch snorted his disbelief, so Lisa changed the subject. "Is Virgil still enjoying working for his father?"

"He says he is…" Bruce took a moment to line the salt, pepper and sugar side-by-side in a neat line as he thought. "I got the impression that he didn't want to talk too much about it... He said it was because he was supposed to be having the week off too." He leant forward. "When did you two last visit him?"

"Oh…" Lisa and Butch looked at each other and Lisa bit her lip in thought. "It must have been about three years ago…" she mused.

"Longa," her husband recollected. "We'd only jus' found out you was pregn'nt with Ginny."

"Yes," Lisa nodded. "That's right."

"I don't suppose you'll remember in that case," Bruce continued, "but every time I've visited, including this past week, I've had the feeling that Virgil's been…" he thought briefly, trying to find the right phrase. "…On edge? No… That's not quite right… As if he's trying to make me believe that everything's okay when everything isn't…"

Lisa was nodding as Butch agreed with Bruce's summation. "We noticed tha', didn' we, Liesl?"

"Did you get that impression when he's visited us here?" Bruce asked, and the Crumps shook their head in unison. "It seems to me as if he's only able to relax when he's away from the island."

"D'ya think Mr Tracy's a bit ova slave driver?" Butch asked.

"We all know that he expects his employees to work hard," Lisa said. "But he's a reasonable man. I mean; look at me and Ginny! Most bosses would expect me to work full time or not at all."

"Does he know you're working here?" Bruce asked. "Maybe Mr Mickelson hasn't told him yet. Or maybe Mr T's less lenient with his own sons? Maybe he expects them to live up to the Tracy name?" He rearranged the condiments, so they were standing shoulder to shoulder like miniature soldiers. "He was nice enough to me and made me feel welcome, but… I got the feeling that Virgil's brothers were a little uncomfortable too…" He nudged the salt closer to the pepper. "Something weird happened while I was there last week. There was some kind of catastrophe in the lab..."

"Catastrophe?!" Lisa's eyes were wide. "What happened? Is everyone all right?"

Bruce gave her a reassuring smile. "Everyone's fine. I don't know what happened; I just know that whatever the problem in the lab was, it must have been big, because all the Tracys were called in, including Virgil. He said that Brains needed his help. I suppose, if you think about it logically, that since Alan wasn't at home, they might have needed an extra pair of hands... But …" He frowned.

"You've got no idea what the catastrophe was?" Lisa asked.

"No idea whatsoever. And I didn't see anyone again for the next... um... five or so hours?"

The Crumps stared at him. "Five hours!"

"Yes. All apart from Tin-Tin."

"Odd..." Butch said. "So, ya didn' talk t' Alan?"

"No, he was away on business. So, I didn't get the chance to twist his arm to go racing again." Bruce gave a wry grin. "Sorry, big fella."

Butch responded with a genial smile.

"Mind you, they didn't tell me what the business was," Bruce added. "Maybe he's lining up another race? With another of Brains' cars like the one he used at Parola Sands?"

"Yeah?" Butch visibly brightened. "Hope so… Whatcha do while they was in th' lab?"

"Tin-Tin took me under her wing. I thought she was making a play for me, but no such luck." Bruce grinned at Lisa. "She said we could either go scuba-diving and search for something called a water mamba..."

"What's that?" Lisa asked.

"No idea," Bruce admitted. "I thought it was some kind of snake, but Tin-Tin assured me it was a friendly mammal." He screwed up his face. "I didn't fancy the idea of swimming through underwater caves on the off chance that we _might_ spot a strange critter. My name's not Gordon."

Lisa giggled. "How is Gordon?"

Bruce shook his head in wonder. "He's amazing. You'd never guess that the guy almost died and then was paralysed five years ago. He challenged me to a race: four laps of their pool…" He gave a rueful smirk. "I thought we'd finished lap two neck-and-neck, and it turned out he'd done his four laps."

"So what didya n' Tin-Tin do?" Butch asked. "Since ya didn' see th' water mamba."

"We stayed in the theatre and watched a movie. Tin-Tin let me choose which one I wanted to see." Bruce shook his head in amazement. "Have you seen their play list? There's hundreds of them, in all genres... So many it's overwhelming; so, I chose the first one that popped up, which was some space doco… apparently John worked with some of the astronomers in it. We didn't get to see much of it though. Mrs T came in and said that there was a disaster happening in the Netherlands…"

"Where one of the dykes had breached and was threatening to drown an entire town?" Lisa nodded. "We heard about that on the news. International Rescue saved the day. Those people are miracle workers."

"I'll say. We switched off the documentary and watched the live coverage instead. Kyrano even brought our dinner into the theatre so we wouldn't miss anything. Tin-Tin and I were hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the Thunderbirds, but we didn't even see a wingtip…" Bruce took a sip of his coffee. "When you think how quick the world's media were to report Gordon's 'death' before the Tracys even knew about his accident, it makes it hard to believe that reporters would be so noble as to not video even the tiniest bit of International Rescue…" He shrugged. "Virgil and his brothers joined us just in time to hear the reporter say that International Rescue was leaving the scene. I thought they'd missed the action, but they'd had the TV going while they were in the lab and had lost track of time."

"Now _that's_ an organisation I can see Virgil belonging to," Lisa Crump stated. "He'd be perfect! And much happier flying around the world doing rescue work. He's not cut out for being stuck in a lab all day."

Bruce laughed. "I said that to him. He just smiled and said that if I could find out where their headquarters were then he'd send in his résumé. It was the closest he came to admitting that he's not happy with his life at the moment."

Lisa looked concerned. "And do you honestly think he's not happy, Bruce?"

"To be honest, no I don't. Like you said, he's not cut out to be stuck in a lab all day."

"What abou' 'is brothas?" Butch asked.

Bruce tried to clarify his friend's remark. "Do I think they're not happy? That they're not cut out to be stuck in a lab? Or that they should belong to International Rescue?"

"Yeah."

Bruce was none the wiser, so he answered all three questions. "Well, as far as International Rescue was concerned, the only other comment the Tracys made was when Scott said that he'd love to fly in one of the Thunderbirds… But I got the impression that they're all like Virgil. They aren't content with their lives."

"Then why don't they leave?" Lisa asked. "Why don't they stand up to their father and tell him that they want to stop working for him and leave Tracy Island?"

"And then what could they do?" Bruce asked. "They've all burnt their bridges. Gordon can't go back to WASP because of his accident, both John and Scott would have to work for years before they would be able to get back the positions they held before they left, and what would you expect Virgil to do? He can't come back here to ACE. He'd only be working for his father in a different role."

"He should become a fire fighter or a paramedic like we told him!" Lisa asserted. "We're his friends, aren't we? We should be supporting him; not letting him continue to work in a thankless job." She slammed her hand down on the table. "As soon as I've got Ginny into bed this afternoon, I'm going to write Virgil Tracy an email and tell him he's got to start thinking about himself and not his family for once; and that the three of us are here to support him!"

"Whoa! Lisa!" Bruce held up his hands as if he were trying to stop her from sprinting out through the door to start typing. "We don't know for sure if he _is_ unhappy. It's only supposition on my part."

"Supposition on _our_ part…" Then Lisa paused. "Okay, I'll phrase it in such a way that he knows we're always here to help him if he wants to make a break." She waggled her finger at the two men sitting opposite. "Virgil Tracy spent one year pretending to be someone he's not," she stormed, "and I am NOT going to let him live his whole life like that! Not even if I have to tell Mr Tracy to his face that he's got to let Virgil go!"

"Lisa!" Bruce gaped at his friend. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, yes I would."

"Yeah, she would," Butch echoed. "She don' stand for no baloney. Not from me. Not from Ginny. 'An not even from Mr Tracy. My girl would make him see sense."

"Well, don't do anything rash," Bruce begged. "Just in case I'm reading the situation wro…" A strange buzzing noise was heard; high pitched like an angry wasp caught in a jar. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Butch asked.

"Can't you feel the table shake?" Lisa asked. "It's kind of quivering."

Bruce had just narrowed down the sound to its source when it stopped. "Didn't you hear the salt and pepper rattling together?" Around them some of their colleagues were commenting on the same phenomenon. "Was it an earthquake?"

"Nah," Butch said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "This ain't a earthquake zone. We're 'undreds 'n 'undreds of miles from th' neares' fault line."

Bruce stared at him as Lisa explained. "Butch loves reading all about seismology, don't you, Honey."

"Yeah," Butch agreed, and his eyes lit up. "I read all abou' 'quakes, 'n volcanoes. Things that make th' earth move…"

Bruce cast an amused look at Lisa. "Oh, yes," he smirked.

"And you can get you mind out of the gutter," she scolded.

Butch missed the innuendo. "It waz only a truck goin' past," he hypothesised.

"Have you ever felt a truck vibrate the room like that before?" Lisa asked him.

"No…" Butch suddenly seemed unsure of his theory. "Mus' be a heavy one tha's real close."

The sound of a siren chased the mystery from Bruce's mind. "I guess vacation's over," he sighed.

-F-A-B-

"I guess I can finally have a break," Virgil Tracy sighed, as he placed a cool drink on the poolside table. He stretched out on a deckchair and sighed again in contentment. "_This_," he pushed the sunglasses back up his nose and closed his eyes, "is going to be a quiet day."

Gordon chuckled. "You shouldn't need a quiet day. You had last week off!"

"If you don't count a quick trip to the Netherlands," John teased from the comfort of his own 'chair.

"Don't remind me." Virgil looked at them over his sunglasses. "I've done all I _have_ to do today and now I'm going to take the opportunity to relax. I hate to say it, but I'm glad Bruce has gone and things are back to normal. I was looking forward to having him come to stay, and as soon as I got here I couldn't wait for him to go again. I was on tenterhooks the entire time, in case International Rescue was called out."

"Which we were." Scott sipped at his drink. "It was the same when Brian visited. I just couldn't relax."

Virgil made no comment. Brian Daniels had been Scott's co-pilot when their Air Force jet carrying Red Cross supplies had been shot down. He'd also been partially responsible for Scott's enforced early departure from the Air Force, and Virgil had never forgiven him for making his brother's final days in his dream job end on a low rather than a high. He was the only one of the Tracys who knew the true story behind Scott's resignation, and he'd made no secret of the fact that he held Brian in contempt. That was until Scott had pulled him to one side and told him to get over it. After that Virgil had simply avoided the Air Force pilot as much as possible.

Gordon, unaware of all this, was agreeing with his elder brothers. "I'd love to be able to invite Rick and Diane to stay more often, but I don't think my nerves could stand it."

"With the trouble you three get up to, our nerves definitely wouldn't be able to stand it," John told him. "At least my friends are astronomers," he added. "They're more interested in getting a light pollution free view of the southern night skies than staying up all day seeing Thunderbirds launch."

"I nearly had a heart attack when Alan set off the alarm on my watch to warn me about the Netherlands job," Virgil admitted. He looked up when Tin-Tin joined them by the pool. "Just as well we've got you as a part of our team, Honey."

The pretty Eurasian smiled at him. "I am glad I was able to help, Virgil."

"Not nearly as glad as we are," Scott stated. "Having our guests watch a delayed feed of whatever rescue we're on so that when 'International Rescue' leaves the scene it's just after we've made an appearance back here, is a first-rate idea." He raised his glass towards her in a toast.

"Hear, hear." Gordon mimicked the gesture. "Thereby fulfilling the dual purpose of keeping our visitors occupied and out of the way, while stopping them from becoming suspicious about where we all are… I can see that we're going to have to watch you next April Fool's. It's a plan the equal of any of mine."

"More than that, it's a plan the equal of Scott's," John added. "I think we should get Tin-Tin on Mobile Control duty more often."

Tin-Tin dimpled at the compliments. "I got the idea when Mrs Tracy had one of her friends to visit and I realised that I couldn't take her scuba diving to see the 'water mamba'."

"What would you have done if one of us had been injured?" Virgil asked her.

"I do not know, and I hope none of you ever put me in that situation." Tin-Tin held out an envelope to him. "Mr Tracy asked me to give this to you. It was in with the mail from ACE."

"Thanks." Virgil took the envelope and started to open it.

"Snail mail!" Gordon exclaimed. "That's so 20th century."

"You couldn't send this electronically," Virgil beamed. He pulled a brightly coloured piece of paper out of the envelope. "It's a picture from Virginia."

"You do realise that you're the only person who calls her that," Scott reminded him. "Just because she's named after you it doesn't mean that you have to use her full name."

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "I would have thought that you'd got enough grief growing up with _Virgil_ to not want to lumber another kid with a variation of it."

Virgil, enjoying his examination of the drawing, ignored his brothers. "She's not a bad artist for a three-year-old."

John chuckled. "Takes after her Uncle Virgie, does she?" He held out his hand. "Can I have a look?" Virgil handed the drawing over and he examined the crayon sketches. "Well, you can tell what they're meant to be." He pointed out the various figures, as Scott and Gordon looked over his shoulder. "That's Butch, and that's obviously Lisa... I've never seen her in a skirt before."

"Except in that video of their fifth wedding anniversary," Gordon reminded him, and gave an appreciative whistle.

"I wasn't looking at her once Virgil started getting himself beaten up," John responded.

Scott pointed over John's shoulder at Virginia's picture. "I guess that little one's Ginny and she's holding..." he leant closer to read the crudely lettered name above the caricature, "...Virgil's hand?"

"Awww. Isn't that sweet," Gordon teased. "Virgil's finally got himself a girlfriend."

"That's not what she's written," John snickered. "She's written an 'N' instead of the 'L' and tried to correct it." He raised an eyebrow in Virgil's direction. "You know what that makes you?"

"She started to write Virginia," Virgil protested.

"May I have a look, please?" Tin-Tin asked. She admired the picture and then returned it to its owner. "You have a fan, Virgil."

"Yeah." Virgil looked at his treasure again before returning it to the protection of its envelope.

Gordon reclaimed his seat next to Tin-Tin. "You'll have to introduce me to this water mamba sometime. Do you know, I've been swimming in these waters for years and I've never seen one?"

"Sure, you have," John drawled, his eyes closed against the sun. "You can't miss it. Red hair, red eyes and it stinks of chlorine. You'll find it behind the mirror in the back of your locker in the changing shed."

Gordon threw an ice cube at him. It hit John on his bare chest and slithered off, causing the blonde to sit up with a startled yelp. "Gordon!" He took off after his younger brother.

Scott settled back onto his deck chair. "It's good to have things back to normal again."

Virgil agreed as he let the sun wash over him. This was going to be a quiet day…

-F-A-B-

_7:32 am_

Bruce, Lisa and Butch were sitting in the combined social club / ACE meeting room underneath the photo gallery that was generally called the Heroes Wall. These photos, all from five years earlier, showed two of the Tracy sons; the two men at this table; Greg Harrison, the charge hand; and finally, the General Manager shaking ACE's owner's hand.

Bruce, hating the photo of himself, preferred to sit with his back to the wall. Lisa liked to face it so that she should see the men who'd saved so many lives including her own. Butch was happy to sit anywhere where he had a clear view of Lisa.

Hamish Mickelson, the General Manager of Aeronautical Component Engineering, had nearly finished his monthly staff meeting. "…And, finally, I would like to welcome a valued member of the team back into our fold." He smiled over at Lisa Crump. "Mrs Crump, we're pleased to have you working for ACE again, even if it is only part time."

Lisa gave a shy smile in return as Butch gave her hand a squeeze. "Thank you, Mr Mickelson, I'm glad to be back."

"And now," Mickelson gathered together his notes, "I'll hand you over to Mr Watts for your assignments for…" He stopped when he heard a sound.

An excited murmuring filled the room.

"Did you hear that?"

"The glass doors in that cabinet were rattling together."

"It sounded like a cricket chirping, didn't it?"

"I've never heard a cricket that sounded like that."

"The table shook. I swear it! I felt it shake!"

"I felt it too!"

"Was it an earthquake?"

"Oh, my!" Winston Patterson exclaimed. "I've come over all a quiver." He attempted to take his own pulse. "My poor little heart's going boom-bitty-boom!"

"This ain't a earthquake zone," Butch told all who'd listen. "Tha' weren'ta 'quake."

Mr Mickelson held up his hand for quiet. "Ah, Mr Sanders…"

Bruce raised his head. "Yes, Mr Mickelson?"

"Does the social club's radio still work?"

"Yes."

Hamish Mickelson was an astute employer. He knew full well that his staff would be too on edge to work diligently until they knew exactly what had caused those unusual tremors. He looked at his watch. "Five to eight. I think we can delay the start of work until after we have heard the news. Would you mind, Mr Watts?"

Max Watts, the Production Manager, wasn't thrilled about losing precious production time, but he nodded his agreement. "As you say, Mr Mickelson, we have five minutes before the news is due to start and I'll use that time to give out everyone's assignments for the day... Bruce Sanders... Butch Crump... You are both with me. We're readying the crucible furnace before its next run. Lisa Crump; you're with Greg Harrison. He'll explain to you how to operate ACE's newest welder. Louis..." He continued, but may as well have saved his breath for the staff were more interested in watching Bruce slide back the glass doors that had rattled together only minutes earlier... They listened to the various squawks, bits of top ten hits, and inane advertising chatter as their colleague tried to find an appropriate radio station. He finally settled on a suitable frequency.

"_The time is eight o'clock..."_

"We know that!" someone complained and was shushed by the rest of the workforce.

"_Time for the news…"_

"Get on with it!"

"Shush!" "Shh!" "Be quiet!"

"_A swarm of earthquakes have been felt in the vicinity…"_

"Can' be," Butch stated. "This ain'ta earthquake zone." He was shushed by his colleagues.

"_The largest of which has been reported by seismologists as being 4.5 on the Richter Scale…"_

Butch snorted his annoyance. "They don' use Richter Scale anymore."

"Shh, Honey," Lisa scolded.

"_Authorities wish to advise everyone that this is a minor occurrence and that there is absolutely nothing to worry about. This is not a seismic area…"_ Bruce looked at Butch as if expecting him to confirm the fact, but the big man remained mute. _"…and any tremors are of no concern. Seismologists are investigating the phenomena and hope to have an explanation soon. Stay tuned to this station for further updates… In other news…"_

"Thank you, Mr Sanders," Hamish Mickelson said, and Bruce shut the radio off. "Since we have nothing to worry about, it is now time to begin the week's work." He smiled. "Let's make it a good one. Mr Tracy has promised you all a bonus if we can get the Bell contract finished on time and under budget. So far we are on track and I won't hold you up any longer."

-F-A-B-

_8:05 am_

Keegan Clark signed the electronic clipboard and then pushed the button that closed the tailgate of his big rig.

"Where are you headed to next?" The inwards goods staffer asked as she checked the clipboard.

"ACE," Keegan responded.

"ACE! Aeronautical Component Engineering? That's a huge outfit. Do you deliver much to them?"

"A fair bit," Keegan boasted. "But don't ask me what." He patted the side of his nose. "I'm sworn to secrecy."

His comment elicited a laugh. "You mean you don't know."

"I know," Keegan lied. "But I'll tell you one thing about it, it's really heavy. Well over four tons."

The staffer showed some concern about the revelation. "And you've got all that weight at the back? Wouldn't it be better to spread the load more evenly?"

"Yeah, but it's not far to go and it's all downhill. By the time I've rearranged everything I would be there." He started walking towards his rig's cab. "See you next time," he called over his shoulder as he hauled himself up the side of the cab and into the driver's seat.

"Bye, Keegan," she responded. "Drive safe."

-F-A-B-

_8:20 am_

"So, they _were_ earthquakes," Bruce commented as he and Butch got kitted up in their heat-resistant personal protective equipment. He zipped the silver coveralls up under his chin and folded the protective flap over to seal it. "It's a bit weird that they're happening if we're not in an earthquake zone."

"We're not," Butch reiterated. "Ya heard th' news."

"I know that they agree with you," Bruce pulled the silver hood over his head. "But don't you think it's odd that we're getting earthquakes in an earthquake free zone?"

Butch shrugged his big shoulders. "'Appens."

"Often?"

"Depends."

"Aren't you two ready _yet_?!" Max Watts stood at the door. He already had his supervisor's PPE on. "You're wasting time! I'm _not_ going to let my team be the ones who let their colleagues down and stop them from getting their bonus... Come _on_!" he snapped again as Butch stopped to pick up a glove. "You can finish checking each other's gear _when_ we get to the furnace building." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

"'E's ina bad mood," Butch noted, as he followed the supervisor.

"He always gets in a bad mood when he's got to work with the crucible furnace," Bruce reminded him. "In some ways I don't blame him."

Lisa Crump and Greg Harrison were sharing a similar conversation as they watched the three silver-clad men parade past.

"I know Max and I don't always see eye-to-eye," Greg admitted, "but I do admire the way he has never let the fact that he nearly died because of that furnace stop him from working with it."

Lisa smiled at him; her image reflected in his spectacles. "It's thanks to you that he didn't die."

"It's thanks to Virgil Tracy," he corrected. "I only pulled Max to safety." Shadows shifted and moved, and he looked up. The hanging lights were swaying. "These earthquakes are starting to worry me."

Lisa gave an obvious shiver as she watched a bolt judder its way off a work bench. It landed on the floor with an ominous clunk. "Me too. Butch says they shouldn't be happening because we're miles from any fault lines." She picked up the bolt. "But he doesn't know what's causing them."

Greg grunted. "I'm sure that Butch knows what he's talking about..." he said, not really believing it. "Now, Lisa, the first thing we've got to do with this welder is warm it up. Enter this code into that keypad over there..."

-F-A-B-

_8:27:05 am_

Bruce and Butch stopped outside the relatively new building that held the crucible furnace, and finished checking each other's PPE. Max Watts entered a code into the keypad lock and then stood back. "Mr Sanders."

"Yes, Mr Watts." Bruce entered a code of his own, Watts turned the handle and the three of them stepped inside out of sight...

_8:27:32 am_

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

A Quiet Day – Chapter Two

_8:38 am_

There is a climatic condition that is known as earthquake weather. That is the skies are grey and the clouds hang heavy with no hint of rain. The air is still and humid and the birds cease singing. The world appears to wait with a quiet feeling of dreaded anticipation.

This day was nothing like that. The skies were blue and clear, and a light zephyr trilled the leaves in the trees to the musical accompaniment of warbling birds. The sun shone down and gently warmed the Earth and all seemed right with the world.

That was until five minutes after Bruce Sanders, Butch Crump, and their supervisor Max Watts entered the building that housed Aeronautical Component Engineering's crucible furnace. Then the birds stopped singing. Dogs started howling and straining at their leads. And cats crouched low and slunk away, mewing piteously...

Despite all the warning they'd been given: the pre-shocks, the silence of the birds, and the anguished howls of the dogs, no one was prepared for when the ground heaved up towards those blue skies and then dropped. No one was prepared when it rolled this way and that; side to side; up and down; and in any number of previously unimaginable ways. It seemed to last hours, but, in reality, had only lasted 13 seconds.

13 seconds of devastating terror.

Keegan Clark, at the wheel of his big rig, had been unaware of the warnings of earlier in the day. He'd not felt the pre-shocks as he'd driven from one delivery point to the next, and no one had thought to mention them to him. His music player had been grinding out low, mellow country tunes and he hadn't switched them off to hear the news. His truck losing traction and gaining momentum as it careered down the hill above ACE was the first he knew of the day's seismic activities. It was not a revelation he was pleased to receive as the unbalanced unit behind him took on a life of its own.

He cursed as the truck and trailer nearly jack-knifed, almost flipped, and then, as if guided by a miraculous hand, resumed his intended course. Not that he had any control over it now. All attempts to wrestle the steering wheel into some semblance of submission failed. He was at the mercy of the thundering vehicle and the shaking earth. A barrier arm, blocking his path, loomed large before him...

-F-A-B-

_8:38 am_

Inside ACE, welders, grinders, guillotines and other dangerous tools and machines ground to a halt as the earthquake ripped through the factory and the automatic emergency system shut everything down. Employees yelled; found their voices caught in their throats; attempted to run; froze in terror; tried to think rationally; or lost all control of their thought processes as the world moved and changed. Terrified workers clung to the gantry as it swayed from side to side, while those on the factory floor tried to deal with the fact that beneath their feet the very Earth itself seemed to disappear, only to reacquaint itself with their bodies at painful speed.

Lisa Crump, her now extinct welding torch still in her hand, was thrown against Gregory Harrison. "Under the bench," Greg ordered and did his best to comply with his own instructions as heavy tools and bits of metal fell about them.

Lisa was punched headfirst into the wall and then thrown back towards the dangerous world of falling rubble. She jammed her feet against a support post to stop herself from being tossed out from under her haven and tried not to scream as first a wrench, and then a large section of the overhead gantry fell; narrowly missing her. She closed her eyes as other debris rained down and choking dust filled the air. Gasping for oxygen, her arms protecting her head, she squinted through the dust and could see one of her workmates clinging to what remained of the gantry. Her fear-addled brain couldn't comprehend that the helpless soul was being swung about like a pendulum and that it was only a matter of time before he or she would be thrown clear...

Then the cacophony of sound grew louder, and something blocked her view, bringing more debris and dust and the acrid smell of smoke and burnt fuel. Instinctively Lisa cringed deeper into the foetal position as another beam crashed down onto her...

And then it was quiet.

Quiet and still.

Barely daring to breathe Lisa froze, waiting for the next instalment in this nightmare; but nothing happened. Slowly she lowered her arms so that she could see about her. She was covered in dust, had a few minor bruises and scratches, but was otherwise unharmed.

"Lisa? Are you all right, Lisa?"

"Uh... Yes...?" Lisa coughed as she uncurled her body and rolled out from under the workbench. "How about you, Greg?"

His spectacles were coated in dust and one of the lenses had a crack running diagonally across the centre, but he managed a wry smile. "I think I've survived. Either that or we're both angels."

Lisa tried to stand, leaning on the workbench for support as her wobbly legs appeared to have other ideas. A memory surfaced of a helpless puppet-like figure and she took a step towards where she'd seen the broken gantry: and then stopped and gasped.

Blocking their way was a huge vehicle.

"What the..." In shock, Greg stared at the semi-trailer, partially buried beneath the rubble that had once been part of a state-of-the-art factory. Then his brain kicked into action. "That's one of our delivery vehicles!"

"How's the driver?" Lisa asked.

"Dunno." As Greg grabbed a trauma kit, a siren started screaming.

At first, they both thought that it was the signal that everything was being shut down. That was until they realised that they were already finding their way about using the emergency lighting... and Lisa discovered that she could still smell smoke. "That's the fire alarm!"

Hamish Mickelson's disembodied voice filled the factory. _"All personnel report to the evacuation area in Patillo Park immediately for roll call. Repeat! Go to the evacuation area immediately! Do not stop to collect your personal effects. Do not leave the evacuation area until you are dismissed."_ As if the reassuring sound of their leader's voice was enough to bring them back to life, other people could be heard talking and moving towards the exits.

"Get out of here," Greg ordered Lisa. "I'm going to look after him." He indicated the cab of the truck.

"No!" she replied. "You'll need my help and I'm not leaving until we know he's safe."

"'Kay…" Greg thrust the trauma kit into Lisa's arms. "Hold this!" He clambered up the truck's steps until he could reach the door handle.

Lisa watched his progress. "How is he?"

Greg reached through the window and felt for a pulse in the throat of an unconscious Keegan Clark. "Alive," he grunted. He tried the handle, but the door refused to open. He tried again with the same result. Bracing one foot against the body of the truck he pulled a third time and the door lurched open with such force that he nearly fell; only just managing to maintain his hold on the handle. He climbed into the cab. "Hand me the kit."

Lisa passed him the first aid equipment and then took a moment to evaluate their situation. "Greg…"

Greg's attention was on the injured man and not his workmate. He flipped down the sun shield. "Says here his name's Keegan Clark." He pulled the ID out from its pocket and put it into his own.

"The sprinklers aren't working. The water mains must have ruptured in the 'quake!"

Greg didn't look up from his work. "What about the emergency reservoir on site?"

"That must be damaged too."

"We're going to have to get this guy out of here." Greg pulled a cervical collar out of the trauma kit. "In case the whole place catches fire."

"But we can't!" Lisa protested. "We might hurt him. Someone must have called the authorities. We should wait for them!"

"Look around you, Lisa," Greg instructed. "This building is only about 15 years old, and when Jeff Tracy built it he made it stronger than was required under the building regulations of the time. If ACE couldn't withstand that 'quake, think of the damage to any older, less well-constructed buildings. Plus, an earthquake of this magnitude will have affected the whole area. One factory on the outskirts of the city is going to be way down the authorities' priority list."

As she looked about the building that had once seemed to be so solid, permanent and safe and now seemed as flimsy and insubstantial as a pack of cards, Lisa had to admit that he was right. She took solace in one fact. "I can't see any flames and there's not a lot of smoke."

Greg didn't reply, so Lisa set about doing what she could to help. She knew that Keegan had to be extricated from his cab before the fire took hold, but also knew that after a crash like that he could have received any number of wounds including internal, skeletal, neurological... This wasn't a situation where you could just drag him out of the truck and down onto the concrete floor. Not without exacerbating his injuries.

Working quickly, she cleared away some of the more manageable pieces of debris before climbing into the seat of a forklift truck. Swinging it around, she slid its forks between the horizontal slats of a pallet bearing sheets of steel plate. Then, using the pallet like a low-slung bulldozer's blade she cleared a path between their only exit and the semi. That task completed she jumped down and grabbed a gas axe and its associated gas bottles, which she placed on the plate. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled some welder's aprons off a hook and threw them, some clamps, and a welder's blanket over the cutting apparatus and placed her welder's helmet into the cab of the forklift. Then she climbed inside again, moving the vehicle forward, and its forks upwards, until they were positioned just below the level of the now open truck door.

Lisa Crump clambered over the steering wheel and onto the makeshift platform. Then she clamped the welder's blanket to the doorframe so that it formed a protective curtain between her work area and the two men inside the cab. Well aware of the fact that somewhere in the complex a fire had started, she donned her mask, lit the cutting torch and started burning through the bottom hinge of the door.

Greg took a moment from his care of the unconscious driver to see what she was doing. "Good," he approved. "Hang in there, Keegan. It won't be long now... But we're going to have to get rid of this steering column before we can ge…"

Earthquake!

The aftershock was minor compared with the main 'quake, but it was still strong enough to cause Lisa to lose her balance. Dropping the gas axe, the still lit torch of which hit the ground with an unnerving clatter before it was smothered by the fallen blanket, she grabbed the frame of the forklift to stop herself from falling off the platform. Greg braced himself and the mercifully still unconscious Keegan, trying to prevent the injured man from receiving more injuries.

The aftershock stilled.

Her heart pounding and feeling sick at the danger they were still in, Lisa pulled the torch back up by the hose that connected it to its oxyacetylene cylinders. After a quick check to ensure that it wasn't damaged and deciding that a welder's apron hooked over truck's broken aerial would be enough protection for the injured driver, she resumed her work.

"Any sign of the fire?" Greg asked.

Lisa pushed the mask up off her face and had a quick look around. "I can't see…" An ominous cloud hung in the air in the far side of the building. "There's smoke near the paint bay."

"Great," Greg growled. "Flammable liquids. We're going to have to get out of here ASAP." He resumed his work.

The bottom hinge was severed, but Lisa didn't stop for a moment of self-congratulation. Instead she braced her foot against the base of the door, stopping it from swinging inwards against her, and started cutting through the middle and finally the top hinge. When the door groaned and sagged from the force of its own weight, she cut a millimetre more and then pushed the door to the floor.

She stopped for the briefest of breathers. This was the first opportunity she'd had to really take in Keegan's injuries, and she sucked in her breath when she saw the paleness of his skin and the blood that oozed out of him. "How is he?"

"Not good… I've patched him up a little bit and got a neck brace on him," Greg admitted, but he needs more help than that. He should have a backboard…" he coughed. "I can smell the smoke! We've got to get him out now!"

Her thick welding gloves hampering her ability to slip her fingers under the metal, Lisa picked a long offcut of steel off the top of the pallet. "Could you use this as a backboard?"

"It's not ideal, but it'll do in this emergency," Greg admitted. "See what you can do about getting rid of this steering wheel."

"Let me help you first," Lisa offered. "Two hands are better than one."

She held the metal strip against Keegan's back as Greg dug into the first aid supplies. "Where're those …? Ah!" He pulled out rolled up crepe and folded triangular bandages, the latter of which became padding between skull and metal. As he used the long strip of crepe bandage to secure the driver's head to the makeshift backboard he spoke. "Got to immobilise him as much as possible… Once I've got this chest bandage underway you can make a start on that wheel."

When she was sure that the temporary back-brace or the bandage weren't going to slip, Lisa jumped down to the ground and retrieved the welding blanket. Laying this across Keegan's shins and over his torso offered some protection from the heat of the cutting torch. Then she started cutting; sparks flying everywhere.

Concerned that the column would fall against Keegan's legs and trying to protect his own body from the flaming hot metal with a welding apron, Greg grasped the steering wheel and held it tightly. Finally, it was freed from its base and he pushed the whole unit out towards Lisa, who rolled it off the platform and on to the concrete.

"Okay," Greg said. "We're going to have to work together to get him out in one piece… We'll try to be careful, Keegan." He promised. "Try to keep his body in a straight line, Lisa..."

"Wait, Greg," she interrupted. "I have an idea." Shimming back into the forklift's driver's seat, she raised the forks so that the steel plate platform was level with the top of the seat. Then she got another offcut and slipped it behind the one that was strapped the patient's back. "Now we'll be able to slide him straight off the seat."

Greg grinned at her ingenuity. "I can see we're going to get your photo onto the Heroes Wall..." He waited until she'd climbed back onto the platform. "Now, I'll swing his legs up so they're on the seat and you control his upper body." He reached down and grabbed Keegan's ankles. "Follow my lead and take it slowly... Keep him as straight as you can..."

Working together, Lisa watching Greg and matching him move for move, they swung Keegan around until he was lying flat on the seat. "Now," Greg adjusted his grip, so he had hold of Keegan's hips. "Let's slide him onto the plate... Try not to jar him."

The secondary backboard acting like a sled, Keegan Clark slipped easily onto the platform held aloft by the forklift.

Greg grabbed what remained of the trauma kit and clambered onto the platform. "You can drive," he ordered.

"Okay. I'll let down the forks first, so you don't get so much lateral movement." Trying to keep the action as slow and steady as the forklift's mechanics would allow, Lisa lowered the two men towards the floor. Then she put the machine into reverse, did a three-point turn until it was facing one of the big double doors, and drove forward, tooting the horn...

-F-A-B-

_8:38 am_

The morning's small earthquakes had made Hamish Mickelson uneasy, an unusual sensation for a man who feared little. He'd test flown fighter jets, nearly become an astronaut, got into numerous scrapes with his friend and present boss Jeff Tracy, experienced two exhilarating laps of a track as the passenger of a future world champion race car driver, and abseiled down towards the mouth of a vat of molten metal to save a friend. But the Earth seeming to take on a life of its own had definitely registered on his apprehension meter. After the morning's meeting, where he'd made a point of appearing unconcerned, he'd found it difficult to settle to his work. He considered telephoning Jeff to give him a heads-up about the unexpected phenomena, and then decided that as the head of International Rescue was a busy man, there was no point in disturbing him...

That was until the big one hit. Then Hamish had crashed to the floor and crawled under his desk faster than Alan Tracy crossing the finish line in the world championship at Parola Sands. He cowered there praying that the shaking would stop. When it did thirteen seconds later, it took him several seconds more to pull himself together again. His first thought was of relief that he was unhurt. His second was of concern for his beloved wife Edna. His third was thanks that his daughter lived out of state. And the fourth was for his staff.

Pushing aside the papers that had fallen off his desk and out of cabinet drawers, clambering over bookshelves that had fallen away from the wall, and skirting chairs that lay broken and useless, he made his way to the door. With one last regretful look at the fallen, damaged painting of his hometown; painted by Virgil Tracy and presented to him on the occasion of his 15th anniversary at ACE, he escaped into his Personal Assistant's office.

Olivia wasn't there, and he remembered that she'd gone into the factory to update some paperwork. He hoped she was all right. Fighting his way through the mess that had once been an example of quiet efficiency, he made his way to reception. There he found the wages clerk, office manager, purchasing manager and receptionist in a frightened huddle. "Is anyone hurt?" he asked.

Kim Raynor, the office manager, treated him to a shaky smile. "A few bruises, but we're okay. Are you all right, Mr Mickelson?" She started when a siren blared in her ear.

"That's the fire alarm," Mickelson noted, still pretending to be calm and in control. "Is the factory intercom working?"

"I... Ah... I don't know," she admitted. "The emergency systems seem to be operational."

"Good." Mickelson removed a folder from a slot near the door and flicked through it. "I want you all to go to the evacuation area...Take this," he said, holding the folder out to Kim, "and give it to Max Watts. He can start roll call until I get there. Don't let anyone leave until everyone has been accounted for. And keep them well away from any trees or live wires."

She accepted the folder. "Yes, Mr Mickelson... Ah, what are you going to do?"

He flipped the switch that opened the link to the loudspeakers in the factory. "Tell everyone else to assemble at the evacuation area." He managed to give his staff a reassuring smile. "I'll be out shortly." He picked up the microphone.

As the four members of the administration team left the room they heard him speak and never guessed that their leader was as frightened as they were.

Hamish cleared his throat and pushed the button. "All personnel report to the evacuation area in Patillo Park immediately for roll call. Repeat! Go to the evacuation area immediately! Do not stop to collect your personal effects. Do not leave the evacuation area until you are dismissed." He briefly considered repeating his instructions and then decided that he'd better follow his own advice. But first he pulled his cell phone from out of his pocket and speed-dialled his home phone number.

He received the unwelcome response that told him the system was overloaded.

Worried for Edna, Hamish Mickelson left the office.

Patillo Park was a grassy area on the other side of the fence that marked the boundary of Aeronautical Component Engineering. The car park between the two properties was cut up and strewn with debris. The driveway leading to ACE appeared to have been created out of crazy paving. Street lights lay collapsed across the road and, in the park, a good many trees had been uprooted. In the distance columns of smoke rose into the still air, yet, in an incongruous twist, the sun was shining and, apart from the smoky distant haze, the sky was clear and blue. Although the site was on the edge of town, the blare of sirens could be heard: fire alarms, car alarms, burglar alarms, and the warning screams of the emergency services. Those trapped at ACE didn't realise that it would be days before the last of those sirens was silenced.

There was already a large crowd of employees assembled in the park. Most seemed to be unharmed although some had suffered cuts and grazes. A few appeared to be favouring some part of their body. All were pale, coated in dust, and in varying degrees of shock.

As Mickelson hurried towards the assembly area, he saw two more men appear at a factory door. Between them, carried on what appeared to be a section of gantry walkway, was an obviously injured workmate.

"First Aid!" Hamish Mickelson yelled, and ran to offer assistance of his own.

Carrying a trauma kit, Aaron Mead, his overall's first aider red-bordered white cross ragged, ran up to help. "What happened to him?"

Glad to relieve themselves of the heavy load, Paul Onslow and Burt Challis placed the makeshift stretcher on the ground. "We were working on the gantry," Paul explained as he massaged the feeling back into his hands. "When the earthquake hit, the section that Lou was working on gave way. He hung on for as long as he could, but it just kinda shook him off."

"Yeah," Burt agreed. "If it hadn't been for his safety line he would have fallen hard. As it was I think it was that grinder that fell off the bench that did the real damage. I think he's broken his leg."

Aaron was examining Louis Fleming. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Louis gasped. "'Specially my leg 'n shoulder."

"Shoulder...? Any head or back pain? Any tingling in your arms or legs? Have you lost consciousness at all?"

"No... I remember... I remember all of it..." Louis sucked in his breath as a wave of pain hit. "I 'member fallin'."

Aaron looked up at the damaged building and decided they were too close for comfort. "Do you think you can last a couple more minutes, Louis?" he asked as he undid a silver and gold survival blanket. "I want to get you clear of here in case another 'quake hits." Taking care not to cause any more pain than necessary, he wrapped the blanket around the injured man.

Louis closed his eyes and braced himself for the short, but potentially painful journey.

"Everyone take a corner of the gantry," Aaron ordered, and his boss was more than willing to bow to the first aider's authority.

The section of walkway was heavy and ungainly and not designed to be used as a stretcher. It took time to get into a rhythm that didn't involve getting more bruises than the earthquake had provided. One of their workmates saw their difficulties and ran over. "Here, Mr Mickelson," he said to the older man. "Let me take him." He got a good grip of the gantry.

Hamish Mickelson was about to assert that he was perfectly capable of assisting, when they heard what sounded like the horn of a forklift. Leaving the makeshift stretcher, he hurried over to the big double doors that opened into the main body of the factory. He heaved them open and a forklift, converted into an ungainly ambulance, lumbered out into the sun. Once again, he called for first aid assistance.

"Shut the doors, Hamish," Greg demanded. "The fire's spreading!"

Once again willing to forget his rank in the company, Mickelson obeyed. "Who is it?" he asked, trotting alongside the forklift.

"Keegan Clark's his name," Greg explained. "He's one of our delivery guys."

Another company first aider, Alaina Hardy, had responded to the General Manager's shout. "What happened?" she asked as she clambered onto the platform beside the charge hand. "What are his injuries?"

"His truck crashed into the building." Greg told her. "He impacted against the steering wheel. Lisa had to cut him out. We've immobilised him as much as we could."

The forklift drew level with the four men carrying Louis between them on the stretcher and stopped. "Put him on the plate," Lisa suggested.

Glad to be free of the heavy steel section, the four men gently eased Louis, still on his 'stretcher' onto the forklift, before Aaron clambered aboard so he could continue to tend to his charge.

"I'll get out of your way," Greg grunted and abandoned the platform. "Take 'em into the paddock, Lisa, but try not to bump them around too much."

Lisa nodded her agreement, engaged the forklift and drove forward again.

"Anyone else hurt?" Greg asked Hamish, as he handed him Keegan's ID card.

"I don't know," Hamish admitted. "I haven't had the chance to check. Max should have started the roll call by now."

Greg Harrison gave a grim smile. "Then we'd better find him, so we can sign in."

"Mr Mickelson! Mr Mickelson...!" Kim Raynor ran towards them holding a familiar folder. "I can't find Mr Watts!"

"You can't?" Mickelson asked. "Where was he working this morning?"

"Prepping the furnace," Greg reminded him. "Along with Bruce and Butch. Any sign of them?" he asked the office manager.

"No." She shook her head, fear evident in her face.

Mickelson took the folder from her, his own face grim. "Let's do this roll call and hope that you missed them somewhere."

Some of ACE's employees had knocked down the boundary fence and had used the palings to create a bridge across the narrow ditch that ran the length of the fence line. It had held as Lisa had driven across and the forklift was now in the paddock, its two patients still being attended by their first aiders.

Mickelson climbed into the cockpit and stood there so he could look out over the sea of frightened employees. "Quiet please...! Please be quiet and listen...! I know this is an uncomfortable situation for us all, but we need to take a roll call to ascertain that everyone has escaped the building. I'm going to read out your names. Respond clearly and raise your hand. Do not lower it until I acknowledge you. Do not answer for anyone else, even if you think you have seen that person since the 'quake. If you are with someone who is incapable of responding, then please tell me... Right..." He took a deep breath.

Lisa grabbed Nancy's arm. "Have you seen Butch?"

"Butch?" Nancy looked about the crowd. "No, I haven't. But he could be anywhere in this mob." She gave Lisa a reassuring pat on the arm. "He's tough. He'll be alright. And you'll find that out soon enough; he'll be one of the first names called out."

"Mr Mickelson..." It was Alaina Hardy. "Keegan needs urgent medical help. Do you have your cell phone with you?"

Mickelson looked down on her from his vantage point in the forklift. "Yes, I do. But last time I tried I got the overloaded signal." Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he stepped down from the forklift and gave the folder to Greg Harrison. "I'll try again. Take the roll, Greg."

"Right!" Greg claimed Mickelson's place. "As Mr Mickelson said, answer clearly and raise your hand when you hear your name called out..." He began calling the roll. "Annan, Olivia..."

There was silence.

"Olivia! Has anyone seen Olivia?" Greg shot Mickelson a questioning look.

The General Manager was trying unsuccessfully to raise the rescue services. "She was going to the CAD department."

"Okay." Greg placed a cross beside the P.A.'s name. "Addison, Norman!"

"Here!" A hand was raised, and a tick was put beside the name.

"Ames, Cindy!"

"Here!"

"Bannister, Joshua!"

"Here!"

"Barringer, Ray"

"Here!"

"Challis, Burt!"

"Here!" Burt raised his hand, still red from where the metal of the gantry had cut into his flesh.

"Crump, Cy... ah, Butch!"

No response.

"Butch? Has anyone seen Butch Crump?" The only reactions were numerous shaking heads and Greg looked over to where Lisa was standing looking mortified. "I'm sure he'll be okay, Lisa," he soothed, before putting a cross next to _Crump, Cyril_ and a tick beside _Crump, Lisa_. "Digby, Peter"

"Here!"

There were a few more names, all of which were answered in the affirmative. After _Eagles, Frederick _Greg read out "Fleming, Louis."

"I hope he doesn't expect me to raise my hand," Louis groaned, but Greg had already moved on to _Griffin, David_...

..._Hardy, Alaina _was too busy tending to Keegan Clark to respond, so Greg ticked her off the list without disturbing her. "Harrison, Greg...!" He gave an embarrassed grimace. "I guess I'm present. Haynes, Carolyn!"

"Here!"

_Jones, Nancy_ and _Kidd, Celeste_ were both present; although Celeste was in such shock that someone else had to answer for her before Greg could carry on.

He ticked off _Mead, Aaron_. "Mickelson, Hamish!"

"I'm here, Greg."

"Sorry..." More names were read out...

"Onslow, Paul!"

"Here!" Paul raised a hand wrapped in a handkerchief.

"Palmer, Beryl!"

The cafeteria lady raised her hand.

"Patterson, Winston...!" A murmur went through the assembly when they realised that the well-liked draftsman was missing. "Winston...? Quiet please! Has anyone seen Winston Patterson?"

No one had.

Greg placed the required cross. "Raynor, Kim."

"Here."

More names before: "Sanders, Bruce!" By now Greg wasn't expecting a positive response and didn't get one. His heart growing heavier he drew a cross beside Bruce's name. He almost expected a similar response to "Templeton, Warrick!" and got a pleasant surprise when he heard the draftsman say "here!" With relief, he added a tick. "Topper, Shane!"

"Here!"

"Trac... What's he doing on here?" Greg crossed out the name… And then found himself tossed to the ground.

At first, he thought someone had pushed him, then he realised as the shrieks and yells filled the air that another aftershock had hit. Unable to do anything else he curled up into a ball and covered his head. The 'quake was over in three seconds, but he stayed like this a long time after the Earth had stilled.

"Greg! Are you all right, Greg?"

Greg Harrison uncurled himself and patted Lisa's hand. "I'm all right. A little shaken, that's all. How are you?" He started gathering together the papers that had fallen out of the folder.

"I'm scared," Lisa admitted, and he could see it in her eyes as they got to their feet. "Where's Butch...? And Ginny!? How's Ginny? Is she all right?"

"I'm sure she is," Greg soothed.

"But I need to know!" Lisa exclaimed, becoming slightly hysterical. "I need to be sure!"

"Lisa..."

"Ginny! My baby! I've got to get to my baby!" The distraught mother started running in the direction of the pre-school, but was stopped when Hamish Mickelson caught hold of her. "Let go of me!" Lisa thumped the restraining hands. "I've got to get to Ginny!"

"Calm down!" Hamish demanded. "You can't go!"

"I need to...!"

"I know you need to..." Hamish spun her around so that she was facing him and had a firm grip on her arms. He looked her in the eye. "But we need you here and you're not going to help Ginny running off half-cocked. You could get hurt! Look around you!" He indicated their surroundings, much of which looked like an angry giant had hacked at the ground with a serrated knife. "It's dangerous out there and Ginny doesn't need something to happen to her mother. Now stop, take a deep breath, and calm down. Once we've done the roll call we'll see if it's safe enough to get a group together to go over to the pre-school... Okay?"

Lisa gulped. Then she sniffed. Then she nodded.

Hamish released his grip. "Good... Carry on, Greg."

"Okay... Vacation, David!"

"Here!"

Greg Harrison rattled through _Walker, Matt_ and _Wing, Christine_ in quick succession. Then he came to _Watts, Max_.

Somehow the knowledge that the man who'd narrowly escaped death in a furnace of molten metal was missing was more chilling than any of the names previously marked with a cross, and it was a grim Greg Harrison who read out the last name on his list. "Willard, Jeremy!"

"Here!"

"How many missing?" Mickelson asked.

Greg did a quick tally of the crosses. "Five. Max, Bruce, Winston..." he hesitated with a glance at Lisa, "…Butch and Olivia."

Mickelson nodded. "Max, Bruce and Butch were working in the furnace building, right?"

"Right," Greg agreed.

"And Olivia may be with Winston in the CAD room. So, we possibly only need to search two areas."

"Search!?" Greg threw his hand towards the factory building. "That place is dangerous! There's a fire in there by the paint bay! We can't go back inside!"

Lisa covered her mouth with her hand and started sobbing.

"Come here," Beryl soothed. "Come with me, Luv. You're not doing yourself any good upsetting yourself." She led Lisa away. "I wish I could give you a nice hot cup of tea." She gave an unconvincing chuckle.

Mickelson stepped closer to Greg, so he could talk without being overheard. "I know we can't go back inside, but at least we can check out the furnace building." He held up his cell phone, one of John Tracy's inventions. "I've tried to reach them on the in-house intercom, but the whole system's down. We need to find out why they haven't evacuated."

"Mr Mickelson?"

He turned to face Shane Topper and David Vacation. "Yes?"

Shane was acting as spokesman. "We grabbed our fire helmets and respiratory gear when we evacuated the building… We're willing to go in and see if we can find Winston or Olivia… You said she was going up to his department?"

Mickelson hesitated. The factory was now potentially a death trap and he was not happy with the idea of asking two of his employees to endanger themselves. But then he nodded. "Very well. But don't do anything stupid. Go in there, see if you can find Olivia and Winston and then get out. If you do find them and you can't rescue them safely in under five minutes, then come back out here and we'll form a new plan of attack. And if you feel in danger at any time then get out of there immediately! Understand?"

Both volunteers nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Good." Mickelson let out a tense breath. "Thank you, both of you, and good luck." He watched the two men walk towards the crumpled factory. "I don't like this."

"No, me neither," Greg agreed. "Do you want me to take a group to check out the furnace?"

"Yes… No…! Wait…" Mickelson took the roll from his long-time colleague. "If they're up to it send Peter Digby, David Griffin and… who's a first aider?" His finger hovered over Bruce's name and then moved on. "Christine Wing. I want you to organise Ray Barringer, Jeremy Willard, and… Matt Walker into a search party. Scout the area for possible hazards or anything that can help us, and see if you can get to the pre-school."

Greg Harrison looked at his friend and boss. "Lisa Crump's not the only person worried about family."

"I know," Mickelson admitted. "But I promised her we'd at least try. That school is within reach and we might be able to offer them assistance. It can't be easy dealing with a class of toddlers after a major earthquake, and if we can help them it'll help everyone here take their minds off their own troubles. Only go carefully…" he warned. "I'm not giving you carte blanche to risk your neck or anyone else's."

"Understood," Greg grunted, and he started calling people forward.

Hamish Mickelson took a step away from the group and tried the in-house intercom again. Then he tried the rescue services. Then, without much hope and a kind of guilty terror he dialled home.

He couldn't make contact with anyone.

The first group of scouts were returning. "We made it to the furnace…" Peter reported.

Lisa grabbed his arm. "Butch! Please tell me you saw Butch!" she begged. "Tell me he's not hurt!"

Unable to look at the distraught woman, Peter continued to address his boss. "It looks like that semi took out the front wall on its way into the factory. I'd say it's only the outside shell, but there's no way we could get rid of the debris without bringing more down. Dave managed to skirt the building and… What did you see, Dave?"

David let out a low whistle. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. This great…" he struggled for a suitable word, "_block_ of earth has just risen out of the ground. It appears to be pushing against the back wall and the emergency exit. Another 'quake like that big one and it could take out the whole building!"

Mickelson glanced at Lisa who was hanging on to their every word and appeared to be making a conscious effort not to collapse into a sobbing mess. "Any sign of the men inside?"

This time Peter also glanced at Lisa. "No. No sign of them. But the main building is still intact. They could be perfectly okay. We tried yelling for them, but the insulation's that thick they wouldn't hear us."

Search party number two struggled into view from the south; Ray supporting Jeremy who was limping badly and whose left leg was ominously red. Christine picked up a trauma kit and hurried over to the two men, where she began asking urgent questions. Ray helped Jeremy to sit down, before she pulled on a pair of gloves, removed a pair of scissors from the kit and started to slit open the stained trouser leg.

"What happened, Mr Barringer?" Mickelson asked when the other man stopped at his side.

"It's bad, Mr Mickelson," Ray gasped. "The place is a mess. There's no way we could get out that way. We could hear people yelling for help; and Jerry thought he could jump across this big gap that's opened up, find out what's wrong, and then report back. He thought that once we knew what help was needed we might be able to do something. But the ground gave way and he fell onto a bit of metal. He's gashed his leg." He looked at his hands that were red with blood. "I got him back here as quickly as I could."

The third search party pushed its way through the crowd. They were looking pale, almost sick.

"What's wrong, Greg?" Hamish Mickelson didn't like his friend's pallor. "What do you have to report?"

"We can't get to the pre-school," Greg replied. "The ground's too cut up and there're downed power lines stretching right down the street. Judging by the sparks coming from it, the wires are still alive. We're cut off, Hamish. We can't get away from here."

Mickelson could see that there was more to be told. "And?"

"And…" Greg looked at Lisa. "We couldn't see a lot of it, but the pre-school doesn't look damaged…" Lisa closed her eyes in relief. "But we couldn't see any signs of life either."

"They're probably sheltering inside," Mickelson said quickly. "Anything else?"

"Uh… Yes… Like I said, the road's cut up… There are chunks of tarmac sticking up everywhere… A motorcyclist must have been driving down the road when the earthquake hit and Keegan went out of control… He…" Greg closed his eyes as if he were trying to shut out what he'd seen. "He crashed into one of the holes. The bike's a mess…" He shook his head. "The driver didn't make it." He looked at the General Manger. "I hope it was quick."

Hamish laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Go and have a rest, Greg. I'm sure you did all you could."

"No," Greg made an effort to pull himself together. "I'll be all right." He gestured towards the factory. "Here're Shane and David." The two men who'd volunteered to search for Winston and Olivia were pushing two well laden trolleys. "Have you found them?"

"Maybe," Shane replied. "We have an idea where they might be, but we can't reach them. When that big rig crashed through the factory, it took out the supporting beams that were holding up the mezzanine floor. The CAD offices are only _just_ hanging on by resting on one corner of the truck. The whole structure looks so flimsy that I'd say that it would only take the smallest shift in weight and the whole lot could come crashing down. We're going to need the pros and all sorts of lifting equipment to get them out of there. I wouldn't touch it."

Mickelson indicated the trolley. "What have you got there?"

"We don't know how long we're going to be stuck here," Shane admitted. "So, we raided the emergency cupboards. We've got water, blankets, food, lights…"

"And a welding torch," David added. "We thought that if necessary we could use the plate steel," he indicated the pallet on the front of the forklift, "to make shelter or something. Lisa's already brought out the gas cylinders."

Mickelson nodded his approval. "Good work. Turn the radio on and see if you can find out any news."

It didn't take long to tune into a station that was reporting on the earthquake. It seemed that the damage was extensive throughout the wider area and that the rescue authorities were stretched to their limits. Those listening to the bulletin were advised that they should do what they could to remain safe, but be aware that help could be a long time in coming.

A very long time.

"Well, we're going to be able to survive," Greg growled. "But what about Keegan? He needs a hospital, not to be stuck in the middle of a park. And we've got five people missing, possibly in serious danger. We can't sit back and do nothing!"

"But what do you think we should do?" Mickelson asked. "I can't reach anybody on my phone and I'm not going to risk any more of our people getting hurt. Do you have any suggestions…? Anybody?" he appealed to the group gathered around.

Lisa raised her hand. A timid movement that seemed at odds to her normal confident persona. "I have an idea, Mr Mickelson."

He managed a smile. "Yes, Mrs Crump?"

"We could call International Rescue."

Hamish Mickelson stared at her. "What?!"

"International Rescue," she repeated. "They'd be able to help us."

"That's not a silly idea, Hamish," Greg agreed.

"But how would we call them?" his boss asked. "This thing's not working." He indicated his cell phone.

"We brought the two-way radios with us!" Shane was searching through the items on the trolley. "Ah! Here we are!"

"But that won't give out a strong enough signal," Mickelson protested.

"It might," Greg retorted. "International Rescue are supposed to be able to pick up any call for help from anywhere in the world, no matter how weak the signal."

For some strange reason, Hamish Mickelson still seemed unwilling to consider the suggestion. "I'm sure International Rescue has more important things to worry about than us." He made a general gesture. "There's a whole city out there affected by this earthquake!"

Greg Harrison was beginning to become impatient. "They will have more important things if we don't hurry up and call them. And if you don't, Hamish, I will! Where's that radio, Shane?"

"Here," Shane Topper held out the radio transmitter.

But it was Hamish Mickelson who took it from him; his face grim. "I'll make the call." He turned the radio on, checked it was operational and walked away from the group. Then he took a deep breath, offered out a silent apology, and spoke.

"Calling, International Rescue…"

_9:54 am_

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_9:54 am_

Alone on-board Thunderbird Five, Alan Tracy heard the plea for International Rescue's help. He frowned. There was something about that voice that sounded familiar. With that realisation to the forefront of this mind he responded with a cautious: "This is International Rescue. How may we help you?"

"This is Hamish Mickelson of Aeronautical Component Engineering…"

Alan didn't need to be told twice. He knew the voice and he knew the man. This in itself wasn't a problem as his honorary 'Uncle' Hamish had been involved with the evolution of International Rescue since its conception. But no one else at ACE knew of International Rescue's link with the Tracy family, even though they'd helped create the components that went into the mighty machines.

If ACE needed help, then it could mean trouble for International Rescue. It would mean that Alan would have to ask for permission before he could agree to launch the Thunderbirds.

"…Five members of staff are missing. Three we know are trapped in the building that houses the furnace. Their conditions are unknown. The other two we assume to be trapped in a mezzanine floor that has lost most of its support structures and could fall at any moment. We have rescued three with injuries. One critical. And there's a fire burning in the factory…" There was a pause. "Can you help?"

Alan felt sorry for the other man. He understood that Uncle Hamish knew full well that he was asking International Rescue to compromise the very security that enabled it to operate anywhere and everywhere throughout the world. He also knew that this call had been made reluctantly, but in the knowledge that no other options were available.

Alan kept his reply formal and impersonal. "Thank you, Mr Mickelson. Please stay on this channel and I will get back to you shortly." He put the call on hold, took a deep breath, and flicked a switch.

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy was standing on the patio that looked down from his fabulous villa and out over the South Pacific Ocean. Here, miles from all other habitation, they were practically cut off from the outside world.

He watched as John chased Gordon the length of the beach below. Not for the first time Jeff realised how lucky they all were. Even now, five years after Gordon's horrific crash, it seemed hard to reconcile the fact that this muscular, toned former Olympic champion had been little more than a paralysed, emaciated shell. Running on land, only just managing to outpace his sibling, Gordon was out of his element, but still his strength and stamina were keeping him out of the reach of the longer legs and natural athleticism of John.

John put on an extra burst of speed and managed to trip his younger brother. They tumbled onto the golden sands and Jeff could imagine their free and easy laughter as they wrestled with each other before Gordon threw John off and dove into the waves.

John gave up then. There was no point in competing against one of the world's fastest swimmers.

Jeff transferred his attention to the scene just below; around the pool. Tin-Tin was stretched out on a deck chair; soaking up the waning sun and wearing a skimpy two-piece bathing suit, and Jeff had to admit that her looks were a huge plus in maintaining the image that he and his sons lived the playboy lifestyle on this tropical island. But what most people didn't know was that Tin-Tin Kyrano was a gifted engineer and an invaluable member of International Rescue; a fact that Jeff Tracy was more than happy to keep secret from the outside world even if he did feel it undervalued her true abilities.

He dragged his attention away from the young woman. Scott and Virgil appeared to be doing their bit in maintaining International Rescue's cover and as their father watched, both young men picked up their glass from their chair-side tables, sipped, drank more deeply, and then replaced the glass. Their actions were as synchronised as if they'd been following unheard commands, and Jeff couldn't suppress the shiver that went up his spine. Twice he'd experienced just how close these two were, and it was an almost telepathic connection that denied all rational explanation. Brains had tried to make sense of it and failed, and the two boys had done their best to deny it, but it was real and no one in the family was able to ignore it.

A beeping emanating from the lounge forced him inside. "Go ahead, Alan."

"This is a tricky one, Dad. I thought I should get your go-ahead before I said we'd attend."

Tricky? Dozens of difficult and hazardous scenarios raced through Jeff's mind. A nuclear power station had exploded while a school group had been touring the facility. The driver of a bus full of senior citizens had had heart failure and the bus had careered out of control down a mountain pass before coming to a stop hanging over the edge of a crumbling cliff in the middle of nowhere. A group of scientists mapping climate change at the North Pole were being attacked by a pack of marauding polar bears, denied their traditional diet by man's actions.

"The call was from Uncle Hamish," Alan admitted, and Jeff reined his imagination in. There was little chance that his old friend would require International Rescue's services. But if that was the case, why call Thunderbird Five?

"Hamish?" Jeff frowned. "What's wrong?"

"There's been an earthquake and ACE has sustained some damage."

"Earthquake?" Jeff's frown deepened. "How big a 'quake?"

"About six point three. Definitely smaller than most we've dealt with, but it's shallow. I've been monitoring it while we've been talking, and it's affected most of the city."

"Earthquake?" Jeff, still struggling to get his head around the idea, pushed the button that would summon Brains to the lounge. "I'm not surprised if it's caused problems. It's not an earthquake zone so earthquake protection isn't built into the local building code. But it must be serious for Hamish to call International Rescue."

"He was trying to pretend that he didn't know me. He told me that five employees are unaccounted for and they can't get through to the regular rescue services. He doubts they'd be able to reach ACE even if they could."

His face grim, Jeff sounded the alarm that would bring his sons running. Almost as if the alarm was his own call to arms, Brains entered the room, realised that Jeff was in the middle of a briefing from the secondary Space Monitor, and waited for the head of International Rescue to address him.

But Jeff was still intent on getting all the information available to them. "Did he say who's missing?"

"No."

"How bad's the damage? What are we going to be dealing with?"

Alan realised that his father had apparently already made the decision that International Rescue would attend. "The exits are blocked to the furnace room where three are trapped. Most of the support structures for the mezzanine floor have collapsed. Two are assumed trapped there. And he reported a fire in the factory."

"I _still_ can't get my head around the fact that the factory's been damaged!" Jeff admitted. "When I rebuilt the building, I made sure it was earthquake proof! How could this happen?"

Brains looked alarmed at the realisation that whatever this rescue was going to be, it sounded personal. "Wh-Which factory, Mr Tracy?" He fired up his laptop.

"ACE."

"I-I'll bring up the plans for the buildings."

"Thank you, Brains."

"Which buildings? Where?" Scott demanded, as he barrelled into the lounge; Virgil hot on his tail and Tin-Tin close behind.

"Wait until your brothers get here," Jeff advised.

It wasn't a long wait. John and Gordon had made use of the monorail system that threaded through the island to journey from the foreshore to the lounge. "What have we missed?" Gordon, dripping on the carpet, looked to International Rescue's rescue co-ordinator for advice.

Scott looked to their father for clarification.

Jeff looked at his middle son. "It's ACE."

"ACE?" Virgil's jaw dropped. "Aeronautical Component Engineering ACE?! My ACE?!" The others decided that it wasn't the time to remind him that it was actually their father's. "What's happened?"

"It's been hit by an earthquake," Alan supplied.

"Earthquake?" Virgil frowned. "But there isn't a fault line anywhere near there for miles…" His frown deepened. "Is there?"

Brains was still burrowing into his computer for the explanation. "You are quite correct. I-I would assume that the entire area has been hit by what is termed an intraplate earthquake."

"Intraplate earthquake?" John repeated. "What's that?"

"The th-theory is that when the Earth's crust was formed," Brains began, "pockets of magma rose to the surface, but didn't, er, break the Earth's crust, leaving weakened areas that are susceptible to slippage. They are rarer than interplate earthquakes, which, er, occur at plate boundaries; but are not unheard of. The 2001 Gujarat earthquake, which measured between 7.6 and 8.1 and claimed 20,000 lives was such a quake." He looked at the Tracys over his laptop.

"Enough of the theory," Scott demanded. "What's the current situation?"

Jeff let Alan summarise Hamish Mickelson's call. "One person's in a critical condition," he finished. "Uncle Hamish says their first aiders have done all they can to help him."

"How is Uncle Hamish?" Gordon asked.

"Seems a little shaken, but he says he's fine."

Jeff gave a wry grin. "It'd take more than an earthquake to upset Hamish Mickelson." He looked at his eldest son. "You'd better get going, Scott, and I don't need to tell you that this time we've got to be extra careful with security."

Scott, his back to the wall, gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, we know the drill." He grasped the twin lamps and pirouetted out of sight.

Jeff switched his attention back to Virgil, who was looking troubled, but didn't address him. "Alan..."

"Yes, Dad."

"See if you can get hold of the relevant authorities. Maybe they will be able to get to ACE before Thunderbird Two arrives. We won't launch her until Scott reports back."

"F-A-B."

The little group listened as Alan made the call. All the rescue authorities were tied up elsewhere around town and were unable to be spared. This was going to be a job for International Rescue.

"Did Uncle Hamish say who was missing, Alan?" Virgil asked.

Alan shook his head. "No, and I didn't want to ask him in case someone wondered why International Rescue was interested."

"You'd better get back onto Hamish," Jeff directed, "and let him know that Thunderbird One is on its way."

-F-A-B-

_9:59 am_

Hamish Mickelson disconnected his call to International Rescue with mixed feelings. Misgivings that he was putting his friends at risk. Relief that someone was coming to their aid. Concern for those who he knew were injured. Fear for those they couldn't contact.

At least he knew that Alan Tracy wouldn't be attending the rescue. Most of those working at ACE knew the young man from the day that he'd hosted them after one of his world championship winning races... And from the Heroes Wall. Alan's photo was a reminder of the flight afterwards where he and his brother had successfully landed their powerless aeroplane.

But there were other concerns...

Lisa Crump was looking at him in hopeful expectation, but it was Greg Harrison who spoke. "Well, Hamish?"

The General Manager seemed a little dazed. "They're coming."

"International Rescue?" Shane Topper blurted out. "International Rescue are coming?"

Mickelson nodded. "Yes."

_International Rescue._ The words spread through ACE like wildfire. _International Rescue are coming! They're coming to help us!_

Mickelson decided that there was little that he could do in the interim, so, carrying the radio in case International Rescue tried to make contact, he began making his way through his employees; checking that they were holding up and giving them words of support. His first stop was at the forklift and he crouched down beside Louis Fleming. "How are you feeling, Mr Fleming?"

"Not too bad now Aaron's got me strapped up, but the grille of this gantry's killing me," Louis admitted. "All the nurses are gonna want to play tic-tac-toe on my back." He smiled as Mickelson laughed. "Did I hear you right, Mr M? International Rescue are coming to save us?"

Mickelson patted the radio that hung off his shoulder. "You heard right."

"Wow!" A big smile crossed Louis' pale face. "International Rescue! D'ya think they'll take me in Thunderbird Two too?"

"I've heard it's a huge plane," Mickelson admitted, treading carefully. "I'm sure it'll be able to accommodate just about everyone, including you."

"Wow!" Louis repeated. Then he managed a grin. "I guess this means we won't be getting Mr Tracy's bonus... Still, a flight in a Thunderbird should just about make up for it."

Mickelson circled the stack of steel plate until he was standing at Alaina's shoulder. "How is he, Miss Hardy?"

She looked up and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I've done everything I can, Mr Mickelson. But I feel so helpless! He's going into shock."

"Well, stay positive. International Rescue are on their way."

"Wow!" Her eyes lit up as she smiled. "If anyone can save Keegan, it'll be them."

Now Mickelson crouched next to Jeremy who was lying on a tarpaulin with his injured leg bandaged and raised. "How are you, Mr Willard?"

"Chrissie," Jeremy indicated Christine Wing, "tells me I'll live. And she's given me further incentive by promising me a date once this is all over."

"I didn't say I _would_ go on a date with you," she scolded with a hint of affection. "Only that I would _consider_ it."

"Haven't you had long enough to _consider_ yet?" Jeremy asked. "You haven't had anything else to do."

Christine ignored him. "Is it true that International Rescue are coming?"

Mickelson had a feeling that he was going to hear this question a lot. "Yes. It's true," and received the now expected _"Wow!"_ in response.

"I wonder if any of the men of International Rescue are single." Christine mused, deliberately teasing her wannabe suitor. "I can just imagine what they're like... Tall... Handsome... Brave... Caring..."

Alaina had been relieved of her charge by Aaron Mead and was taking the opportunity to stretch her legs. "Mmmnn... Just what every girl wants..." She agreed with a smirk as she flicked her red hair from off her face. "I wonder if any of them are blonde. Or would you prefer tall, dark and handsome, Chrissie?"

Mickelson left them to it and continued his circuit of Patillo Park offering support and encouragement where he could. It seemed that everyone asked him _"Is it true that International Rescue are coming?"_ and responded to his confirmation with wide-eyed, thrilled, astonishment. Privately he had to admit that, as worried as he was for the Tracys, he felt a glow of pride in the way that everyone universally admired them, even if they weren't aware that that their heroes were their employer and his sons.

He started clearing one end of Patillo Park for Thunderbird One's arrival, shooing excited clusters of ACE employees to the far side. He'd only just succeeded when they heard a low roar. At first everyone thought it was another aftershock, before realising that the sound wasn't coming from the Earth below, but the sky above. A gunmetal grey rocket, with a scarlet nosecone and outstretched wings was circling ACE.

The word Thunderbird and the number one were emblazoned on its side.

"Thunderbird One! It's Thunderbird One! International Rescue are here!"

Hamish Mickelson's stomach started turning somersaults.

-F-A-B-

_10:43 am_

The eyes in Scott's portrait flashed.

"Go ahead, Scott," his father commanded.

The portrait came to life. "I've arrived at danger zone," International Rescue's rescue coordinator announced.

"How bad does it look?"

"Externally, not too bad," Scott admitted. "But the interior... I'll send through pictures."

"Send copies through to Thunderbird Two," Jeff replied. "The boys are already waiting in her."

"Including Virgil?"

Jeff nodded. "Including Virgil. We're going to be spread too thin without him. You're going to have to help as well."

Scott nodded his agreement. He'd already come to this conclusion. "The fire is progressing surprisingly slowly."

"Where is it?" Jeff studied the first of the scans that were appearing on his computer. "By the paint bay... That area's constructed of extra-strength fire retardant materials, which'll slow down the fire's spread, but not stop it."

"Okay," Scott conceded, so we're going to need the Firefly... Super-jacks... Giraffe..." He made a few other notes. "I'm sending the equipment list through to Thunderbird Two, so she can get underway. "I'd better land. I'll get back to you after I've spoken to Uncle Hamish... Uh, I guess I'd better start calling him Mr Mickelson."

-F-A-B-

Hamish Mickelson watched as Thunderbird One landed at the far end of Patillo Park, admiring the pilot's obvious skill. Scott had promised him a flight in her someday, but as yet that day hadn't arrived.

And Hamish thought that today wouldn't be that day.

Thunderbird One's engines stilled, and the air suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet. Everyone stared at the rocket plane and everyone waited with baited breath for its pilot to emerge.

They were disappointed when what appeared to be curtains dropped from the fuselage, obscuring the rocket plane's underbelly.

Hamish Mickelson squared his shoulders and took a step towards the Thunderbird.

Almost as if Mother Nature was trying to keep him away, another aftershock hit. It wasn't as ferocious as those experienced earlier, but its motion was enough to send him to his knees. He lay on the grass, curled up in a ball, as the ground rolled beneath him.

Eventually the Earth settled, and Mickelson scrambled back to his feet. "Is everyone okay?" He returned to the triage area. "How is everyone?" he asked when he realised that all three invalids had paled significantly after the last 'quake. The truck driver in particular had turned a nasty grey colour. "How's Mr Clark?"

"Still alive," Aaron admitted. "Is Thunderbird One going to be able to lift him out of here?"

"N... Ah... I'll go and find out," Mickelson said and jogged over to the rocket plane. He stopped outside the opaque curtain; his knowledge of International Rescue not extending to this particular piece of equipment. "H-Hello?"

An arrow appeared on the curtain, pointing to the corner under the nosecone and Mickelson made his way there and cautiously pulled the curtain back. "Can I come in?"

Partially dressed in a silver set of coveralls, Scott Tracy smiled at him from Mobile Control's console. "Of course you can. You survived that last shock okay?" He pulled on the coveralls' sleeves.

Hamish nodded and looked around. Whereas the curtains had obscured everything underneath Thunderbird One, here inside the camouflage, the outside world was clear as day. He could see his employees staring at the rocket plane in hope, and the forklift with its makeshift stretcher. "Did you have any problems with that 'quake?"

"Knocked me off my feet," Scott admitted. "I'll have to attach crampons to my boots like One."

Through the curtains Hamish looked at the flat landing pads attached to the struts that had folded out from Thunderbird One's wings. Each had spikes attached which had been driven into the ground.

"How are the injured?" Scott asked.

"Keegan Clark's not in good shape," Hamish admitted. "He's in shock."

"What happened to him?"

"His truck went out of control during the 'quake and he crashed into the factory. The truck's the reason why we've sustained so much damage, as well as the reason why the mezzanine floor hasn't collapsed… Here's his ID card." Hamish handed over the crumpled piece of lamination. "Louis Fleming fell from the gantry and has a broken leg and probable shoulder injuries. He was in less pain once he had his limbs restrained, but that last shake knocked him about a bit. Jeremy Willard's leg seems to have stopped bleeding. He's more interested in trying to chat up the female staff."

Scott laughed. "That's always a good sign."

"Is there any chance that Thunderbird One could fly Keegan to the hospital?"

Scott shook his head regretfully. "She's not equipped for ambulatory work."

Hamish nodded his understanding. "Uh... Can we talk without being overheard?"

"Yep. The Waterfall..."

"Waterfall?"

"What we've called the curtains. They allow us to see and hear out, but no one can see or hear in. I can also project images onto it like that arrow. Hopefully we'll have something positive to show ACE later." Scott checked the contents of a large case.

"Good... Uh... Who's coming? Obviously not Alan."

"Everyone else."

"Everyone? Including Virgil?"

"Yes. But don't worry. I've got him lined up to act as ambulance driver. No one will know who is piloting Thunderbird Two." Scott transferred his attention to another, small, insulated bag.

Hamish nodded his acceptance of this fact. "But what about Gordon and John...? And you? You all attended the presentation on Virgil's final day here; as well as other times."

"You concentrate on your staff," Scott instructed, "and leave worrying about our security to me. We've got a number of tricks up our sleeves, Uncle... I mean, Mr Mickelson." He grimaced as he looked at the family friend. "Number one being that I don't deal with anyone except ACE's General Manager."

"It's about time you boys stopped calling me _Uncle_ and this will be good practise..." Hamish managed a smile. "But how will you stop anyone else coming in here?"

"Simple. Your watch is sending out a signal that identifies you as a member of International Rescue." Hamish looked at his wristwatch telecom thinking that he didn't know the half of what John Tracy's invention could do. "Should someone else who we don't know try to enter, the Waterfall will clamp its entrances shut... But in the meantime…" Scott pulled a protective hood, with a visor that appeared to be made of one-way glass, over his head. "...This'll do."

"Is that going to be your camouflage?" Hamish asked.

"One of them," Scott responded, his voice sounding distorted through the hood's speakers. He drew on a pair of latex gloves. "We'd better get down to business. First priority is to assess the wounded… Come on." He picked up the two bags, both of which looked rather heavy.

"Can I carry one?" Hamish offered.

He heard the smile in Scott's distorted voice. "I was hoping you were going to ask me that."

The two men slipped through the gap in the Waterfall and, carrying the smaller case, Mickelson led the way over to the triage area.

Scott knelt by Keegan. "How is he?" he asked Alaina as he opened the larger of the two bags.

"Going into shock," she replied, somewhat in awe at who she was talking to.

Scott slipped a wireless monitor onto Keegan's finger, and a display appeared on the screen inside the bag's lid. "I see what you mean. I'll get some fluids into him to see if we can go some way into reversing that. We'll want to stabilise him as much as possible for the flight to the hospital." He looked at Alaina, but all she could see was her own face reflected in his mask. "Do you think you could handle a flight in Thunderbird Two to assist our team?" He switched his attention back to where he was working on the injured man.

"Fly… In Thunderbird Two?" Alaina seemed dazed by the offer. "Uh… Yeah… I mean. Yes, sure! Of course, I can."

"Good. I'm going to need most of my men here to rescue those trapped. Your assistance will be invaluable… Have you ever changed an IV before?"

"Uh, no," she admitted. "But I've seen it done. Lisa once got a face full of dehydroidizine and collapsed. One of the guys who used to work here had some IVs in his bag and he administered it to her. He saved her life! She was lucky that he was doing an advanced fir..." She trailed off with an apologetic grin. "You don't need to know all that, do you?"

Scott didn't tell her that he knew all about that particular drama. "It's simple." He erected a small IV stand and then opened the smaller case, which was filled with bags. "When the bag's almost empty give it a half twist here and that'll seal the line. Remove the bag and then replace it with the next by slotting it back into the connection and reversing the twist. I'll check out these other guys and by the time I've finished this bag should be empty and I'll give you a demonstration."

"Okay," Alaina nodded.

Scott circled the forklift to where Louis lay.

"Am I going to be flying in Thunderbird Two?" the injured man asked and his eyes, despite his injuries, were bright at the prospect.

"I think we can arrange that," Scott chuckled. "Are you in pain?"

"Some," Louis admitted. "But I can handle it," he bragged. "I've got a high pain threshold."

Scott checked Louis' restrained limbs and decided that in the short term nothing further needed to be done to them. "You've done a good job," he told Aaron before turning his attention back to the patient. "Is your pain threshold so high that you don't want some pain relief?"

There were limits to even Louis' bravado. "No."

"Fair enough." Scott administered an injection and then applied a wireless monitor to Louis' finger. A second display lit up in his case and he checked it before closing the lid and walking around to Jeremy. "How is everything here?" He crouched down, so he could examine the bandaged leg.

"Not good," Jeremy told him. "Chrissie refuses to say that she'll go out with me."

Scott chuckled. "I'd say there's nowhere to go at the moment anyway." He felt Jeremy's foot. "Any tingling…? In your foot!" he added when he saw a twinkle in the invalid's eye.

"It's a little sore, but other than that, nah."

"Good. It's stopped bleeding, so I won't disturb your handiwork," Scott told Chrissie. "Are you both up to a trip in Thunderbird Two?"

"Yep!" Jeremy enthused. "Chrissie can hold my hand throughout the flight."

Scott returned to Keegan and showed Alaina how to change the IV bag. Then he indicated to Hamish Mickelson that they should both retire back to Thunderbird One.

Once inside the Waterfall, Scott removed his hood and placed the monitoring box, its lid open so all three patients' vital signs were displayed, on Mobile Control. Then he claimed the seat and brought up a photograph on one of the workstation's screens. "I scanned the factory's interior when I flew in..." He explained as he studied the output monitor. "Now, if I superimpose the blueprints over what my cameras took..." He gave a grim smile. "Makes a difference having the blueprints before I got here. rather than having to wait for some flustered council clerk to burrow their way through dusty old vaults." He pointed to the image where a long rectangular object had cut a swathe through the building. "There's the semi." He looked at Hamish. "Where's the CAD room?"

The older man leant closer, seeing ACE as it was in his mind's eye. "There, that's the mezzanine floor." His finger traced the outline of the room.

"Good..." Scott enlarged the image. "And there are your two employees." He indicated two touching dots in the corner.

"Are Olivia and Winston hurt?"

"Olivia?!" Scott showed more than a little concern. "Your P.A.?!"

"Yes. And Wi..."

"What was she doing in there?"

"I needed Winston to sign off a report. That's Winston Patterson, our computer..."

Scott held up his hand. "I remember Winston. The guy's so larger-than-life that's it's impossible _not_ to remember him..." He paused in thought, his brow creased into a troubled frown. "Olivia's going to make things tricky. She knows us all... Knows our faces. Knows our voices..." He bit his lip in thought.

"But are they hurt, Scott!?"

"Huh." Scott had been caught up in his musings. "Sorry. I can't tell from this. They're not moving, but if the building's as precarious as you say, then they're doing the right thing. We'd better get the lay of the land before we go in there." He entered a code into a keypad and, unseen by either of them, a hatch opened in Thunderbird One.

-F-A-B-

_10:56 am_

The welcome sign of activity from International Rescue brought a reaction from ACE's employees; especially when a small device flew out of the hatch and buzzed its way towards the building.

"Finally!"

"Mr M must have told him to get a move on."

"But what are they doing?"

"I don't know, but as long as they're doing something I don't care."

"You'd think they'd try to get those injured guys out of here."

"They must be waiting for Thunderbird Two..."

-F-A-B-

Scott and Hamish heard the excited murmurings, but were concentrating on the video image that was being projected onto one of Mobile Control's screens, courtesy of the remote-control camera. Scott entered some more commands and then sat back. "There. That'll find its way through the complex automatically. Let's check out the furnace room." He sent another remote-control camera flying out of Thunderbird One's hull. "Who did you say was trapped in there?"

"Uh... I didn't, Scott... Er… It's Max Watts..." Hamish hesitated.

"Mr Watts..." Scott frowned at the pause. "And?"

"Ah..." Hamish paused again. "Butch Crump..."

"Butch..." Scott repeated, unhappy at his friend's lack of forthrightness. "And…"

"Um…"

"And who, Uncle Hamish?"

"Bruce."

"Bruce!"

"Yes."

"Bruce Sanders?"

Hamish nodded. "I'm sorry, Scott."

Scott gave a rueful shake of his head. "Bruce _and_ Butch! Of all the people it could be..." he looked at Hamish. "Did you know Bruce spent last week with us? Virgil flew him back here yesterday."

Hamish gave a sorrowful nod. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Scott sighed. "You couldn't know that an earthquake was going to hit and that a semi was going to take out the building."

"Are... Are you going to tell Virgil? They're both his friends."

Scott bit his lip in thought. "I'm sure he'd rather know before we start work. But there's no way that I'm going to let him anywhere near that building."

"Does this mean you know how the three of them are?" Hamish asked, hopeful that he would have more good news for his team.

"Let's have a look." Scott brought up a picture from the secondary camera. "I suppose that building off to the side is the one housing the furnace."

"That's it."

Scott tried to bring up detail of the building's interior. "Does it have double insulation?"

"Yes, that's right."

Scott read a notation on the blueprint. "And a sandwiched layer of Leadite. Our scanners can't penetrate that."

Hamish felt his heart sink. "So, you can't tell how those men are?"

Scott shook his head. "Not at the moment. I'll have to get John to rig up some kind of communication link to your existing system." There was a beep from Mobile Control. "In the meantime, let's check out Olivia and Winston..."

The first remote camera was clearly rising upwards, working its way past fallen debris and what appeared to be a vast void. Then the base of a room, its floor at a seemingly impossible angle, came into view. The camera tracked past the wall and then came to a window sill, window, and finally could see into the CAD room.

"There they are!" Hamish exclaimed and pointed at the monitor to where two people huddled together. "They look unhurt! Are they?"

Scott refrained from rubbing the ear which had been assaulted by the shout. "No obvious injuries. Shall we share the good news with the rest of your employees?" Hamish gave an enthusiastic nod and Scott transferred the video image to the exterior of the Waterfall.

A cheer went up outside.

"It's Olivia and Winston!"

"They're okay!"

"That's fantastic!"

"They look like they're hugging one another... Don't they?"

"Thank heavens for small mercies," Greg Harrison breathed. Then he gave a wicked grin. "At least Olivia won't have to worry about her reputation."

Matt Walker laughed. "And Winston will get a whole new one."

Under Thunderbird One, Hamish clapped Scott on the back. "You've made them happy."

"But that's only the beginning," Scott warned. "We've still got to get them out of there in one piece... And we've got to deal with the other three."

Outside Thunderbird One's haven, Lisa Crump watched the video with mixed feelings. She was pleased to see that both Olivia and Winston looked to be none the worse for their experience, but she was also feeling hard done by. What about her Butch? How was he? Why wasn't International Rescue doing something to help _HIM_?

She couldn't take it anymore. With a cry of anguish, she ran forward towards Thunderbird One desperate to get behind that all-concealing barrier. "Butch!"

"Lisa!" Greg yelled.

She didn't hear him. Tearing at the corner of the curtain, she tried to gain entry the same way as her boss had only minutes earlier. "Let me in!"

The curtain stayed welded shut.

"Lisa!" Greg grabbed her about the waist and tried to pull her away. "You can't go in there!"

"Let me go!" Lisa kicked her legs and thumped his hands. "What about Butch? What are they doing to find Butch?" She managed to shake herself free. "Mr Mickelson!" she screamed, clawing at the curtain again. "Ask them about Butch!"

"Lisa..." Nursing several bruises, Greg dragged her back to the forklift. "You can't go in there. They probably can't even hear you."

"Then I'll make them hear me!" she sobbed. "Mr Mickelson!"

Hamish and Scott had had ringside seats as Lisa tried to gain entry. A little shaken, Hamish turned back to his younger friend. "Can't you offer her anything?"

"No." And Scott sounded genuinely regretful. "Sometimes that's that hardest part of this job, dealing with worried families. Sometimes the rescue's the easy part."

"She's stressed because she's worried about her daughter too."

"Ginny? Where is she?"

Hamish indicated the photograph of ACE that Scott had taken before landing Thunderbird One. "Can you zoom that out a bit?"

"Sure." Scott obliged. "Tell me when to stop."

"There." Hamish pointed at the building over the devastated road from ACE. "That's Ginny's preschool."

Scott zoomed in. "Maybe that's something I can give her." He projected the image of the sunny yellow building onto the Waterfall's surface.

"Lisa, look!" Christine knelt next to the distraught woman. "Isn't that Sunbeam? It doesn't look damaged."

"You know, I think Chrissie's right," Greg agreed. "The roof seems intact."

Lisa lifted her head from where she'd collapsed to the ground in a sobbing mess. "Sunbeam?"

"Mr Mickelson must have heard you and asked International Rescue to put up that picture," Greg remarked. "See, Ginny's going to be okay."

Lisa stood and, wiping her eyes, took a few steps closer to the Waterfall. "She's okay?"

"I'm sure she is," Christine soothed. "They're keeping all the children inside to keep them safe. You don't have to worry about Ginny."

Lisa managed a small smile. Then she looked up at the charge hand. "I'm sorry, Greg."

He gave a dismissive wave of his bruised hand. "Don't worry about it."

Hamish, watching through the Waterfall, gave a sigh. "I'd better get back out there. Unless you need me for anything else, Scott."

"There is one thing." Scott punched some more numbers into the computer. "I did a sweep of the city when I flew in, and I flew over here..." an image of a house's roof appeared on screen. "It appears to be undamaged."

Hamish stared at the screen. "That's my place?"

"That's your place," Scott confirmed. "And that," he changed the image slightly and pointed to a dot, "was moving freely."

"Edna?"

Scott smiled. "I'd assume so."

"Edna..." Hamish closed his eyes and for the briefest of moments let his real emotions wash over his face. "She's safe," he breathed. Then he opened his eyes again. "Thank you, Scott. You don't know how worried I've been."

"I understand," Scott admitted. "And now," he indicated a radar on which a blip had appeared, "I've got to give out more news and it's not so good."

"I'll leave you to it." Hamish moved down to the entrance to the Waterfall. "You'll call me if you need me?"

"I'll put your name on the Waterfall."

"Good." Hamish Mickelson slipped outside.

Scott picked up his microphone. "Mobile Control calling Thunderbird Two..."

_11:27 am_

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_8:33 am_

"Winston..." Olivia Annan called as she finished mounting the steps that led up to the mezzanine floor that housed the CAD department. After looking through the window that surrounded two thirds of an apparently empty room, she pushed open the door. "Are you here, Winston?"

His head popped up from behind a desk. "Hello, Livvy. Do excuse me a moment... I think I've got a bug in this computer." He disappeared from view.

Olivia mused that if anyone else had called her "Livvy" they would have received a telling off in double quick time. Even her boyfriend, who had come up with another nickname for her, would have received a scolding. But Winston was so inoffensive that he could practically get away with murder. "A bug?" she enquired. "Has something gone wrong with the computer? Do you want me to call the IT department?"

Meerkat like, Winston's grinning face reappeared. "No. I mean a _bug_. As in little beady eyes, six legs, waving feelers and... A-ha!" He pounced; disappearing again. "Got you my little friend. Now..." There was a moment's confused silence. "What am I going to do with you? Do me a favour, Livvy, lovey, and hand me that paperclip jar."

Olivia emptied the jar's contents onto the desk and held it out. "Here you are."

"Thanks… Err..." Winston found himself in a quandary. "I've got it trapped under both hands..."

She stared at him. "How big is it!?"

"Oh, it's all right. It's no bigger than your fist," he teased. "But if you wouldn't mind coming behind here and giving me a hand."

Olivia pulled set of drawers on casters out from the wall and squeezed behind it. There she found Winston on all fours with his hands clamped to the ground. "Have you still got it?"

"Still got it? It's having a high old time tickling me!" Winston exclaimed. "Here..." he raised his fingers slightly off the floor. "Slide the paper under there."

Olivia did as she was told, slowly so that she wouldn't hurt the insect. Then she positioned the jar upside down in front of his fingers. "It's not a cockroach, is it?"

"Oh, no, Darling. If it were, I would have been faster than Alan Tracy in that delicious jump suit of his; running into Mr Mickelson's office to demand that he get the exterminators. No, this is some kind of beetle..." He hesitated. "I think."

Greatly relieved, Olivia pushed the jar towards him, its leading edge raised off the ground to accommodate the insect. The beetle, which seemed to prefer the idea of glassed in captivity to Winston's now sweaty palms, scurried out toward perceived freedom. She released the container and the beetle was trapped again.

"Thank heavens for that!" Winston straightened his back, rubbing it to remove the kink that had settled into his lumbar region. He looked at the bug. "Isn't it pretty? It reminds me of a scarf I've got."

Olivia did have to admit that the beetle's iridescent colours were attractive... and that she wasn't surprised by her colleague's choice of accessories. The beetle, having a complete lack of interest in anything except escaping, was scurrying around the jar trying to find a way out. Then it started jumping at the walls of its prison...

A literal shiver went through the room. An ominous creaking could be heard. The set of drawers that Olivia had pulled out rolled backwards, pinning her lightly to the wall. The paperclips cascaded off the desk and onto the floor.

Then all was still.

Winston hugged himself. "I am not enjoying these itty-bitty earthquakes."

"No," Olivia agreed, pushing the drawers away from her. "Neither am I. But Mr Mickelson seems unfazed by them."

"That man could have a meteor land beside him and he wouldn't turn a hair. Look at the way he rappelled into that vat of molten metal."

Olivia shivered at the memory. They'd come close to losing many valued members of ACE that day, and not everyone had escaped unscathed.

Winston slid his hand under the paper and picked up their captive. "Come on, Ringo," he told the beetle. "Let's find somewhere where we can let you go safely." He slipped out from behind the desk. "But before I do," he turned back to his fellow bug wrangler, "what can I do for you, Livvy?"

"Mr Mickelson wanted you to sign that." Olivia pointed to the barrier between Winston's hand and 'Ringo'.

"Oh, my! You had better behave yourself in there," Winston told the bug. "Mr M doesn't want you doing _your_ business on _his_ business. It is _quite_ the wrong sort of paper!" He treated Olivia to an engaging smile. "Would you be willing to wait here as I pretend to be a member of that wonderful International Rescue and release our poor stricken victim, or would you rather partake in this momentous occasion?"

Before Olivia had a chance to respond, the clock ticked over to 8.38 am.

This in itself wasn't a remarkable event...

Until three seconds later...

Ringo, his jar, and Mr Mickelson's paperwork went flying one way as Winston skidded the other. He crashed into Olivia who'd lost her footing and was trying desperately to clamber under a desk.

The lights went out.

There was a popping sound as the office twisted and reinforced window glass exploded out of its housing and fell onto the walkway below. Folders and files spilled off the desks and papers were thrown around the room like overgrown confetti. Through the window helpless figures could be seen clinging to the dancing gantry before, with a sickening snap, the structure broke.

Olivia was shunted backwards onto the floor and Winston's work chair fell against her, winding her. She had no time to get her breath back before Winston, arms and legs flailing, crashed into her again; stunning her with a knee to the side of her face. With no time to apologise, he kicked out at the chair to stop it from resuming its attack.

There was a bang as the computer monitor toppled off the desk, followed by a roar and another, even louder, crash. The front of the office dropped downwards at an angle, sending the helpless couple tumbling toward the long, unprotected gap in the wall. The set of drawers that Olivia had been crouching behind only seconds earlier plummeted through the now unguarded window and shattered onto the concrete floor below.

Winston found himself pressed up against the wall beneath the window, unable to stop an out of control Olivia from slamming into his solar-plexus. Gasping for breath, all he could do was shield his head as more debris fell around them.

And then all was quiet.

Dust hung in the air.

"W-W-Winston?"

Winston, who was still trying to get his breath back, couldn't manage much more than a grunt.

"Winston?" Olivia repeated, this time with more urgency. "Winston! Are you all right?!"

Winston gulped and attempted to say "Yes," but the word came out as a squeak. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" Olivia's voice was shaky as she tried to regain her bearings. She shifted her weight so that she could turn to look at him and the whole structure creaked.

"Don't move!" Winston croaked. He coughed away dust. "Whatever you do, Olivia... Don't! Move!"

"But w-we can't stay here," Olivia quivered. "It doesn't feel safe." Even as she said it they both fancied that the room dipped a little further.

The fire siren started blaring.

Olivia's frazzled nerves exploded. "Fire!" she shrieked.

"Livvy! Calm down!" Feeling sick after the blow to his abdomen; the last thing Winston needed was a frightened woman panicking into his ear. He took a deep breath to steady his upset stomach. "Calm down…Please…"

"Calm down?"

"Yes. Take a deep breath and calm down."

Olivia, realising the validity of his instructions, even if her insides seemed determined to do their own thing and her face was hurting, took the required breath and felt a little bit better.

But only a little bit.

Winston inhaled another oxygen-replenishing breath. "Can you see outside?"

Despite her determination to remain calm, focussed and in control, Olivia was too afraid to look. "No."

"Can you smell smoke?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

"Winston… We're trapped and there's a fire in the building... I'm scared."

"Me too." Feeling way outside his comfort zone and acting the role of the man helping a damsel in distress, Winston patted her on the shoulder. "Let's try yelling for help, shall we?"

There was another creak and the room dropped a further few millimetres, eliciting a scream from Olivia and a whimper from Winston.

They froze, waiting for the moment when they would fall into a heap of metal, wood, plaster and glass.

It didn't happen.

Olivia gulped and sneezed away more dust. "We're not safe here," she reiterated. "W-W..." She did her best to pull herself together. "Why don't I try to crawl towards the door? I'm lighter than you. I might be able to get help and, if nothing else, it'll take some of the weight off this corner of the room."

Winston thought for a moment. "Okay… But take it slowly."

"I will. If you feel the room shift, yell and I'll stop."

"Livvy! I'll be yelling so loud, they'll hear me in France. I don't intend to miss visiting Paris just because I'm splattered all over the factory floor."

Moving as slowly and steadily as she could, Olivia started crawling, keeping her centre of gravity down low. She fancied that every move, no matter how small, caused their surroundings to creak and groan.

His heart pounding in his ears, his palms sweaty, and his stomach churning, Winston watched as she inched away from him towards their only exit.

A shudder ran through the building.

"Olivia!" Winston yelped, but Olivia, terrified by the miniscule movement, had already flattened herself to the floor.

Outside, over the insistent screaming of the fire alarm, they could hear the motor of a forklift.

"Winston…" Olivia whispered.

"Yes?"

"What do we do now?"

"I don't know."

They were silent as they each contemplated their predicament.

"Okay…" Winston said slowly. "We can't reach the door. How safe is that far corner?"

"Over there?" Still moving with great caution, Olivia pointed towards the highest point of the room.

"Yes. If we can get there at least we won't be tossed out of the window. And we can brace ourselves between those shelves. They're nailed to the walls."

Olivia didn't want to move. Here, glued to the floor, she couldn't be held responsible for sending them crashing to the ground. But staying put didn't feel safe either. "Why doesn't someone come to save us?" she whispered.

"Too busy saving themselves I expect. We've just got to make sure that we stay safe until they realise that they're missing a couple of bodies."

"Winston. I wish you hadn't said bodies."

"Oops, sorry. Rexy says I suffer from foot-in-mouth disease."

Preparing herself for her attempt to crawl, Olivia took a deep breath and succeeded in inhaling a lungful of dust off the thickly coated carpet. As her lungs protested, coughing and sneezing, Winston could do nothing but pray that his workmate wasn't making things worse.

At last her respiratory system settled, and, with a wary sniff, Olivia took a more circumspect breath. "Okay…" she whispered. "Here I go…" Stretching her left arm out along the floor, she pulled up her right leg, braced it against the carpet, and pushed her quivering body towards the high point.

There were no complaints from the mezzanine floor.

With a little more confidence, Olivia stretched out her right hand and pushed herself forward with her left leg.

There were no creaks or groans. No sounds except for the incessant alarm. The forklift had stilled, but something that sounded like a welder was in operation.

Confidence building, Olivia continued to push herself onward. Finally, she reached her goal, where she gingerly sat up and wedged herself into the corner. Much to Winston's surprise she laughed. "Ringo had the same idea as us."

Winston chuckled. "I always knew bugs were brainier than humans."

As if to prove him wrong, the beetle flew away. "Ringo's giving you space to join me," Olivia giggled.

That was the moment when the first of many aftershocks struck. Unable to flee as Ringo had done, Olivia and Winston had no choice but to curl up into tight balls in a futile attempt to protect themselves from the moment when the building collapsed.

It didn't.

When their world had stopped swaying the couple slowly unfurled themselves, took another of many deep breaths, and tried to calm their pounding hearts.

Winston let his breath out noisily. "I am growing very tired of this," he stated.

"Me too."

"I think it's very unfair that we should be trapped like this."

"I agree with you."

"It's time that whoever is in charge told the earthquake gods to stop playing with us mere mortals. If Mr Tracy were here, he wouldn't stand for it."

"I don't think he would be very happy."

"He'd look that god in the eye and say, _look here, You. These are my people you're terrorising, and you've got to stop it right now!_ That's just what he'd say!"

"Winston?"

"He doesn't stand for any nonsense, does our Mr T."

Worried about her associate's ramblings, Olivia offered him a tentative. "Are you all right?"

Her timid voice brought Winston to his senses. "Forgive me, Livvy," he begged. "I tend to talk gibberish when I'm stressed. Rexy calls them my _whinnyings._ Don't mind me, I'm all right."

"Good. You had me worried for a moment."

"Sorry, Olivia."

"That's okay... Hello, Ringo."

"Has he come back?"

"Yes... Are you going to join the pair of us?"

"Wouldn't you two rather be alone?"

Relieved that her associate's ramblings weren't a symptom of some serious mental malady, Olivia giggled. "There's not much room but I'm sure the pair of us could squeeze you in."

"Okay..." Winston swallowed. While he wasn't feeling safe pressed up against the wall with the open window above him, at least he wasn't rocking the boat, metaphorically speaking. He swallowed again. "Here I come, ready or not."

"We're ready."

With infinitely slow movements; his hands scrabbling against the carpet; his bruised front complaining at being dragged along the floor; Winston pulled himself upwards, almost surprised that the room didn't crash down into matchwood.

He reached Olivia and, still moving at a snail's pace, sat up and swung himself around so that he was sitting next to her and was able to brace his feet against the fitment opposite.

Olivia shuffled over, cramming herself into the wall to give her workmate as much room as she could.

At a loss as to what else he could do with it so that it didn't take up more room than necessary, Winston coyly placed his arm about Olivia's shoulders. "This experience could change my whole personality," he joked as they huddled together. "Where's our chaperone?"

"There," Olivia pointed to where the iridescent beetle sat placidly on the wall.

Winston saw the mark on his colleague's face. "Olivia! Is that a bruise?"

"Where? Here?" Moving awkwardly because of their cramped conditions, Olivia fingered the area by her right eye and flinched when she touched a sore spot. "Yes, I guess so."

"That's where I kicked you, isn't it? Oh, Olivia, I'm sorry."

Olivia managed a grim smile. "It wasn't your fault, Winston."

They didn't speak again for several moments, each trying to reconcile their precarious situation. On the wall Ringo wandered an aimless figure eight. Outside their prison they could hear the fading repeated bleating of the horn of a forklift.

Then there was silence.

"I hope everyone else is all right." Olivia shivered.

"I hope they're looking for us," Winston amended. "I think it's safe to try yelling now."

"Good idea. What do we yell?"

"I think that _help_ is rather unambiguous, don't you?"

Despite her fears, Olivia laughed. "Help it is then. On the count of three?"

"Fair enough. One!?"

"Two!"

"Three! HELP!"

"Again," Winston urged.

They yelled again. And again. Then they stopped to listen to see if they'd been heard.

There was no reassuring response.

"Maybe we can't hear them?" Olivia suggested, trying to keep their spirits up.

"That'll be it," Winston agreed. "Mr M's down there with a search party looking for us and trying to work out how they're going to reach us. We'll be out of here before you know it." He patted Olivia on the shoulder.

"But what if no one comes, Winston? What if no one realises that we're missing?"

"They will."

"You're right. Of course, they will," Olivia made an effort to keep calm. "One of the first things Mr Mickelson will do is roll call." She managed an ironic chuckle. "I'll be the first person they realise is missing."

"While I'll be one of the last. Rexy's probably in a right old state worrying about me, and your…" Winston looked at his companion. "Do you know that I've just realised that I know nothing about you, Livvy?"

"My parents live out of state," Olivia admitted. "Thank heavens."

"Do you have a significant other? Wait a minute; didn't I hear the ladies say you've got a boyfriend...?"

Olivia blushed, the colour blending with her reddened cheek. "Yes."

"Are the pair of you serious?"

She wrung her hands together. "Up till now I've thought that we got together occasionally to have a few laughs...But now..." She gave a wry smile. "It's funny how something like having your life threatened makes you look at things in a totally different way." She changed the subject. "Did you say you were going to France?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Rex and I have been saving for months. We're going to celebrate our tenth anniversary together in Paris."

"It sounds like a wonderful idea."

"I'm looking forward to it..." Then Winston frowned. "I hope Rex is all right."

Olivia squeezed his hand. "Keep positive. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Winston lapsed into deep thought and bit his thumbnail in frustration.

"Why don't we yell again?" Olivia asked, trying to keep his mind off dark thoughts. "Maybe someone will hear us this time?" An idea came to her. "Or could we phone someone? Do you have your cell phone on you?"

"My mobile?" Winston shook his head. "Needless to say, I always obey company rules. It's in my pocket over there." He pointed to where his formerly immaculate jacket was lying in a crumpled heap on the dusty floor.

"Oh."

Fearing that they were wasting their breath, they tried yelling again.

As they'd feared, no one responded.

The fear, dust, smoke, uncertainty was overwhelming.

Olivia choked back a sob. "I need to get out of here!"

"I know," Winston soothed. "But we can't yet."

"I know."

"We've got to wait until someone comes to rescue us."

"I know…" Olivia repeated. "But it's been hours, Winston. Where is everyone?"

"It hasn't been that long... And I suppose the rescue authorities are busy elsewhere. We're going to have to wait until someone is free to come and help us."

"I wish they'd hurry up."

"So do I."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_10:45 am_

They could hear what sounded like jet engines growing louder. So loud that it seemed that, whatever the craft was, it was going to land on the factory's roof.

Not an attractive prospect when you considered the state of the building.

"What is it?" Olivia still crammed next to Winston in their bolt hole, stared towards the ceiling; her non-blackened eye wide.

"I don't know, Livvy," Winston admitted, his voice hoarse from his yelling. "Rescue helicopter?"

"It doesn't sound like a helicopter."

"Helijet then?"

"Maybe. Is it landing in Patillo Park?"

Winston listened. "It sounds like it to me. Maybe that means someone's coming to help us?"

The whine of the engines faded away.

"Winston?" Olivia stared at her fellow victim. "If they can only use a helijet to get here; how bad is it out there?"

Winston paled. "Maybe the whole city's collapsed?"

"Don't!" she pleaded. "I'm scared enough as it is... It couldn't do that anyway. Not the whole city... Could it?"

Their world was rocked by another aftershock. Fear overcoming all inhibitions between them, Olivia and Winston cowered together, clinging to each other for dear life; hoping that this wasn't the earthquake that was going to send their haven tumbling to the ground.

When their surroundings had stilled, they took a deep breath and tried to calm their pounding hearts.

Winston let his breath out noisily before realising that even though the aftershock had passed, he could still feel a tremor. "Olivia? You're shaking."

"I can't help it." She sniffed. "I'm scared."

"I know."

Olivia coughed. "The smoke's growing thicker."

"I know."

"The fire's growing closer."

"Don't say that. Don't even think it!"

"What else am I supposed to think!?"

"Livvy…"

"I don't think I can take much more!"

"Hang in there." Not thinking about what he was doing, Winston hugged his co-worker closer. "You heard that helijet. Someone's coming to save us!"

"I wish they'd hurry up!" And, much to Winston's discomfort, Olivia burst into tears.

"Erm..." Winston wasn't sure what how to react to this new development. "Olivia...?"

Elbowing Winston in his bruised midriff as she did so, Olivia pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket.

"Livvy... Come on, Livvy. Cheer up... Please..."

Olivia sobbed into her hanky.

"You'll make me cry next..." There was a gentle buzzing sound and an iridescent blur buzzed past Winston's face, stirring up wafts of smoke, before affixing itself to the wall beside Olivia's knee. "Oh! Look!" Winston exclaimed, as desperate to keep his own emotions in check as he was to calm his workmate. "Here's our old friend Ringo to cheer you up... Aren't you, Ringo? Say hello to Olivia, Ringo."

Ringo maintained a stoic silence.

"He's miffed because you're not looking at him, Livvy. Say hello to Ringo."

Olivia, caught up in her misery, didn't respond.

"How about a song, Ringo?"

The only sound was Olivia's sobs.

"Listen!" Winston held his hand to his ear. "I do believe that Ringo _is_ singing!"

His forced joviality finally penetrated Olivia's emotion-filled mind. She sniffed. "Singing?"

"Yes. Can't you hear him?"

"No..."

"It's a Beatles' song, of course."

Olivia wiped the tears from her eyes, dabbing at her injured one carefully.

"Do you know which one?"

Olivia shook her head and blew her nose.

"Can't you guess?"

"Winston!" Olivia exclaimed, exasperation at his continuing meaningless meanderings overcoming her depression. "Which song is Ringo 'singing'?"

"_Help_."

-F-A-B-

_11:27 am_

"Mobile Control calling Thunderbird Two."

Virgil Tracy acknowledged his brother's radio message. "This is Thunderbird Two. What's the situation, Scott?"

"I've confirmed that the two people still in the factory are trapped in the mezzanine floor, as Uncle Ha…" Scott stopped himself. "Mr Mickelson… How did you manage to go for a full year without calling him Uncle Hamish? I've already slipped up three times and I've only been on site an hour."

"I didn't see him that often, so I was able to pretend that the General Manager was someone I didn't know…" Virgil replied. He cast his mind back to the year he'd worked for ACE, trying to remember the factory's layout. "You were saying that two people are trapped on the mezzanine floor? In the CAD department?"

"Yes," Scott confirmed. "They both appear to be unharmed, but their situation is precarious. Now this is what I want you to do. It'll be a squeeze, but you'll be able to land on the road. There's an empty section over from ACE that'll give you just about enough room if you're careful... John…"

Strapped into the passenger seat behind Virgil in preparation for touchdown, John Tracy heard his name. "Yes, Scott."

"As soon as Thunderbird Two lands, start offloading the Super-Jacks and the Giraffe."

"F-A-B."

"Gordon…"

"Yes, Scott."

"You're on medical duty. Do what you can alone, and if you need help ACE has trained first aiders on site…"

"Four of them," Virgil remembered.

Scott refrained from telling him that not all the first aiders were available. "From what I can tell only one of the patients, a truck driver making deliveries to ACE, is critical. You and Virgil had better make two trips; one for the casualties and one for the rest of the workforce."

"What security precautions do you want us to take?" Gordon asked.

"Wear your fire-suits and make sure the visor's switched to one-way vision," Scott advised. "Our excuse can be that the fire in the factory still hasn't been extinguished."

Gordon made a face. "Those things are a bit cumbersome; especially the gloves."

"Then take the gloves off while you're working," John suggested. "You'll want to be wearing surgical ones anyway."

Scott nodded his agreement. "The only other option is that you wear a 'hood'."

Gordon's face twisted into an outright grimace. "No thanks. I hate wearing those things."

"What do you want me to do?" Virgil asked.

"I'm sorry, Virg, but too many people know you there. We can't take the risk that someone will recognise your walk or your vocal patterns or something, so unless we get really desperate, I want you to stay inside Thunderbird Two." Scott waited to see if his brother was going to offer up any protests and wasn't really surprised when Virgil didn't. He knew Virgil would be frustrated by the limitations placed on him, but would accept them as being a necessary part of this rescue.

"We've been talking to Brains, Scott," Gordon told him. "He's done a bit of geological research and has discovered that the city is built on the site of an old river bed and drained swamps. Most of it's constructed on solid bedrock, but a fair portion's built on silt. It's the softer areas that have suffered the most damage through liquefaction. That's where the local rescue authorities are concentrating their efforts."

"Yes," John agreed. "And Dad remembered that the road behind ACE is built down the length of a creek that was filled in about the time of the city's inception. When they rebuilt the factory, it made it tricky trying to find the best place to lay the foundations. He nearly gave up and started looking for another site, but couldn't find a more convenient location within the city's boundaries. It was either make do or put people's jobs at risk by moving out of town."

"Apparently the building that houses the furnace is right on the edge of the creek bed," Gordon added. "Its foundations are solid enough, but, as you can tell by the photos, the land just behind it isn't."

"Well, that explains a lot," Scott admitted. "How far out are you, Virgil?"

"Two point three seven minutes, Scott."

"Which reminds me. Try not to use each other's names, okay? Stick to our aliases or whichever vehicle we're in control of at the time. Understood, Thunderbird Two?"

"Understood, Mobile Control," Virgil replied. "Ah…" He hesitated. "You still haven't told us who the casualties are."

There was a reason why Scott hadn't mentioned any names. It wasn't that he thought that Virgil couldn't handle it, but the eldest brother felt a deep-seated need to protect him from the knowledge for as long as possible. But Scott Tracy recognised that the time for ignorance was now over. "The truck driver who crashed into the building is a Keegan Clark. Also injured are Louis Fleming and Jeremy Willard. Louis has the suspected fractures; Jeremy a cut to his leg. They are the only known injuries." He paused and Virgil didn't push him. "The pair who are known to be trapped in the CAD room are Winston Patterson and Olivia Annan."

This time his pause was longer.

Virgil reminded himself to remain calm and professional. "And the three unaccounted for?"

Scott continued his recitation dispassionately. "The three who are unaccounted for and presumed to be trapped in the furnace building are Production Manager Max Watts, Butch Crump and Bruce Sanders."

Virgil was silent.

"Virg...? Are you gonna be okay?"

"Of course, Mobile Control," Virgil confirmed. "It's just another rescue. Right?"

Despite it all, Scott felt a sense of relief. "Right."

"How's Lisa?" Gordon asked. He'd been text friends with Butch's wife ever since he'd been confined to his hospital bed after his hydrofoil accident. "Any word on her?"

"I can see her from here," Scott admitted. "She's scared for Butch and Ginny, but she's unhurt."

"Ginny?" For a moment there was a crack in Virgil's staunch facade. "Virginia? Where is she?"

"At the Sunbeam Preschool over the road. My scans show that the building's intact and I've seen nothing to assume that anyone's hurt, but we won't know until someone reaches them. If no contact's been made by the time Thunderbird Two has finished the medical run, then we'll see if you can get them out of there."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

_11:33 am._

As soon as Thunderbird Two had touched down, John had settled down to work. For once Scott hadn't needed to voice his plan for rescuing Olivia and Winston, as his choice of equipment had made it obvious. Jack up the CAD room with the Super-Jacks and use the Giraffe to enable the trapped couple to escape to freedom.

Easy.

…If you didn't consider the amount of debris that could be in the way; the likelihood of the building crashing down on you during aftershocks; or the possibility of explosions and fire.

Taking the lift that descended directly into the pod, John hurried over to the storage bay that restrained the Giraffe.

Like much of International Rescue's armoury, the vehicle had been so called because of a distant similarity to its namesake. In this case the Giraffe was an enhanced scissor lift with an elongated neck that could reach heights in otherwise inaccessible places. It was much smaller and more compact than the Firefly, which was waiting patiently in the pod to be called into service.

Pushing the button that unfolded the doors that held the Giraffe in its stable, John flipped the lever that turned off the force field that kept the machine locked down during flight. Punching in a code he sent the machine lumbering unattended to a marshalling area, where it waited to be joined by its driver. As it trundled along past the Firefly, it barely reached the top of the bulldozer-like machine's caterpillar tracks.

John's next task was to release the two Super-Jacks. Just like jacks that lifted a car to enable the tyre to be changed, these two craft were able to raise or support great weights to great heights. They could work separately or in tandem, and had saved a good many lives over the years.

John climbed into the Giraffe's control cabin, sent the signal that told the Super-Jacks to follow him, and started the convoy rolling towards the pod door. "Giraffe to Thunderbird Two. Ready to exit."

He heard Virgil's response. "F-A-B. Opening pod door."

There was a murmur of excitement from ACE's staff as they saw the flat front of Thunderbird Two's exposed midsection start to open. Most of them had wished that they could get a closer look at the fantastic craft and see them in action, and all except one were unaware that they, or at least the company that employed them, had had a hand in their manufacture.

Ahead and above him John saw a slither of light appear and then widen. His timing was such that he didn't have to slow down or speed up, and the Giraffe rolled into the shadow of Thunderbird Two's underbelly the instant the pod's door settled into place.

It began descending the ramp towards solid ground.

Solid ground that leapt and buckled without warning, causing the Giraffe to skew and slither about. One of the Super-Jacks, at the point where it was about to leave the floor of the pod, swayed at the apex of the ramp and threatened to overbalance.

This aftershock was strong enough to send ACE's employees cowering once again on the grass. It was only when they felt safe enough to raise their heads that they saw what looked to be an imminent tragedy. Hearts in their mouths they watched as the Giraffe, its caterpillar tracks spinning in an ineffectual attempt to gain control over its descent, spiralled down the ramp's incline in a slow, balletic arc. It rolled closer and closer to the side of the pod door and the long, hard drop to the unforgiving ground.

It seemed as if nothing or no one, especially not the International Rescue operative inside, could do anything to stop its suicidal plunge…

_11:43 a.m.…_

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_11:43 am_

Inside the Giraffe, and aware that most of what he was doing was having little effect on stopping what threatened to be a catastrophic downward plunge, John grappled with the vehicle's controls as the ramp's edge drew nearer. Falling from this height whilst inside the Giraffe would be painful to himself and disabling to the machine at best. At worst he could expect major injuries and the Giraffe would be rendered useless. Flinging his weight on the lever as he attempted to claw the machine back from the abyss, he pulled the tracks into reverse and prayed that he didn't strip them from their housings. The whole craft shook, and he had no way of knowing if that was because his desperate attempts to stabilise its momentum were damaging the Giraffe beyond repair, or if another aftershock had hit.

The Super-Jack above the Giraffe, teetered, balanced, held, and then when it was shaken again in the second aftershock, fell; tumbling down the ramp and towards John's out-of-control vehicle. It bounced off the ramp's surface, clipped the rear of the Giraffe and ricocheted to the ground, where it landed with a crash that resounded around the danger zone.

The force of the Super-Jack's collision with his vehicle flung John away from the Giraffe's controls and onto the floor. Ignoring his bruises, he tried to regain his footing, so he could once again attempt to rein in the Giraffe. He'd only just managed to clasp the controls when he discovered that the Super-Jack's plunge had actually saved him. The force of the impact had shunted the Giraffe away from the ramp's edge and onto a more acceptable, if backwards, orientation.

Forcing his heart, which was well into overdrive, back down to an acceptable rate, John completed his descent in reverse, stopping the engines when the tracks were on the level and hard tarmac. Once the engine had stilled, he pushed his hood off his head, flopped over the controls, took a deep breath, and gave himself a moment to regain his equilibrium. Reflecting as he did so, that it was a miracle that the Giraffe hadn't tumbled down the ramp to its, and possibly his, doom.

Scott, after a quick glance at Mobile Control's monitor to reassure himself that Olivia and Winston were still relatively safe, abandoned his post. Flipping his own hood over his head, he pushed through the waterfall and sprinted across the compound to where the Giraffe was sitting as peaceful as a slumbering beast waiting for dawn. "John!" he clambered up the short ladder to the control cabin. "John! Are you all right?"

He was met with a laconic grin. "Sure. Piece of cake."

"Are you sure? You're not hurt?"

"Nope. I don't need Gordon's services." Then John lost his free-and-easy manner. "How's the Super-Jack?"

"I haven't checked, but, judging by the way it landed…" Scott dropped to the ground and, after pulling his hood back onto his head, John followed.

They stopped by a very sorry-looking machine.

John frowned at the Super-Jack's remains. "Can we do it with only one?"

"We're going to have to. Lucky number two wasn't caught in the same aftershock."

Retracing their steps to the Giraffe, the two men did a quick circuit to reassure themselves that it hadn't received any major damage. They were relieved to discover that, aside from the loss of some paint where it and the errant Super-Jack had made contact, it seemed intact.

Satisfied, Scott turned to his brother. "I'll take care of the two on the mezzanine floor. I want you to go and see if you can make contact with the furnace room. You may need to rewire the communications circuitry to gain access."

"And if I do?"

"Bruce and Butch probably know your voice. Does Mr Watts?"

"Mr Watts…?" John thought. "I think I spoke to him at Virgil's farewell party. But whether he was well enough to remember me…" He shrugged.

Scott glanced up to the flight deck of Thunderbird Two and wondered what his brother was thinking. Then he decided that he had a pretty good idea. "Okay. I know I don't have to tell you this, but if you do make contact, disguise your voice. Chances are they'll all be too stressed to recognise it, but we can't take that risk."

"Understood. Have you met Winston and Olivia before?"

"Briefly," Scott admitted. "And on the phone."

"This," John said with feeling, "is a tricky one."

"Yeah. And the sooner we can get moving, the sooner we'll be home free." Scott swung himself up into the Giraffe. "You'd better go and see if Go…" He switched to Gordon's alias. "...Leroy needs a hand shifting the patients into Thunderbird Two. The sooner they get proper medical help the better. Once they're set you can start working on the furnace."

"F-A-B." John stepped clear of the Giraffe and went to hunt down this mission's designated medical officer.

Scott left him to it. He knew that once they had their instructions, his brothers would follow them without further prompting from him. He sent the command to the sole remaining Super-Jack to join him on the ground. "Giraffe to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five," Alan responded. "Go ahead Giraffe."

"Just letting you know the situation," Scott told him, watching warily as the Super-Jack crested the ramp. "There was an aftershock while John was offloading the Giraffe. He briefly lost control, but he, and the Giraffe are all right. However, we've lost the use of Super-Jack One, so we're going to have to make do with Super-Jack Two."

The machine in question was trundling down the ramp.

"Any issues?"

"That remains to be seen, but I think we'll be okay. I'm going in to rescue Olivia and Winston, while John tries to contact those in the furnace building. Gordon and Virgil will fly the injured to the hospital."

"Understood. I'll let base know your plans…" Alan hesitated. "Do I tell Dad who's involved?"

The Super-Jack rolled onto level ground and turned so it was waiting behind its leader. Scott gunned the Giraffe into life and started it rolling towards the factory. "You'd better. You won't get any peace if you don't."

He heard a dry chuckle from his brother. "Ain't that the truth." But there was no trace of humour in Alan's next words. "How's Virgil holding up?"

"I've confined him to the flight deck," Scott admitted. "I don't think he's happy, but he understands why it's necessary."

"If I were him I'd be that frustrated I'd be gnawing at the control yoke."

It was Scott's turn to chuckle. "I know, Alan… About to enter factory. Giraffe out."

-F-A-B-

Virgil stood in Thunderbird Two's flight deck and watched events unfold through his windscreen and the monitors connected to various cameras. He understood and agreed with Scott's orders to remain hidden from his former workmates, but still the idea that he was supposed to stay here and do nothing rankled.

From this vantage point, looking down from Thunderbird Two's cabin over the stricken city with its columns of smoke trailing into the air and clouds of dust from fallen buildings, he could see that more help was needed than even International Rescue could offer. The world may not have been aware of it, as the public and press tended to award the organisation with almost mythical powers, but the operational team was only made up of four men. And there was a limit what four men could do, even with some of the most advanced technologies available.

Especially when one of those men was banished to his aeroplane because of real concerns about their security.

Virgil watched as John, with no trace of stiffness or injury, descended from the Giraffe's cockpit and followed Scott, who led the way with no backward looks to show any concerns he may have had for his brother's health.

Virgil allowed himself to relax slightly. John must have survived that scare unscathed.

He directed the camera located under Thunderbird Two's nose to follow his brothers until they stopped beside the pile of mangled metal. He saw Scott bend down and lift a panel before allowing it to drop back to where it had fallen. Virgil didn't need to run any diagnostics tests or examine the machine itself to know that the Super-Jack was going to be unusable.

There was a brief, muted, on-screen conversation between the two silver-clad men. They did a slow circuit of the Giraffe, and then they went their separate ways. Scott, climbing into the scissor lift and John; Virgil looked out the windscreen to see where he was going; joining Gordon at triage.

While Virgil was left alone with nothing to do.

He turned his attention back to his former colleagues of ACE.

Even from this distance and height he could name most of them. There was Paul and Burt, who along with Louis and Bruce, had nearly succeeded in getting him fired on his first day at work. On that day Virgil would never have dreamed that anyone at ACE would have become some of his closest friends, especially none of those who'd sent him on a headfirst ride down a conveyor belt to land at the Production Manager's feet.

Virgil tried not to wonder how Bruce Sanders and Max Watts were.

But now Paul and Burt were staying close to Louis as he waited to be loaded onto Thunderbird Two.

Virgil took a moment to wonder what they'd say if they knew they were going to be transported in their former colleague's Thunderbird.

The rest of the team, aside from those who were tending the injured, were grouped together in huddles; little knots of humanity trying to make sense of how the solid Earth could move and jump and disrupt their lives.

But not everyone was clinging to others for support. Sitting on the grass alone, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were drawn up to his chest for security, was Freddy.

Freddy had started at ACE a few months after Virgil and had proved himself to be a hard and willing worker, albeit one who had a tendency to talk to anyone who would listen and quite a few who would rather they didn't have to.

Only twice had Virgil seen Freddy shocked into silence. The first time was during the week prior to Gordon's operation that had, in effect, saved his life. Freddy had been rambling on and on about his family until Virgil, stressed with the fear that his brother might not survive the visit to the theatre, had jumped down his workmate's throat, shutting him up.

The second time that Freddy had been unable to find his voice was now; after the Earth had shaken it out of him.

As Virgil watched, Greg Harrison seemed to notice the young man's unnatural behaviour, and had sat next to him to try to offer him some comfort.

Virgil wished he could offer comfort of his own.

Hamish Mickelson, the Tracy Boys' honorary "Uncle Hamish", seemed somewhat lost now that he no longer had a factory to command and could do nothing more to help his employees. He wandered from huddle to huddle, offering advice and encouragement, and Virgil wished that he dared invite him into Thunderbird Two for a conciliatory chat. He was sure that ACE's General Manager was the one man who really understood his frustrations.

Then, as Hamish knelt next to one woman who was being comforted by another, Virgil allowed his attention to return to Lisa Crump. He'd tried not to focus on her, knowing that his friend was one of the most frightened for those who were lost and that he could do nothing to ease that pain. Soon he'd do something, but now he was feeling as hopeless as she was.

Virgil forced himself to look back at the city. Maybe he could do nothing directly for Lisa or Butch Crump, or Bruce Sanders, or Max Watts, or Winston Patterson, or Olivia Annan, or anyone at ACE, but there was something he could do.

Feeling better that he now had a plan, he deserted the window and set to work.

-F-A-B-

Gordon felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find his glass-fronted helmet facing another.

"I've checked them and they're all stable." John indicated the less-seriously injured ACE employees. "Can I help here?"

"Not really. Start loading them on board." Gordon knelt back next to Keegan. "I'm still stabilising this guy."

"Right." John made a quick decision about what equipment he'd need for the transfer and returned to Thunderbird Two.

Slipping off his hood, he was surprised to find a neat stack of hover-gurneys waiting for him just inside the entrance. "Virgil?"

Virgil hobbled out from where he'd been hiding in the lift up to the flight deck. "Yes?"

"Are you limping?"

"It's nothing." Virgil looked down. "I heard you coming, and I stubbed my toe trying to hide from you and whoever you had with you."

"It's only me, and I'm all alone. What are you doing down here?"

Virgil shrugged. "I hate not being able to do anything, so I figured I could at least get some supplies together. I've also contacted the local hospital. As usual they're stretched to breaking point, so, instead of dropping our wounded off, we're going to collect a few serious cases that can be moved, along with a doctor, and fly them to Bearston."

"Good idea." John managed a grin. "We'll get you manning Mobile Control yet."

His joke didn't even elicit a smile from his brother. "Are you okay? I saw your spill through Two's nose camera."

John managed a laugh. "I'm fine, but I don't think Super-Jack One will live again. Do you want us to drag it inside, so you can work on it? That should keep you busy."

He still couldn't raise a smile. "No, that's okay."

"We'll be loading the injured on board as soon as they're loaded onto these," John indicated the stretchers. "So, you'd better get back up top. You'll be able to help your friends soon enough when you fly us all to the hospital."

Virgil nodded, took a half step to the rear of the pod, and then stopped. He looked as if he was about to say something and then thought the better of it.

"They'll be all right, Virg," John soothed. "If they can survive a crashing plane and almost being dunked in a..." he decided that saying _crucible furnace_ was a touch insensitive considering their present situation, "They can survive anything."

Virgil managed a smile that did nothing to lighten his worried expression. "You're right."

"Of course, I am." John levitated the hover-gurneys off the ground and pushed them towards the exit. "Don't worry, Virgil, and I'll see you when I see you."

"F-A-B." And Virgil watched as a now-hooded John, pushing the hover-gurneys before him, left his Thunderbird.

-F-A-B-

Inside the factory the clouds of smoke from the still unseen fire seemed much thicker than the mobile camera had led Scott to believe. The Giraffe trundled over a pile of debris and then turned so it was travelling parallel to Keegan Clark's delivery truck. Like a calf trailing its mother, the Super-Jack followed behind; slowing when the Giraffe slowed, before speeding up again to match its 'parent's' speed.

Now Scott could see the mezzanine floor that made up the Computer Aided Design room with his own eyes. It sagged, its window open, ready to catch anything that flew into it…

Or spill anything that fell out.

The truck had taken out one of the supporting pillars and one side of the CAD room was balanced precariously on the edge of the trailer unit. As he watched, Scott fancied that he could see the vehicle's metallic shell crumple a little more under the weight. The other side was no less precarious, held in place only by excellent engineering.

Scott gave thanks that his father had been as conscientious with the design and structure of this building as he had been with the Thunderbirds.

But he knew he would have to move fast. Should the trailer suffer a total collapse, or the truck be squeezed sideways from the forces pressing down on it, the sudden drop could start a chain reaction that would spell the doom of the mezzanine floor along with anyone inside.

Reinforced glass crunched into powder beneath the Super-Jack's caterpillar tracks as Scott released it from its mindless trailing of the Giraffe and nudged it alongside the trailer until its head was directly beneath the sagging room.

He started raising it.

This was the tricky part. Should it only be raised high enough to be an extra support and take some of the weight off the trailer unit, or should it go further and try to bring the floor of the room back level?

Pondering this question, Scott lifted a microphone to his lips. "This is International Rescue..."

Inside the CAD room Winston and Olivia started at the unexpected voice, distorted by its amplification, and then looked at each other, mouthing those two words.

_International Rescue?_

"Olivia Annan and Winston Patterson: we are here to rescue you," the voice continued. "Please do not make any sudden movements until I tell you that it is safe to do so."

"Don't worry. We won't," Winston told the voice and was shushed by Olivia.

"The first thing we are going to do is support the room you are in, so there will be no danger of collapse," the voice explained. "Do not be frightened by any unexpected movements."

"That's easy for him to say."

"Winston! Shush!" Olivia peered through the fog of the ever-thickening smoke. "Can you see anything?" she asked, forgetting her own instructions.

"No."

Below them, as the Super-Jack inched ever higher, Scott opened a box containing six small, gyroscopic devices. He then turned a switch on the underside of the box and each of the devices illuminated a single, tiny, LED bulb. Touching a screen on the Giraffe's control panel, Scott brought up a photo of the underside of the mezzanine floor overlaid by the blueprints that Brains had provided earlier.

He touched a button on the screen marked "activate" and then the photo where the floor of the room met the wall of the building. One of the devices flew out of the box and away from him, flipping upside-down to adhere itself to where he'd indicated. He repeated this procedure with a second device, and then a third. The fourth had to make a slight detour en route to avoid a mid-air collision with an iridescent beetle.

Once all six devices had affixed themselves to the underside of the damaged room, Scott switched the screen into receive mode. Now he was getting readouts of the stresses the floor and connections to the building the room were under and would know if he was putting those connections under undue strain.

Remaining in the relative safety of the Giraffe, Scott sent a wireless instruction to the Super-Jack. Its flattened head made contact with the underside of the mezzanine floor and pressed upwards, Scott maintaining a close watch of the screen for any signs of weakness or hints that the floor's tenuous grip of the wall was about be broken.

Winston and Olivia, still huddling together, became aware that the floor was returning to the horizontal. Realising that they were no longer in imminent danger of rolling out of that gaping window they began to relax.

Until the aftershock hit.

This was a relatively gentle quake, more of a rolling motion than the sharp up and down movements of the previous shocks, but still the Super-Jack reacted faster than Scott could have hoped to, shutting down its vertical ascent before it shunted the room off its foundations. Freed from that concern he hung onto a console as the graphs monitoring the stresses to the building danced up and down the screen, threatening to send the needle off the meter.

Olivia and Winston held tight again. After all these hours of hanging onto one other as if their lives depended on it, which it may well have done, neither felt any qualms about clinging to their fellow prisoner. They knew that International Rescue might be about to save them, but now that they'd received the reminder that their earlier hope may have been false hope they clung to the only security they could, each other, and wished that the earth would stop shaking.

It did after a matter of seconds that felt like hours, and Scott released the breath he'd been holding. He'd never been a fan of earthquakes and had experienced more than he cared to remember. Still, that was no excuse for giving up on these people now and he waited until he was sure the earth was snoozing again before nudging the Super-Jack up the last couple of millimetres.

The display showing the devices' readouts remained placidly green and Scott allowed himself a small smile. Time to release the couple above from their prison.

Double-checking that his hood had no chance to slipping off his head and revealing his identity to his father's employees, Scott flipped a switch. "Ascending Giraffe," he told all his unseen listeners as the Giraffe's neck extended.

Slowly his control cabin started to rise…

-F-A-B-

_11:53 a.m._

Gordon examined the readouts on the machine attached to Keegan Clark and grunted his disapproval. He wanted to get his patient out of there as soon as possible, but didn't want to risk moving him until it was absolutely necessary. Therefore, he'd elected to stay at Keegan's side while John marshalled ACE's first aiders and used them to load Louis and Jeremy into Thunderbird Two's infirmary.

Gordon became aware that someone was standing next to him.

"How's he doing?" John asked, bending down to check the injured man's vital signs.

"Stable, if that means anything," Gordon responded. "The sooner he gets proper medical attention the better."

"He's probably getting the best attention he could hope for, under the circumstances." John looked about to see if anyone was within earshot. "You saw the damage to the city when we flew in. If it's anything like all the other earthquakes we've attended he's going to be the latest in a very long list of victims and the medical teams are going to be stretched to the limit just trying to work out where to place him in triage, let alone finding the time to help him."

"I know." John could hear the tautness in his brother's voice. "It's just that at times like this I feel like we're not achieving anything."

"You're keeping him alive," John reminded him. "And that's something."

Gordon looked up from the monitor seeing the reflection of his hood in his brother's visor. "Any word from the Giraffe?"

"He's going in now. All going to plan they should be out of there in ten minutes."

"Good." Gordon looked at his brother in earnest. "Then maybe he should direct us to collect more medical personnel from out of town?"

"Or maybe fly the injured from the city hospital to other medical facilities better able to cope?"

"Good idea."

"It's V…" John censored himself. "Thunderbird Two's. He's already on it."

"So, he's good for something." Gordon pulled himself together. "Are we ready to load Keegan?"

"If he's ready, we're ready."

"He's ready." Gordon grabbed a hover-gurney and dragged it closer. "Let's get him on board."

-F-A-B-

Back on Tracy Island things were a good deal quieter, but no more relaxed.

"Have you heard from Hamish, Jeff?" his mother asked.

Jeff looked up from where he was trying to glean information about the state of the earthquake ravaged city from his computer. "No. I guess he's got enough on his plate without worrying about keeping the company's owner in the loop."

"Any news about Edna?" Like her husband, Edna Mickelson had been friends with the Tracy family since Jeff and Hamish's days in the Air Force.

"No." Jeff sat back in his seat. "Hamish must be worried sick."

"And she's probably just as worried about him… Any word from the boys?"

"Yes." And Jeff's already grim countenance darkened. "According to Alan, the two trapped on the mezzanine floor are Winston Patterson and Olivia…"

"Olivia! Hamish's personal assistant?"

Somehow Jeff managed a wry smile. "Yes. The very person who's patched through every videophone call from one of my sons to Hamish."

"There can't have been many," Grandma soothed. "Surely."

"No, but she's met each and every one of them, and so has Winston."

"Including Virgil."

"Especially Virgil."

"Oh dear."

"He's under orders to remain on Thunderbird Two's flight deck."

"He'll be loathing that… Aren't there others in trouble?"

Jeff told her about the three presumed trapped in the furnace building.

"Bruce! And Cyril!" Mrs Tracy exclaimed. She was the only person that Butch permitted to use his given name; a right she steadfastly maintained. "How is Lisa holding up? The poor dear must be worried sick."

"I don't know."

"I wish I could call her and offer her my support."

"The phones are overloaded."

"I'm sure they are. People trying to contact those they care about and stopping emergency calls from getting through to the rescue authorities." Mrs Tracy shook her head in sadness. "It's going to take a long time for that city to recover."

"It will do, Mother," Jeff agreed. "And I'm going to do all I can to help it. Starting with doing everything in my power to ensure that ACE will continue operations."

"Starting with rescuing the people of ACE," she corrected.

-F-A-B-

Unaware of the sentiments of hope and goodwill that were being directed her way, Lisa Crump sat hugging her knees on the grass of Patillo Park with Kim Raynor's arm about her for comfort.

Why weren't International Rescue doing anything to help Butch!?

As she watched, Keegan Clark's injured body was carried on board Thunderbird Two and she briefly spared a moment to hope that he was all right. At least while she was cutting him out of his truck she wasn't able to worry about her family. Now, all she could do was sit here and worry.

She saw a now familiar silver-suited figure exit Thunderbird Two weighed down by some sort of bag. The figure hurried away from the great green aeroplane, which waited until he was barely clear before igniting its vertical jets and lifting off from the ground.

Lisa blinked against the sudden glare and looked away. When she looked back the figure was carrying his load towards the furnace building.

Lisa stood.

The figure, taking immense care, clambered over the jagged concrete and broken earth that surrounded the building.

Lisa took a step forward…

-F-A-B-

John looked down at the crack in the earth before him.

Crack? That crack was almost a ravine! Parts of it was filled with the soft silty mud that had liquefied and erupted to the surface during the earthquakes. Liquefaction this mud was called and, true to its name, it would liquefy again during the next 'quake.

How did Scott expect him to reach the building so tantalisingly close and yet out of reach?

Scott expected him to use his brain, that's how. Wishing he could remove his hood so he could get some fresh air and a have a clear peripheral view of his surroundings, John, opened his bag.

Someone grabbed his arm and he was pulled around to face his assailant, nearly overbalancing on the loose ground. He found himself face-to-face with a wild-eyed woman and a panting older man. Despite her red eyes, untamed hair, filthy complexion, and unbecoming overalls, John recognised Lisa Crump.

"Butch!" She clawed at John's arm. "Are you going to rescue Butch?"

"I'm sorry," Greg Harrison gasped, pulling her away from the man from International Rescue. "Her husband is trapped in there."

"It's okay. I understand," John soothed. "We're doing all we can, ma'am," he reassured Lisa. "But you must understand that this is a tricky situation."

Lisa let her hands drop. "I know. I'm sorry." She hung her head. "I'm scared."

"I understand." Trapped inside his hood, John was feeling as remote from the anxious woman as if he were up in Thunderbird Five. "I'm going to attempt to contact those in the building. Once we have an idea as to their situation, then we'll be able to make some decisions about getting them out of there. And," Lisa could just make out his smile through the visor, "when I talk to Butch, I'll tell him that you're okay and that he's not to worry about you."

It seemed perverse, but the very idea that this man could release Butch from some of his worries, seemed to relieve Lisa of many of her own. She smiled back at the barely visible white teeth. "Thank you."

"Mrs Crump…" Both Lisa and Greg turned when they heard Hamish Mickelson's voice. "Lisa… Come away, Lisa, and let International Rescue do their job."

She nodded, and with another "thank you" to John, allowed Greg to lead her away, dodging the obstacles that were little volcanoes of liquefaction.

"I'm sorry, erm…" Hamish hesitated, not sure which of his honorary nephews he was talking to. "I did tell them they were to leave all communications with International Rescue to me, but she's worried."

"That's okay," John reassured him. "I'm going to see if I can reinstate the intercom to the furnace building."

Hamish Mickelson knew each of the Tracy boys' strengths and talents. His face brightened when he realised who it was he was talking to. "Can I help at all?"

"Actually, yes," John responded, glad of the assistance. "Can you keep them in place?" Brushing aside the drying mud that caked everything, he pressed two plunger shaped objects against a large slab of rock.

"Of course." Hamish bent down.

"How are you holding up?" John whispered as both men's heads drew closer. He pressed a button at the top of each suction cup and a small explosive fired an anchor into the rock.

"I'm as big a bundle of nerves as Lisa," Hamish admitted. "If I didn't have my staff to worry about I'd be trying to find my way home to find out how Edna is."

"I'm sure she's fine." John didn't tell him that from the air the city appeared to be trashed and that he was safer remaining where he was.

Hamish had a furtive look around to confirm that they couldn't be overheard. "Scott did show me video that seems to suggest that she's okay, but nothing will reassure me like actually seeing her with my own eyes."

"I understand." Those, John reflected, were the two most overused words in his vocabulary.

Hamish managed a chuckle. "I'm sure you do…" He was silent while he followed John's directions, before his friend straightened and surveyed their handiwork. "Now what do you want me to do?"

"Go back and keep yourself busy with your staff," John advised. "Thunderbird Two will be back soon and will airlift everyone down to one of the marshalling areas in town. You'd better get them ready, so we can load them up and ship them out. Then we'll be able to concentrate on breaking into here." He indicated the squat building painted in ACE colours behind him.

"F-A-B." For a moment the taut lines of worry left Hamish's face. "I've always wanted to say that," he admitted.

-F-A-B-

"Alan!"

"Yes, Grandma."

"Patch me through to Lisa Crump's phone."

"What?!" Alan stared down from his portrait to his grandmother. "I can't do that!"

Grandma harrumphed at his hesitation. "Of course, you can. You're in Thunderbird Five. You can access any phone or radio on the planet!"

"I know that. I mean…" Alan glanced at his father. "I'm not allowed to. It's against the rules."

"Rules are made to be broken," she said stubbornly.

Alan stared. Was it really _his_ grandmother who'd said that?

"Mother!" Jeff Tracy sounded just as astounded as his son. "International Rescue can't just make phone calls whenever they feel like it. No matter how justified their reasons."

She folded her arms and glared at him. "And why not?"

"Because it's not fair. Think how many hundreds of people are trying to contact their loved ones and are unable to because the phone lines are overloaded. Think how many emergency calls are being missed because the networks are jammed."

"Think of a valued member of _your_ staff worrying about her husband and her daughter; _your_ honorary grand-niece!" Grandma persisted.

"She's not…"

"I won't be blocking any of those phone lines. I'll be on International Rescue's own private network. And I'll be doing what Virgil would want to do for his friends if he weren't trapped in Thunderbird Two doing nothing!"

"He's not doing nothing, he's flying the injured to hospital!"

"Jeff!"

Jeff huffed to himself. Then he glanced up at his son. He sighed. "All right, Alan. Put her through." Then he shot his mother with a glare of his own. "But remember we're not supposed to know anything, okay? The phones are dead, and I haven't managed to reach Hamish. Any information we've received has been via news bulletins."

His mother gave a triumphant nod. "Understood. Patch me through, Alan."

"Ah… Okay…" Alan hesitated, giving his elders a chance to come to their senses. He considered telling his grandmother that John was the only one who knew how to do this particular bit of technological witchcraft, and then realised that she'd see it for the lie it was. "What's her number?"

-F-A-B-

Lisa Crump started when her cell phone rang. She'd been given special dispensation to carry it with her while at work, in case Ginny needed her in an emergency, and wasn't yet used to having it about her person. Upon hearing the tune her workmates; those who were allowed to carry communication devices as part of their employment or else had sneaked theirs on their way out of the factory; grabbed their own phones and started dialling. They were all disappointed to hear the overloaded signal.

"Butch!?" Lisa cried, her mind in overdrive and not awake to the fact that it wasn't the ring that identified that it was his phone calling. "Butch! Are you all right?"

"Sorry, Lisa, dear, but it's Mrs T."

"Oh…" Lisa couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"We heard about the earthquake on the news," Grandma lied. "Jeff's been trying, but he can't get through to Hamish Mickelson."

Jeff and Alan looked at each other. Surely this wasn't Grandma Tracy talking? Grandma Tracy lying!?

Grandma ignored their astonished faces. "We're desperate to know: how is everyone? How's Cyril?"

"I…" Lisa struggled to keep it together. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No. Butch is trapped in the furnace building and we can't reach him and I can't reach Ginny and I'm scared and…" Lisa burst into tears.

Grandma allowed her a few moments to release some of the pressure that had built up over the last few hours. Then she uttered a firm: "Now calm down, Lisa." There was a sob from the other end of the phone. "Pull yourself together. Cyril and Ginny wouldn't expect you do to anything else."

She heard a muffled swallow, a sniff, and a nasal, "I know."

"Now, I'm going to put my phone onto speakerphone so that Mr Tracy can hear everything, and I want you to tell us exactly what's happened."

"M-Mr Tracy?" Lisa gulped and Hamish Mickelson, who'd moved closer when he'd heard the phone, raised an eyebrow. "Is Virgil there too?"

"Ah… No…" For the first time there was a hesitation in Grandma's reply. "He's, ah, away at work."

"Oh." Lisa looked up at her immediate boss. "M-Mr Mickelson's here. I'll put my phone onto speakerphone as well."

"Thank you, Lisa." It was Jeff Tracy's strong masculine voice. "Now. Tell us everything that's happened."

Mickelson indicated that Lisa should continue.

"We've had an earthquake," she stated. "A big one."

"How big?"

"Uh… I don't know the magnitude. Butch probably could have told you, but he... he's not here."

"That's all right, we can learn that from the media." Jeff decided it was too early in the conversation to risk more waterworks by continuing that line of questioning. Lisa's voice had shaken when she'd mentioned her husband's name and he didn't want to risk tipping her back over the edge. "Is there any damage?"

"A truck crashed into the factory. There's a lot of damage."

"A truck crashed?!" Jeff already knew the answer to his next question, but realised that not to ask would raise some eyebrows. "Is anybody hurt?"

"The truck driver… Keegan Clark… He was badly hurt in the crash."

"Lisa and Greg got him out," Mickelson interrupted. "He'd be dead if it wasn't for them."

"Hamish? Is he at the hospital?"

"No," Lisa replied. "Ah… I mean, yes… Probably."

"Probably?"

"International Rescue took him. And when they come back they're going to rescue Butch."

"What's happened to him?"

Lisa could hear the concern in her boss's voice and somehow found it reassuring. She looked up at ACE's General Manger, unsure how much she should reveal.

Mickelson took over telling the tale. "I'm going to keep a long story short, Jeff, but the truck took out the supports for the mezzanine floor. Olivia and Winston Patterson are trapped inside. That's why we called International Rescue. Max Watts, Bruce Sanders and…" he looked at Lisa who appeared calmer now, "Butch were in the furnace building readying the crucible for the next job, but the disruption to the land around the building has blocked access. We can't reach them, and we haven't been able to make contact. The three of them are probably fine, but we don't know for sure."

"Was anyone else injured?"

"Louis Fleming fell off a gantry and has what appears to be several broken bones. Jeremy Willard gashed his leg trying to get to help. International Rescue have taken them to hospital too. Apart from them, and a few minor scrapes and bruises, and the fact that none of us can go anywhere or contact anyone, we're all fine."

"Well, that's something," Jeff's voice said. "I wish there was more I could do to help."

"I'm sure you'll find ways." There was a trace of humour in Hamish Mickelson's voice when he added, "You won't be able to help yourself."

"Lisa?" This was Mrs Tracy's voice.

"Yes, Mrs T?"

"Now you stay strong and let those wonderful, brave men of International Rescue…"

No one saw Alan roll his eyes at his grandmother's gushing description.

"…bring your Butch home to you."

"Yes, Mrs T." There was no trace of the tearful Lisa Crump that had answered the phone.

"And when you get to Ginny, give her a big hug from me."

Lisa smiled and those on the other end of the telephone line heard the way her voice seemed lighter. "I will."

"And as soon as you can, let us know that everything's all right."

And Lisa, when she agreed a third time, had the feeling that everything _was_ going to be all right.

_12:12 p.m.…_

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

_12:33 p.m._

John had managed to bridge the physical gap between the building that housed the crucible furnace and the rest of the world. Now it was time to see if he could bridge the communications gap.

Balancing on a narrow platform that wobbled as the rubble that anchored it at the other end shifted with each step, he prised off the cover of the communications box revealing a mess of wires.

Hidden behind his visor, he managed a grim smile. For once things were going in their favour as, to protect the sensitive electronics from the potential heat build-up inside the building, the junction box had been screwed onto an exterior wall. It should be relatively easy for someone with his skills in communications to contact those in the building...

That was if a prior earthquake hadn't sheared the wires within the walls.

As if to emphasise the importance of that question, an aftershock hit, and he hugged the wall's rough surface, teetering on one leg like a tightrope walker until it had passed and his platform had stopped wobbling. Things would be a lot easier if he didn't have to contend with the earth moving at random. Especially, he reflected, as it seemed determined to time its gyrations to the moment where his work was the most delicate and exacting.

He regained his footing, planted both feet on the platform, and continued his task.

-F-A-B-

Winston and Olivia, still crammed together in a space that appeared to have shrunk over the intervening hours, watched agog as, like a vision materialising out of the thick smoke, a square box rose into view through the gaping window. Constrained within the box was the head, the shoulders, the torso and finally the legs of a man from International Rescue.

If they'd expected to see a friendly face, they were disappointed.

"Come over here one at a time," a square of reflective glass told them. "The room's more secure than before, but we'll play it safe in case there are more aftershocks. Keep low and try to jar the floor as little as possible."

"We've been _not jarring_ it for the last goodness knows how many hours," Winston grumbled. "Does he expect us to fly across?"

"You're closer." Olivia nudged her co-captive. "You'd better go first."

He made a face. "Thank you! Throwing me into the abyss."

"You know the saying: _the early bird gets the worm_."

"Which often has the addendum: _but the second mouse gets the cheese._" Winston took a deep breath. "Okay!" he called. "Here I come. Ready or not."

Scott had observed their whispered interaction and now he watched as Winston crawled across the floor. It was always easier to do these jobs if you had a certain level of remoteness from your victim, but this time he couldn't help feeling empathy for the man. The few times he'd met Winston the draftsman been immaculate, bright, engaging and full of _joie de vivre_. And here he was, filthy and dishevelled and scrabbling across the floor; too scared to move, yet desperate to escape.

A gentle 'quake rumbled through the city and, terrified, Winston flattened himself into the grimy carpet. Olivia, now without the security blanket that had been at her side, curled up into a ball against the wall and shielded her head against the inevitable shower of dust. Scott, with no alternative except to grab the sides of the Giraffe, hung on and hoped that the 'quake wasn't going to get any stronger and cause the Super-Jack to dislodge or the Giraffe to topple.

The earth stilled, but the thickening smoke continued to ebb and eddy. It wouldn't be too much longer before the toxic gases would be so thick that breathing would become difficult, if not impossible.

Scott wouldn't have been surprised if the shake had knocked Winston's confidence so much that he'd refused to move another inch. Instead the man seemed to have been imbibed with new life and he lizard-crawled the remaining distance in double quick time. Glad that he wasn't going to have to do something more dangerous for all concerned; Scott grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him into the Giraffe.

After a heartfelt "thanks," Winston proceeded to meticulously smooth and dust his ruined clothing.

"Alright, Olivia," Scott coaxed. "Your turn. You saw how Winston did it and you can do it just the same."

"Yes, Livvy," Winston gave up trying to remove a particularly stubborn patch of dirt from what had formerly been a pristine rainbow-hued shirt. "Come and join me, this delightful man from International Rescue, and Ringo."

His features hidden by his hood, Scott frowned. "Ringo?"

Winston pointed to an iridescent beetle that seemed attracted to a button on the Giraffe's console that emitted alternate flashes of green and blue light. "He's been keeping us company."

"Ah."

Olivia, forgoing all ladylike dignity in favour of Winston's effective lizard crawl, was already halfway across the room. She'd no sooner reached the Giraffe when, much to her relief, both men took her under the arms and assisted her inside.

It was relief that was felt all round when Scott closed the entrance hatch and pumped the smoke out of the control cabin.

"Whew!" Olivia let out a calming breath, before taking another, savouring the clean, smoke-free air. "Thank you. I was beginning to think we'd never get out of there." She gave an involuntary flinch when, perhaps to offer a final goodbye, Ringo buzzed her ear.

As the Giraffe descended slowly Scott withdrew a couple of oxygen masks from two cylinders bolted to the wall. "Put these on," he suggested.

"We don't need that," Olivia told him, and promptly betrayed her own words by breaking out into a fit of coughing.

"You're probably right," Scott admitted. "But I'm not prepared to take any chances. Put them on now and if you're feeling okay you can remove them before you meet your co-workers... But I want you to get doctor's check-ups when you get the opportunity."

Feeling a little foolish, they complied, and were surprised to discover that they instantly felt better.

"I feel like giving you a hug of thanks," Olivia admitted to the man from International Rescue as, swaying gently while the Giraffe negotiated piles of rubble, they neared the door.

Winston's eye had rediscovered its well-known twinkle. "So do I."

Scott wasn't quite sure how to take that, so he responded with a gruff: "No thanks needed. We're just doing our job."

The trio rumbled into daylight, finally giving the two ACE employees the opportunity to see the damage that had occurred to the facility that had always seemed so safe and secure.

"There's Winston and Olivia!" A cheer went up and what seemed to be the entire ACE workforce swooped on the evacuees.

Olivia, having already removed her oxygen mask, was lifted down out of the Giraffe. She found herself facing Hamish Mickelson.

He gave her a warm embrace and for the first time in hours she felt safe. "I'm so glad you're okay," he admitted.

"I'm glad you're okay too." Olivia glanced around the group that surrounded her, trying to take a roll call in her mind and not able to see all the faces. "Is everyone all right?"

Her boss lost his cheerful demeanour and gave a quick précis of those injured... And those missing.

"Butch!?" Winston exclaimed. "How's Lisa?"

"I'm okay..." Lisa admitted. "At the moment."

"Oh. Mon dieu!" Winston gave her a hug that was more of reassurance than reunion. "The man's as strong as an ox. I'm sure he's fine."

Lisa managed to smile. "I'm sure you're right, Winston."

"Olivia?" Hamish Mickelson had taken his personal assistant's arm when she appeared to sway. "Are you feeling all right? You're looking a little pale."

"I..." She managed to smile at him. "After all that's happened I guess I'm in shock... But I'm okay!" she added quickly when she saw his forehead crease in concern. "Except that I'm thirsty after all that dust and smoke."

She was about to be offered a bottle of the water that Shane Topper and David Vacation had liberated earlier, when there was a roar overhead. They all looked skywards.

Thunderbird Two had returned.

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control. Go ahead, Thunderbird Two."

"Have completed mission and are returning to ACE. Any instructions?"

"Affirmative Thunderbird Two. Proceed to Sunbeam Preschool. Once you have the children and associated adults on board, return to ACE. Collect all employees and transport them to a mustering centre." Then Scott's official manner softened. "And you can reunite Ginny with Lisa."

"F-A-B." Virgil responded. He was finding it harder to remain detached from what happening below than he thought he would, and keeping in official mode helped. But he couldn't forget that, like it or not, he knew most of those people in trouble. "How are Winston and Olivia?"

"Enjoying a happy reunion with their workmates. I'd evacuated them from the building a minute before you signed in."

Virgil offered a silent thanks. "Has John made contact with the furnace building yet?"

"I haven't had the chance to check, but he hasn't said so, so I'd assume that's a negative. I'll see what stage he's at."

"F-A-B," Virgil signed off.

He glanced over his shoulder at Gordon. "You heard his instructions. We're to evacuate Sunbeam Preschool."

They'd taken the injured victims to the local hospital and, without landing, had taken on two rescue cages full of hospital beds carrying patients who were in a serious condition, but able to be moved. They'd also accommodated a young doctor who was a mixture of fear over what was happening to his town, relief that he was being released from the continuing aftershocks, aware of the importance being the chief medical practitioner in a hold full of injured, and awe that he was flying in a Thunderbird. Once every gurney was safely locked down, they'd moved on to the neighbouring city of Bearston and handed over the injured to the medical authorities before releasing ACE's first aiders into an earthquake-free zone.

In that brief glance, Virgil could see that Gordon was less than happy. The helplessness he'd felt when battling to keep Keegan Clark alive, the redundancy he'd experienced when the young doctor had taken over Keegan's care, and the condition of the truck driver when they'd left him at the Bearston Hospital, had left him subdued and introspective. Virgil knew that this wouldn't alter Gordon's commitment to the staff of ACE and International Rescue, but still it felt unnatural to be with his brother on Thunderbird Two's flight deck and not feel Gordon's light, effervescent personality bubbling away behind him.

"You kept Keegan alive, Gordon. He might not have even made it to Bearston if it wasn't for your care."

Gordon grunted.

"Hadn't you better get things ready?"

"Yeah…" Gordon looked down at his fire-retardant suit. "I can't wear this, can I? I look like I'm a robot. I'll scare the kids."

"Unless you tell them you're the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz."

"That won't work. Most of them aren't even old enough to have heard the story." Virgil heard another sigh as Gordon's mood soured even further. "I'm going to have to wear a "Hood", aren't I?"

"Sorry, but I think that's the best option. The pre-schoolers will be more comfortable listening to you and doing what you tell them if they can actually see 'your' face."

"If Ginny wasn't there they could see _my_ face." Gordon sighed again. "I suppose I can put up with a little discomfort if it helps them."

"It won't be for long." Virgil soothed. He heard the door behind him close and hoped that Gordon's mood would improve soon…

They were flying over ACE.

…Very soon.

Maintaining height so the noise of her engines wouldn't frighten those in the building beneath them, Virgil took his time swinging Thunderbird Two around until she was lined up so that the rescue cage would open towards the front door. By the time he was satisfied that all Gordon would have to do was walk inside, marshal the children and their caregivers into the rescue cage, and then retract the cable back into the body of Thunderbird Two, his brother was back.

Virgil did an exaggerated double-take. "Who are you and what are you doing on my Thunderbird?!"

He was glad that Gordon managed a chuckle. His younger brother was in his International Rescue uniform, although he'd donned a little padding about his midriff to hide his swimmer's physique. He'd also added lifts to his boots to disguise his gait. But the main change was to his head.

Taking his cue from their biggest enemy, Brains had developed a full-face mask that completely changed each operative's facial shape, hair colour, skin tones, and eye shade. Matching skin tone gloves completed the ensemble.

Gordon pulled at the mask which stubbornly clung to his face and fitted, fittingly, like a second skin. "I hate this. I feel like I'm wearing a plastic bag."

"I know," Virgil remembered. "But at least this'll be a quick and simple job and then you'll be out of the plastic and back into the tin."

"Then the sooner we get this rescue underway, the better. Is everything ready for me?"

"Everything's F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

As he was lowered past the building that had housed the Sunbeam Preschool, Gordon saw that while it had looked structurally sound through the Thunderbirds' cameras, it had sustained a lot of damage. Cracks criss-crossed the frontage and bits of plaster had fallen away from the façade.

He felt the rescue cage's base reach the ground. "I've touched down."

He heard his brother's disembodied voice come out of the rescue cage's radio. _"F-A-B."_

Slinging the video camera he was carrying over his shoulder, Gordon gave the front door an experimental push, unsurprised when it didn't move. The frame had warped in such a way that the top and bottom was jammed, and, somehow, he was going to have to break in without endangering anyone who may have been on the other side. Putting down his camera, he examined the entrance, surmising that if he cut the middle section free it should still swing on its hinges.

Opening a compartment on the back wall of the cage he withdrew a saw. Dialling its blade's length to what he assumed the door's thickness would be, he started cutting...

-F-A-B-

"How's it going, Glenn?"

John looked around at his brother's voice, seeing a dusty silver-clad figure standing on the other side of the gap that bordered the building. "Fine, Malcolm."

Scott chuckled. "Sounds wrong, doesn't it?"

"I'll say. How are Olivia and Winston?"

"I think they're both in good shape, but I've told them to get check-ups."

"It may be a while before they can do that."

"I know, but I'm not really worried about them." Scott indicated the junction box. "How close are you to making contact?"

"Five? Maybe ten minutes? Depending on what the wiring's like inside the walls." John didn't add _and what shape our victims are in_.

"Okay. I'll report in to base and then come back and give you a hand."

"You haven't given them a report yet? Shepherd must be frantic by now."

With a chuckle Scott left his brother to his work.

-F-A-B-

Gordon had nearly finished sawing through the door. His first cut had been width-wise, just above the top hinge and below where the wood was stuck against the jam. Now he was completing his second cut; low enough for an adult to step over, but high enough to stop an overeager pre-schooler from making an ill-advised break for freedom.

After securing the saw, so the aforementioned pre-schooler couldn't play with it, and once he'd slung his video camera back onto his shoulder, Gordon pushed what remained of the door open. "Hello...?"

He'd barely had time to take in the number of things that had fallen to the floor, when an anxious-looking woman hurried towards him. "Oh! Thank goodne..." She had seen his uniform, put two and two together and, unsure if four was the right answer, had stumbled to a stop.

"International Rescue at your service," Gordon told her with his most winning smile. An effect that wasn't dulled by his mask... Even if it felt like his real skin was being pulled off his face.

"Someone sent for International Rescue to save us?"

"Not exactly," Gordon admitted. "We're operating over the road. But as we're in the vicinity and Thunderbird Two's not needed at the moment we thought we'd see what we could do about getting you all to somewhere where the kids will be safe until their parents can collect them. Any injuries?"

"No, thank goodness... You're going to take us in Thunderbird Two?"

Gordon had often heard that astonished awe in that breathless question. "Yes."

"Wow!" The teacher pulled herself together. She frowned. "Over the road? Do you mean Aeronautical Component Engineering?"

"That's right."

"Oh, dear. One of our pupils has both parents working there."

Gordon wasn't going anywhere near that subject. "Have all the children got identity cards or something that they could wear? We're going to take you all to a mustering area and we don't want anyone getting lost in the crowd."

The woman, Gordon had assumed she was the head teacher, finally started leading him down the hall to the main room. "Nothing ready, but all our children have good knowledge of their full names."

"It still would be good to have something in writing. It can get pretty hectic and noisy in those places and it's much easier for the authorities to read something legible with name, next of kin and contact numbers, rather than try to interpret what a frightened three-year-old's saying."

"I understand, and we can print a label for each child. But it'll take a few minutes to get sorted."

"We can wait." Gordon noted a burning light bulb. "I see you've still got power."

"We're self-sufficient on solar energy. It was a gift from the man who owns ACE; I mean Aeronautical Component Engineering. A lot of his employees' children have come here over the years and not having to worry about electricity bills has enabled us to keep costs down." The woman stopped outside the door. "I'll see to the labels as soon as I've introduced you to everyone." She plastered a relaxed smile on her face and pushed open a door.

Gordon stepped though into a large room and found several pairs of eyes staring at him. Surprised that, despite the well-known smell of fear, all seemed calm and that the children appeared to be unstressed, he grinned back. Ginny, he noted, looked as relaxed as the rest of them.

"This man is from International Rescue," the teacher told everyone, and Gordon saw astonished relief on the faces of the adults and bright-eyed excitement on the pre-schoolers'. "He's going to give us a ride in Thunderbird Two!"

Astonishment and excitement stepped up a notch. An enthusiastic chatter filled the room. Ginny jiggled up and down in anticipation and a couple of the other children made odd gestures; covering their ears, waggling their heads, and then clapping their fingers like a bird's beak.

"That's a good idea," the teacher enthused. "Why don't you all show Mr International Rescue the _Thunderbird_ song? Mrs Douglas, could you lead them?"

A younger woman, who, judging by the way one of the children was keeping close, was a mother helper, smiled and hurried to the front of the group. "Of course."

With a meaningful nod to another teacher, Gordon's guide and the teacher slipped away.

Mrs Douglas clapped her hands. "Stand up, everyone." A small earthquake shimmied through the room, but the children were that excited by their impromptu concert as they clambered to their feet, that none of them noticed.

Gordon intended to keep it that way. "The Thunderbird song?" he queried, intrigued. "I've never heard it before. I'd love to hear it."

Mrs Douglas smiled at him and then began to count: "One... Two... Three..."

The children began to sing, (or more correctly chant in a sing-song kind of way), copying Mrs Douglas' actions as they did so.

"I'm flying in a Thun-der-bird

"Up in-to the sky

"I'm flying in a Thun-der-bird

"Whoosh - so - high

"I'm coming to help you

"Don't - you - cry

"I'm flying in a Thun-der-bird

"Up in-to the sky."

Gordon clapped his hands. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "You know, everyone back at International Rescue HQ would love to see this." He pulled the video camera around and showed it to Mrs Douglas. "Can I video it?" He flicked a button marked _Mobile Control_.

She smiled at him. "Of course, you can." Clapping her hands, she directed the school to sing again.

"I'm flying in a Thun-der-bird," they chanted, arms flailing as Gordon filmed.

The song's actions were simple and acted out the words. _Flying_ was depicted with arms outstretched, as if in flight; whilst _Thunderbird_ was represented by hands covering ears to block out the noise followed by the clapping of the bird's beak.

"Up in-to the sky." Everyone pointed roughly upwards.

"I'm flying in a Thun-der-bird." Gordon's camera rested a little longer on Ginny than the others.

"Whoosh - so - high." Hands were flung skywards.

"I'm coming to help you." The kids and their carers reached out, clasped their hands together, and pulled their hands back to their chests.

"Don't - you - cry." Tears were drawn down cheeks that not too long ago had shed real tears.

"I'm flying in a Thun-der-bird." Back at Mobile Control Scott received the video, grinned at the song as well as Gordon's ingenuity, and projected it onto the Waterfall.

"Up in-to the sky."

"Look, Lisa!" Greg Harrison pointed at the screen that masked Thunderbird One's undercarriage. "Isn't that Ginny?"

The video looped back to the beginning and started playing again. Lisa watched as the camera tracked across the semi-circle of children, pausing briefly when her daughter was in shot.

She smiled, relief reigniting her movie star beauty.

Pleased that they'd been able to bring at least some comfort to the formerly distraught mother, Scott evacuated Mobile Control. He indicated that Hamish Mickelson should come closer.

The elder man joined him. "Thank you for doing that for Lisa."

Scott had already checked that no one else was in earshot. "Thank Gordon. He's going to evacuate the preschool into Thunderbird Two and then we'll load up everyone here and ship them all out to some place where they've at least got a chance of being reunited with their families."

"Do you want me to stay here?"

"Yes. I'll still need you to be the go-between between your staff and International Rescue. If anything, it'll be even more important when we've got those three released from the building."

"Any word on the injured men you've already rescued?"

"No. And chances are International Rescue won't be told. You'll have to tell us if _you_ hear anything!"

An earthquake rumbled through and both men stumbled, clinging to each other for support.

Hamish let go of a pent-up breath. "I wish they'd stop."

"Going on past experience that's not going to happen for months," Scott admitted. "But if you ever need a break away from them, I'm sure there's a tropical island somewhere waiting to welcome you."

Hamish chuckled. "I'll remember that."

They stopped outside the battered and broken furnace building.

-F-A-B-

Back at Sunbeam Preschool, Gordon was assisting the teachers with attaching adhesive labels to the children. At least he was trying to. It wasn't easy when he didn't know their identities, even if they all seemed remarkably assured as to who they were.

He knelt on the floor before a familiar face. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Vir-gin-i-a Li-esl Crump!" Ginny punctuated her last name with an emphatic nod of her head.

"Vir-gin-i-a Li-esl Crump!" Gordon found the sticky label that bore her name, Lisa and Butch's names, and Lisa's phone number.

Ginny giggled at the echo of her words. Then she reached forward and touched him on the nose.

She frowned.

"Virginia," one of her carers warned, and Ginny's hand went to her mouth. She giggled again.

"I bet your name's not Vir-gin-ia," Gordon told her as he peeled off the backing and stuck the label onto her pink top.

"Yes, it tis."

"Nah," Gordon grinned. "I bet it's Vir-gigg-iler!"

Ginny giggled.

Gordon felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned.

The head teacher was standing there. "It's Virginia's parents who work at ACE," she explained.

"Thank you." And Gordon meant it. Now he had an excuse for knowing which of these children was Lisa's.

He turned back to Ginny. "Now you're not to take that sticker off," he warned. "Not until it's time for that pretty pink blouse of yours to be washed. Promise?"

Ginny gave one of her emphatic head nods. "Pwomise."

"Thank you." Gordon stood and moved on to the next child. "What's your name?" he asked...

-F-A-B-

John had done all he could. He connected the last two wires, flicked a switch and spoke, the radio between his fire-suit's microphone and the furnace building's communications console completing the link. "This is International Rescue."

There was silence.

"This is International Rescue," he repeated. "Can you hear me?"

There was another pause before he heard an unsure-sounding: "International Rescue?"

"Yes. We are here to get you out of there. Who is with you and what is everyone's condition?"

"Uh... My name's Max Watts and I'm with Bruce Sanders and Butch... that is, Cyril Crump. We're all alright, apart from the heat from this furnace, which is stifling." John reflected that the older man did sound jaded. "Was it an earthquake?"

"Yes," John said simply. "Don't worry, we'll get you out of there soon. And you can tell Butch that Lisa's okay too." He saw Scott's waving hand in his peripheral vision and stopped talking.

"Tell him we've just seen Ginny and she's okay," Scott advised.

"And Ginny's fine," John paraphrased. "Thunderbird Two is picking her up her now."

If Butch said anything at this news, it went unheard by the listeners on the other end of the radio, and Max Watts made no comment as to his subordinate's reaction.

Hamish turned to Scott. "Shall I go and tell Lisa?"

"Yes. Then she can stay with Ginny with a clear conscience. It won't be long before Thunderbird Two's back."

-F-A-B-

Gordon faced two straight lines made up of twenty pre-schoolers and four adults. "Now we're going to have to make four trips in the elevator up into Thunderbird Two. So that'll be how many children on the first trip?" He held up the fingers of one hand.

"Five," a good number of his charges chorused.

"Excellent. And on the next trip there will be how many children?" Gordon held up the other hand.

"Five."

"Wonderful! And how many one the next trip?" Gordon made an obvious effort to stick up three fingers on his left hand and two on his right.

"Five!"

"My, you're a clever bunch! And how many on the last trip?" This time Gordon held up four fingers on his right hand and one on his left.

"Five!"

"All going into _one_..." Gordon hid his right hand behind his back, "Thunderbird." He did the ear covering, head rocking, bird tweeting action.

His charges laughed; some mimicking him.

Feeling something wrap around his leg, Gordon looked down.

Ginny had both arms about him. Seeing him looking down at her, she giggled.

"Well, if it isn't my old friend Virgiggler." Gordon picked her up and, unsurprisingly, she giggled again. "Do you want to be the first one in the Thunderbird?"

Ginny nodded.

"Okay then." Gordon carried her down the hallway from the main room, stepped over the lower part of the door, and placed her on the floor of the rescue cage. Then he accepted Mrs Douglas' child from its mother.

One by one the remaining three children were carried down the hallway and assisted across the barrier. They stood there patiently, waiting for the moment when they would fly in a Thunderbird. The remainder were hidden away in the main room so that they couldn't see their friends disappear out of sight.

The trip into Thunderbird Two's hold was smooth and effortless, and Gordon stepped out into what was a windowless cabin. "Everyone have a seat, please."

All the kids scrambled onto a chair.

Gordon wasn't surprised that they were dwarfed by the seat restraints. "You all get to travel first class," he told them. "How would you like to be our model, Virgiggler?"

Giggling, Ginny slid off her chair and allowed him to pick her up.

On one wall was a honeycomb of soft-walled cells and Gordon encouraged the child in his arms, who was giggling the whole time, to slide feet first into one. "Just like a caterpillar in its cocoon!" he enthused.

Ginny lay back on the soft mattress and stared at the roof of the cell above her. "Fish!" She reached up to touch the creatures.

"Fish?" Gordon ducked down so he could see the hologram that was entertaining the child. "So, it is! That one's my favourite."

Ginny giggled.

Unable to stop himself from smiling at the sound, despite the discomfort it caused, Gordon turned back to Mrs Douglas. "Each of these cells is fully padded. The top of the cell automatically descends onto the child's body and will hold them secure without hurting them. They'll barely be aware that it's happening. That way, if we run into turbulence, which is unlikely, their entire body is restrained."

"Sounds more comfortable than being strapped into a seat," Mrs Douglas commented, and Gordon grinned.

"I can't tell you how many flights I've had in this girl where I've wished I've been able to travel in one," he admitted, and she laughed. "Can you load the rest of them up?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any questions?"

"No."

"Good." Gordon smiled. "In that case I'll go and get the next... How many, Kids?" He held up his hand.

"Five!"

-F-A-B-

Up in Thunderbird Five, Alan had been listening in on John's conversation with Max Watts.

"It's hot in here," ACE's Production Manager complained. "The air conditioning stopped working on the second big 'quake."

Alan heard John's voice. "What's the temperature?"

"Ambient air temperature's over one hundred degrees Celsius. Inside our PPE it's in the forties."

Alan caught his breath. Even with the Personal Protective Equipment those trapped were wearing, forty degrees was hot: seriously hot. It would be bad enough for someone who was younger in years, but for someone of Max Watts' age and medical history, it could be catastrophic.

"Do you have plenty of fluids?" John was asking.

"We did, but we're running low. And what's left is getting too hot to drink. The refrigeration unit stopped working when we lost power."

"So, you have no lights?"

"We have flashlights."

"Can you describe the damage to the building?"

"The whole structure seems to have... to have warped… Floor's cracked… Mud everywhere… It kinda… erupted… out of the ground… Butch calls it likwe… something…"

"Liquefaction?" John suggested. "That's to be expected when you're close to a creek."

Even without Butch's knowledge Alan would have guessed that the floor of the building was covered with the mud that turned to liquid and rose to the surface when shaken. He'd even heard of people falling into sinkholes of the quicksand-like substance that had opened up outside people's homes after major earthquakes.

Everyone listening heard Watts attempt to swallow. The heat was getting to him.

"Rest, Sir," John advised. "Can you put someone else on to talk to me?"

Alan heard a younger voice come on line. "This is Bruce Sanders..."

Alan hoped that Virgil wasn't listening to how strained his friend was sounding.

"...We're all okay at the moment," Bruce reassured his audience, "but..." he lowered his voice. "I am worried about Mr Watts. He suffered heat stroke a few years ago..."

"We're aware of that," John reassured him, and Alan tried not to imagine the unconscious figure of Max Watts dangling over the crucible furnace. "We're going to get you all out of there as soon as we can. Can you see any weak points in the building?"

"Butch has been pushing at the doors, but both the main entrance and emergency exits are warped, or blocked, or something."

"Can you see any daylight anywhere?"

"Um..." There was a mumbled conversation in the background. "Possibly where the walls meet the roof. Either that or the heat's playing tricks on us."

This time the mumbled conversation that Alan heard came from John's side of the radio. "Can you put Butch on for a moment, Bruce?"

"Ah, yeah. Sure."

There was a pause.

"Yeah?"

"Butch!"

"Lisa?"

"Oh, Butch! It's so good to hear your voice. I've been so worried."

"'M'all right, Liesl. 'Cept it's hot."

"I know."

"You 'kay?"

"I'm okay and Ginny's okay too. I've seen video of her at Sunbeam and she seems happy."

"She's tough. Takes afta 'er mother."

"And her father... I've got to go, Butch. Thunderbird Two's on the way and Ginny's on board. I love you, Honey."

"Love ya too, Liesl." And Alan felt like he was a voyeur, eavesdropping on the couple's private conversation…

Lisa, with great reluctance, gave the microphone back to Scott. "Thank you."

He responded with a smile that went unseen. "That's okay." He turned back to Hamish Mickelson. "Will you take Mrs Crump back and get everyone marshalled together for when Thunderbird Two arrives. The sooner we get everyone to safety, the sooner we can concentrate on getting Butch and the others out of here."

Eager for that mission to start, Lisa hurried back to the rest of her workmates. "I talked to Butch!" she cried happily. "He's all right!"

"That's wonderful," Olivia exclaimed. "And the others? Did you speak to them?"

"Bruce was talking to International Rescue when Mr Mickelson and I got there. He sounded tired, but okay. But I think he's worried about Mr Watts."

"We're all worried about Mr Watts," Mickelson confirmed. He drew Greg Harrison to one side. "I'm going to remain here," he confided. "So, I want you to be in charge. I know we're all eager to find our loved ones, but don't let them all rush off their separate ways as soon as Thunderbird Two lands."

"No promises," Greg grunted. "Some of them are ready to hijack the Thunderbird and go hunting."

"Tell them it's instant dismissal if they even consider it. If there's one thing I'm sure of, Jeff Tracy will want to keep this factory operational to ensure that everyone here has an income while they get their lives back together; but neither he nor I will tolerate anyone acting foolishly."

Greg stared at him. "It was a joke, Hamish! No one here's that foolish; no matter how worried they are."

"A joke?" Mickelson looked startled at the admission and then abashed at his overreaction. "Sorry... I'm just as worried about Edna and I guess I'm not thinking as clearly as I'd like."

Greg clapped his boss and friend on the back. "This is a tough situation for us all. Especially International Rescue." He watched as Thunderbird Two came in to land again. Then he stuck out his hand. "Good luck, Hamish."

Mickelson shook it. "You too, Greg. When you find Mavis give her a hug from me. And if you see Edna before I do, tell her I'm okay and I'll be home as soon as I can."

"I will," Greg promised.

Both men were about to join the waiting group when something made them stop.

Thunderbird Two had risen on her four sets of tubular legs and it was what was about to be driven down the ramp that ACE's employees were eager to see. They were mildly disappointed to realise that it looked like nothing more exciting than a large bulldozer.

Gordon stopped the Firefly well away from the superheated gases of Thunderbird Two's VTOL rockets, before, as the mighty aeroplane nested back down on her legs, hopping out of the vehicle and walking across towards the knot of ACE employees.

Staying true to his promise that he was the only one to interact with the men from International Rescue, Hamish Mickelson met the Tracy halfway, unaware that even if he'd been able to see under the fire-suit, he still wouldn't have known which of his friend's sons he was about to talk to.

Gordon, despite the double-layers of protection offered by the fire-suit and his "Hood" disguise, wasn't about to let a little thing like security stop his honorary uncle from knowing who he was. "Not a good day for a swim," he commented as he greeted the other man.

Hamish chuckled at the comment. "Good day or not I'd rather be swimming than in the situation we're in now."

"Is your staff ready to saddle up? The sooner everyone's clear, the sooner we can do some real rescuing."

"They're ready. Now that they know that those three are alive, if not safe, they're ready to be reunited with their families."

"That's something International Rescue can't guarantee," Gordon admitted. "Except for Lisa and Ginny. You'll 'introduce' Lisa to me, won't you?"

"Of course. And thanks for that video. You made her happier than she'd been for many hours."

"All part of the service." Gordon indicated Thunderbird Two. "I'll meet everyone over there. Can you get them to board in a single file? I don't want to risk frightening the kids by having a noisy gaggle of adults all arriving at once."

"Of course. Lisa first?"

"Lisa first."

Despite ACE's General Manager's request for calm, it was an exited group who boarded Thunderbird Two and were ushered to the seats not occupied by Sunbeam's teaching staff.

Hamish Mickelson was requested to hold a seat for Lisa next to Olivia, and was astonished when, after leading Lisa to the cell directly opposite, Gordon flipped back his hood to reveal the face of a stranger.

"Hey, Virgiggler," the strange face with the even stranger voice called, reaching into the cell. "There's someone here to see you. Come out and say hello."

Ginny only just had the chance to see who it was before Lisa had wrapped her up in her arms. "My baby..." The tears of a mother were unable to be kept at bay. "My baby's all right."

"She's just fine," Gordon soothed. "You two can chat until we're ready to go." The stranger's eye winked at Hamish. "You can hold Mrs Crump's seat until then."

In quick time the passenger hold was full, and Gordon returned to where Lisa was sitting on the floor, listening to Ginny tell her all about her exciting day. She gave the man from International Rescue a long look as he knelt down next to them.

"Time to go back into your cocoon, Virgiggler." Ginny demonstrated why she'd received that nickname and Gordon grinned.

Lisa gave her daughter one last hug before she placed her back into the cell.

"Look!" Unperturbed by all the upheavals, Ginny giggled and pointed at the hologram. "Fish gone! Puppies."

"Yes. Puppies." Lisa kissed her daughter on the top of her head. "Be good, Darling." She turned away

"Here," Hamish was on his feet, indicating the chair he'd been sitting in. "This is your seat."

"No." Lisa shook her head and rubbed her eyes on the back of her hand. "I've got to stay with Butch."

Mickelson realised that more than anything else, Lisa's continued presence would make International Rescue's work more difficult. "Mrs Crump..." he protested before amending it to a friendlier, "Lisa... You can't stay."

"I must."

"Ma'am?" Gordon became a physical barrier to the woman who was heading towards the door. "You can't go back out there. Please sit down so we can leave."

"But I can't leave Butch. Not while he's in trouble." Lisa cast a haunted look at the cell containing her daughter. "Not now that I know that she's safe."

"I know it's important for you to stay for Butch," Gordon soothed. "But it's important for Ginny that you stay with her too. She's all right at the moment because she doesn't understand what's happened, and up till now she's been around people she knows and who have done a great job at keeping things unthreatening for her and the other kids. But once she's in a strange place with all the strange noises and strange people, that's when she's going to need her mother."

Lisa hesitated.

"Please, Mrs Crump. We're wasting time."

Lisa didn't want to leave Butch, but neither did she want to leave Ginny. With a reluctant nod, she accepted the vacated seat and sat down; Olivia giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Thank you." Gordon, checking that her safety harness was done up properly, wondered if he should go a step further and lock her into the seat.

Hamish Mickelson faced his workforce. "I know I don't need to tell you to follow International Rescue's instructions. I'm leaving Greg Harrison in charge and, when you're lucky enough to find your family, please let him know if you're leaving the group. We don't want anyone going AWOL." There were various nods from the people of ACE. "Good luck, everyone, and we'll meet again soon… Have a good trip..." He uttered a final "Thanks, Greg" he left Thunderbird Two; heartfelt well wishes from his team following him to the door.

He joined Scott over by the furnace building.

"Are they all aboard?" the man from International Rescue asked.

Hamish nodded. "We almost had a mutiny from Lisa, but Gordon made her see that in the short-term Ginny needs her more than Butch does." He hesitated. "At least I think it was Gordon. It didn't look like him."

Scott chuckled as he pushed his hood off his head and enjoyed the feeling of fresh air on his face. "He had a mask on, did he? Probably so he wouldn't scare the kids."

"It's an effective disguise. If I hadn't been speaking to him earlier and he hadn't mentioned that it wasn't a good swimming day, I never would have guessed who it was."

"That's good to know. They're horrible things to wear, but if they work, it's a small sacrifice to make in the name of security."

Hamish was about to make a comment along the lines that he could understand that sentiment when three things happened in quick succession. The first was Thunderbird Two firing her VTOL rockets and lifting off the ground.

The second was the earthquake. One so powerful that both men lost their footing and fell.

The third was the explosion that rocked the entire compound.

_1:18 p.m._

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

_1:18 p.m._

Virgil, at Thunderbird Two's controls, was shocked to witness the plume of smoke and fire that shot skywards past his cockpit window at an even greater speed than his launching aeroplane. His first response was to take evasive action to ensure that his craft and her precious cargo of pre-schoolers and his former workmates were clear of the hazard.

The second, as he turned Thunderbird Two back so he could see the column of smoke rising from the factory that had been Aeronautical Component Engineering, was to get on the radio. "Thunderbird Two calling Mobile Control... This is Thunderbird Two calling Mobile Control!"

"Passenger hold to flight deck. What gives?"

Thinking quickly, Virgil decided against stating the obvious. "I had to make an unexpected detour. Can you come up here?"

He half expected Gordon to make some flippant comment like, _so long as you don't make any more moves like that_, but his brother had the sense to realise that the command wouldn't have been given without good reason.

"Thunderbird Two calling Mobile Control... Thunderbird Two calling..."

"This is Mobile Control. We're okay, Thunderbird Two. Continue to your destination."

Gordon arrived to hear Scott's final sentence, Virgil's responding "F-A-B," and see a tall bank of smoke disappear from view. "What happened?"

"I don't know. There appears to have been an explosion at ACE."

"The paint store maybe?"

"Could be. It looked to be in the right area." Virgil glanced over his shoulder at the masked face of his brother. "Is everyone all right?"

"The adults are a little perturbed," Gordon admitted. "The kids think it's all part of the fun."

"Good. If they're settled they'll leave the hold quicker. I want to get back and put that fire out."

"What's our ETA?"

Virgil consulted his chronograph. "Point zero seven of an hour."

"If we've only got four minutes I'd better get back down there... So long as you're not gonna make any more moves like that while I'm in transit. I don't feel like doing pinball impersonations in the elevator."

"It's not part of the flight plan."

"Good. I'll meet you back up here when we've offloaded everybody."

The door behind swished shut and Virgil relaxed. Everyone at ACE was accounted for, most were safe, the unexpected explosion hadn't resulted in any injuries, and Gordon's mood had improved since he'd had to focus on children's problems rather than his own.

-F-A-B-

The earthquake, although violent enough to cause more damage and shake most of those standing off their feet, had been a blessing in disguise. It had meant that Scott Tracy and Hamish Mickelson were lying on the ground out of harm's way when the exploding paint booth had sent a sheet of steel plate whistling past at the level of their heads.

Scott's first concern was that the explosion may have taken out Thunderbird Two in some way, until the ringing in his ears had cleared and he heard his brother's voice commanding his attention. His second concern was for the older man at his side, who was sitting up gingerly and looking at what remained of his factory.

As there was little that they could do for the three trapped in the furnace building at this junction, Scott's third concern was for John. Prior to the earthquake and explosion, his brother had been standing on the unsecure platform reassuring those inside.

Now there was no sign of him.

Scott ran to where he'd last seen International Rescue's regular Space Monitor.

The rift that John had needed to bridge as he made contact with those inside the crucible furnace's building had been formed when the ground had opened up in the first major earthquake. Now, after that aftershock, it had opened wider, ripping John's platform from its foundations.

Dodging pools of liquefaction, Scott reached the rift's edge and, his heart thudding as hard as the Earth had moments earlier, looked into the hole.

A silver-clothed figure was lying in a crumpled heap in the bottom of the crack; hard up against the building's foundations; black mud partially burying him.

"John!"

The figure moved.

"John! Lie still," Scott commanded. "Here hold this," he shoved the microphone into Hamish Mickelson's hands. "See if you can contact your guys." He started clambering down to where his brother was attempting to sit up. "Don't move, John!"

John, either not hearing or not listening, sat up. Mud slithered off his silver suit and pooled around his lower body.

Scott heard Hamish call down after him. "Is he all right?"

Scott didn't know. He landed at the bottom of the rift, nearly overbalancing on the loose rubble that lay there. He fell to his knees, ignoring the bruises he was giving himself, and tried to peer through John's visor. "Are you all right?"

"W… Why is my head in a box?"

Scott undid the seal that held John's fire-suit's hood in place and flipped it out of the way. "Are you all right?" he repeated.

"Yes." Then John's eyes widened. "Whoa! The Milky Way!" With a frown he reached out and pointed into mid-air. "Why's Draco next to Triangulum Australe? Diff'rent hemis-fears, y'know… And…"

Scott felt a sinking feeling. With gentle fingers he felt his brother's head for the site of the obvious injury. "Does your head hurt?"

"Stars," John muttered. "Lotsa and lotsa stars."

Scott found a bump under his fingers on the side of the head and John winced. "Sorry." He raised his index finger, the one that wasn't stained with his brother's blood. "How many fingers am I holding up, John?"

"Not as many as there are stars."

"But how many?"

"One." John chortled. "One away from doin' somethin' rude. If you do, I'll tell Grandma."

Scott heard a voice from above him. "How is he, Scott?"

"Probable concussion." Scott started feeling down John's arms, seeking other injuries. "I'm trying to work out how serious it is. Can you go back to Mobile Control…?"

Hamish looked confused. "Mobile Control?"

"It's my workstation behind the Waterfall. On the top right side of the screen there's a button marked with a first aid cross. Push that and a list of first aid equipment will come up. Enter _zero zero one _then _enter_ and _zero zero two_ and _enter_ again and…" Scott thought quickly. "_Two_ _eight seven_ and _two five two._"

"One, two, two eight seven and two five two?" Hamish repeated.

"Two, four, six, eight," John chanted.

Scott ignored him. "If you forget scroll down to the 200s and it's the padded helmet and neck brace. But don't push submit until I tell you."

"Understood." Hamish jogged away and Scott returned his attention to his examination.

"Hey!" John took exception to the prodding of his ribcage and pushed his brother's hands away. "Mind what you're doin'!

"I'm trying to find out if you've hurt yourself. Are you in pain anywhere?"

"Head." John was still tracing the invisible celestial bodies with his finger in the air.

"I'm sure you've got a headache. Anywhere else?"

"Canis Major's next to Ursa Major. Must be havin' a major party…" John chuckled. "Major party."

"Right," Scott responded, ignoring the blather as he felt along John's arms.

"Ursa Major's the big bear. Did you know that, Scott?"

"I know. Are you in any pain, apart from your head?"

"Big bear," John confirmed. "Big white bear."

"Yes, John, a big white bear," Scott persisted. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Have you seen the big white bear, Scott?"

"Not for a long time." As John's attention wandered back to the invisible celestial bodies that only he could see, Scott tried again to get a straight answer. "John! Look at me, John!"

"Look at you?" A pair of unfocused blue eyes turned on him. "There once was a young man called Scott; who whenever he was in a spot; with his piercing blue gaze; could see through the haze…" A small frown creased John's forehead. "I think, perhaps, I've lost the plot."

Scott was sure that his brother had. "Do you have any pain in your neck?"

"No."

"Anywhere?"

"No." Then John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Kinda."

Scott watched as his brother's already pale skin turned almost green. "Nausea?" The affirmation that was John's response was barely vocalised, but it didn't need to be. "Hold on for a moment and we'll get you set." He raised his hand and spoke into his watch. "Scott to Mobile Control."

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Two coming in to land," the disguised voice of Virgil Tracy announced to the staff of Aeronautical Component Engineering and Sunbeam Preschool.

"F-A-B," Gordon, still in his disguise and strapped into his chair, felt the moment when Thunderbird Two touched the ground and frowned. Either an earthquake had hit the town that was supposed to be a refuge for those on board, or else his brother's concerns for his friends and former workmates weren't as suppressed as they'd all hoped.

At the command. "Clear to disembark," he freed himself from the restraints and stood. "Okay, everyone," he told the adults who had enjoyed an all too brief flight in one of International Rescue's flagship craft, "it's time to leave. What I would appreciate is if you would each escort a child off Thunderbird Two. We wouldn't want them terrorising the natives, would we?"

There was a quiet chuckle from the group as he approached the preschool staff. "Will you reassure the children that they're safe with the adult they're assigned to?" he requested. "Once you're marshalled outside you will be divided back into your respective groups, but in the meantime each child will be easier to keep under control if they have one adult keeping an eye on them. Please try not to get separated from the group," he added, "those kids will still need to see a friendly face. Now, which of you have children here?" Mrs Douglas and another held up their hands. "Good. You, naturally, will look after your own children, and I'll ask you to leave first along with Mrs Crump and Virgig..." He stopped, knowing that as he would meet both Lisa and Ginny in the future he'd better break the habit of calling the child by her new nickname. "Her daughter."

The head teacher grabbed his hand. "Thank you for getting us out of there."

"Not a problem." Gordon treated her to a disarming smile. "I wish all our rescues were this easy." He helped Mrs Douglas' son out of his cell and then the daughter of the other mother helper.

Both adults took their children's hands and held them tightly as they stood to one side.

"Mrs Crump," Gordon called, "will you come and take Virginia?"

Lisa quickly undid her harness and joined him, as with an "Outsa-daisy" Gordon pulled Ginny from her cell. "Bye-bye, Virginia."

"Bye-bye." And Gordon was surprised and pleased to receive a hug of farewell.

"That's one of the best thank you's I've ever had," he said, grinning. "Maybe I'll see you again sometime?"

"Yes!" Ginny gave one of her emphatic head nods.

One by one the staff of Aeronautical Component Engineering filed past the cells, accepting a small child into their care. Not all were happy with the experience. Some of the children shrank back from the stranger, and it was only the soothing words of the head teacher that gave them the confidence to take the man or woman from ACE's hand. And not all the staff were happy with the idea of holding the grubby extremity of a runny-nosed toddler that had recently had an 'accident', but most accepted that this was only a temporary situation and that they had to make the best of it.

Greg Harrison was the last to take a child, plucking a boy, who'd managed to doze off in the comfort of his soothing cocoon, out of a cell. Holding the sleeping figure with the practised ease of one who remembered the joys of parenthood, he turned and looked around to check that there were no stragglers remaining. "Olivia?" he said, seeing a lone figure. "Time to go, Olivia."

Olivia Annan hadn't moved from her seat; her harness still holding her in place. "No."

"No?"

Gordon moved forward to assist. "Can't you unfasten the harness?"

Olivia crossed her arms across the buckle and glared at him; daring him to touch her. "I'm going back."

Greg Harrison stared at her. "Back? Back where?"

"Back to ACE."

"Back to ACE? Olivia? Are you feeling all right?"

Olivia's glare had moved to the Charge Hand. "Perfectly all right, Greg."

"Don't you want to try to find your family?"

"They're all alright. They live in another state."

"And they're probably worried sick about you." Perplexed, Greg stared at her. "Why don't you come outside with us?"

"Because I'm going back to help Mr Mickelson."

"I'm sure he doesn't need your help. He'd much rather know that you're safe. He was worried about you while you were trapped."

"I'm not trapped now," Olivia snapped. "I'm a free agent and this is a free country and I'm going back to ACE. I'm Hamish Mickelson's personal assistant," she continued in a stubborn voice that told both men that she'd made up her mind and that neither of them were going to change it, "and I'm going back to assist him!"

"You're his assistant only during office hours!" Becoming annoyed, Greg's voice grew louder and the boy in his arms shifted. He glanced down and was relieved to see the child's breathing settle back into the rhythm of sleep. "There isn't even an office at ACE now."

"I don't care. While I'm employed by ACE my place is with him."

"If you carry on like this, Olivia," Greg hissed, "you won't have employment at ACE. Need I remind you that Hamish Mickelson left ME in charge while he's back at the factory!?"

"You're not my boss, and you've never been my boss. I only answer to Mr Mickelson!"

"I...!"

Gordon, deciding that it was time to intervene, laid his hand on Greg Harrison's shoulder in an unspoken command to calm down. "Please, Miss," he pleaded, moving closer again. "We can't leave until you leave."

Once again Olivia folded her arms to block him. "Yes, you can. I'm securely buckled in and I'm sure that a plane of this size won't even be aware it's carrying someone of my weight"

"This is a Thunderbird!" Greg exclaimed. "You can't tell someone from International Rescue what you can and can't do in his craft."

Olivia's glare intensified. "If either of your tries to stop me I'll tell the world that I was assaulted by a man from International Rescue. I've got the numbers of several major media outlets on the speed dial of my phone!"

Gordon raised his hands in surrender and took a step back.

"Olivia!" Greg protested. "International Rescue have just saved your life, and this is how you repay them? By destroying their good name?"

For the first time Olivia's resolution wavered and Gordon hoped it was because she was seeing sense.

"You're right," she agreed, and both men relaxed. "I can't and I won't slander International Rescue... But what about you Greg? What would your wife think if I were to quietly mention that you'd taken advantage of the situation?"

Greg Harrison paled. "You wouldn't."

"It would be your word against mine. Who would she believe?"

"I've got a witness."

"Who? Him?" Olivia indicated Gordon with a flick of her head. "He doesn't even know us. Do you think he'd risk exposing International Rescue just to clear your name?"

Greg Harrison turned a beseeching look on Gordon.

Who decided that he needed help and hurried over to a quiet corner where he could seek it. "Passenger Hold to Flight Deck."

"Flight Deck. What's the hold up?"

"Olivia won't leave."

"She what?" Gordon could hear the astonishment in Virgil's voice.

"She's refusing to leave. She says she'll scream blue murder and tell the world that either Mr Harrison or I assaulted her if I try to make her."

"She's bluffing."

"I..." Gordon hesitated. "I think you're right. She said that she couldn't and wouldn't harm us. But..."

"You don't believe her?"

"I don't think we can risk calling her bluff. There's not only International Rescue to worry about, there's Mr Harrison as well. He looked like he was going to faint when she threatened him."

"Why's she doing it?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's hurt more than a black eye?"

"Then get her medical help!"

"How? Do you want me to bring more people on board?"

"Run a few medical tests."

"Then she really will tell the world I assaulted her!"

"We can't go back with her. She's a security risk!"

"I know!" Taking a deep breath, Gordon looked across to where Greg Harrison, keeping a wary distance, was still trying to talk some sense into Olivia. "Any ideas what I should do?" Then he groaned. "Great. Here's another one. This is becoming like Grand Central Station!"

The "other one" was Lisa Crump. "I thought we hadn't seen you two disembark," she said to her colleagues. "What's wrong?"

"Olivia refused to leave," Greg admitted.

Gordon hurried across, eager to reach a resolution and get back to the real rescue. "Shouldn't you be with Virginia?" he asked.

"She's playing with her friends, but she wanted me to say thank you to the man from International Rescue and I..." Lisa glanced at the others. "I know you want to get back, so I wasn't going to, but you were taking so long I thought I should see if anything's wrong."

"Tell Virginia it was a pleasure to meet her, but that I needed to get back to help my friends rescue her daddy. Which I will do as soon as Olivia leaves." Gordon waited, sure that his comment had instilled some sense of urgency into the situation.

His plan seemed to have worked when Lisa turned on the other woman. "Please, Olivia," she begged. "International Rescue need to rescue Butch. For Ginny's and my sake, and his, please come with us."

Both Gordon and Greg Harrison relaxed, sure that the plea was all that Olivia needed to realise that she was holding things up and that other's needs were greater than her own.

But Olivia, rather than feeling guilty at the inconvenience she was causing, saw it as an opportunity. "I can give you updates on Butch's rescue, Lisa!" She pulled her cell phone from out of her pocket and Gordon, with a sinking stomach, saw Lisa's face light up.

"You can't do that." Greg, his arms growing tired, tried to move the child's weight without waking him. "The cellular network isn't even working."

"Yes, it is!" Lisa corrected. "Mrs Tracy called me, remember?"

Gordon's mouth dropped. "Mrs Tracy?"

"Yes. The man who owns the factory's mother." Lisa looked triumphant. "She a personal friend and she called to see if we were all right. I spoke to Mr Tracy too."

For the first time in his life Gordon found himself cursing his grandmother's good intentions. That, along with some anger towards his father, was an odd sensation.

"Do you have my number?" Lisa was asking Olivia.

The two ladies started entering digits into their cell phones.

Greg turned to Gordon. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "But now that Lisa's siding with Olivia I think we've reached a stalemate." He glanced back at the women. "I don't know what's happened to Olivia, she's normally a reasonable person who wouldn't hurt a fly, but... Erm..."

Gordon, understanding Greg's need to remind him of the blackmail whilst not wishing to sound selfish, nodded.

"Once she's back at ACE I'm sure Hamish Mickelson will be able to talk some sense into her," Greg continued, sounding optimistic, "and maybe someone else will be able to bring her back here. But... in the meantime... do you mind taking her?"

Gordon did mind. Taking someone who knew the face of every Tracy was the last thing that he wanted to do, but, he knew that, short of risking the universal condemnation of International Rescue and bodily picking Olivia out of her seat and carrying her outside, he had no other option.

He escorted Greg and Lisa out of Thunderbird Two, closed the door to the outside world, told a triumphant Olivia in no uncertain terms that she was not to undo her harness, before escaping up to the flight deck to break the bad news.

-F-A-B-

In the shelter, behind the waterfall under Thunderbird One, Hamish Mickelson had done as he'd been instructed. Pressing the cross on the console had brought up a list of first aid supplies. 001 stated that it was a "H. Stretcher", while 002 was "winch". He remembered the number 287 and brought up "P'd helmet", but couldn't recollect the final number. Scrolling through the list he found "252 Neck brace" and, hoping it was the right one, had pressed the check box on screen.

Then he'd waited.

"_Scott to Mobile Control."  
_

Hamish started at the unexpected voice. He looked around for a button to initiate the microphone, but couldn't see one. Deciding that it could be sound operated, he spoke out loud. "Scott?"

"Have you programmed those numbers?"

"Stretcher, winch, erm… padded helmet," Hamish interpreted the abbreviation in the list that was on screen, "and neck brace."

"Good."

"Anything else?"

"No. Press submit."

Hamish pressed the big green button at the bottom of the screen. He was astounded to see one of Thunderbird One's panels open out and a stretcher fell to the ground, landing with an almost inaudible "phft."

The stretcher appeared to be of the standard type as used by the rescue authorities, except that the hollow that protected the patient was covered by some kind of tarpaulin. One end was shaped like a handle and Hamish grabbed hold and pulled.

Surprised by the lack of effort it took to drag the stretcher along the ground he hurried back to the rift by the furnace building. "I'm here. How is he?"

Scott had moved from examining his brother and applying a head bandage, to supporting John. "Better."

"I would be if the world'd stop spinnin'," John groaned. He swallowed.

"Slide the stretcher down, Uncle Hamish," Scott instructed. "You can't damage it."

Making sure that he sent the stretcher on its downward plunge well clear of the two Tracys, Hamish did as he was told and watched as it bumped and scraped down the wall of the rift, dislodging clumps of earth and rubble as it went.

"Thanks." Then Scott turned to his brother. "John?" he queried. "Can you understand what I'm saying?"

"I can understand you, I just wish you'd stop shouting," John told him, sounding more lucid than he had in the last few minutes.

"Sorry," Scott whispered. "Can you support yourself while I get things ready?"

"Yes."

Scott wasn't convinced and, after carefully removing his hand and watching his brother for a moment to see if there was any sign of collapse, he moved away and started stripping down the stretcher; John wincing at every noise.

Well practised at readying International Rescue's equipment and fully aware of what the stretcher contained, it didn't take long for Scott to pull back the shroud that sealed the hollow and remove the padded helmet and neck brace. "I'm…" At John's flinch he lowered his voice. "I'm going to put a neck brace on you, okay?"

"My neck's not sore."

"I'm glad to hear that," Scott whispered as installed the brace. "But I don't want to take any risks and it will help to support the helmet."

John didn't offer any complaints, but he sucked in his breath as the cushioned cap was lowered with as much care as was practicable onto his head.

"How're you feeling?" he was asked.

"Like I've been ambushed by an amorous pillow."

Relieved by the humour in the comment Scott chuckled, but cut the laugh short when John grimaced. "Do you feel up to shifting into the stretcher?"

There was a moment's indecision as John's aching brain worked through the pros and cons of staying put on the rough, uncomfortable, bruise-inducing ground, compared to making the nausea-inducing move to the relative comfort of lying cocooned in a stretcher before the vertigo-inducing relocation from the bottom of the rift to somewhere in the vicinity of a Thunderbird. The reminder that they were sitting in a rift that had been caused by violent seismic activity and the knowledge that that activity hadn't subsided, was enough to make him finally answer. "Yes."

"Can you do it?"

"I'll try."

"Hang on to me." Scott laid the stretcher next to his brother and then assisted him in the transition to the apparatus. Then, after making sure that John was strapped in and wouldn't have to endure any unnecessary movement, he collected an item that had made the journey from Thunderbird One's underbelly and climbed back up to the top of the rift.

"How is he?" Hamish asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

"Better than I initially thought. With any luck he'll be fine after a bit of rest." Scott held up the device in his hand. "Which he can do once we've got him to somewhere safer."

"How are you going to get him out?" Hamish looked down at what had formerly been a neat business suit complete with mirror-gleaming shoes. Those shoes had always been a part of his identity; a carryover from his Air Force days. If he ever appeared at work with those shoes sporting less than a high shine, it was always commented on by his employees with something along the lines of: _"Something's wrong with Mr M. His beacons have gone out,"_ or _"He must have been in trouble at home. Mrs Mickelson's chucked him out early." _"I'm not dressed for rappelling… But then," he reflected, "I wasn't wearing the right gear last time I rappelled either."

"You've no idea how glad I am you didn't stop to worry about that then," Scott told him, busying himself with the device, "and you won't need worry about it now." He placed the gizmo on the ground and began feeding out a length of line. "This'll do the hard work." He fed the line through a pulley and dropped the end down towards the stretcher. "All you'll need to do is make sure that this doesn't snag."

"F-A-B."

Scott climbed back down into the rift. "Ready to ride?" he asked.

John, his eyes clamped tightly shut and unable to nod because his head was immobilised by a cushioned strap and fear of upsetting his unsettled stomach, grunted.

"Just hang in there. This won't take long."

There was another grunt from the patient.

Scott affixed the cable to the head of the stretcher and, using a remote control, told the winch to wind itself into action. Following at John's feet, he guided the stretcher up and over the rubble.

Hamish Mickelson was amazed at how smooth the trip was. Amazement that turned into shock when the stretcher reached the lip of the rift and appeared to continue climbing, until it finally settled about a metre in the air. Unable to help himself he bent down and checked beneath it and was even more astonished to see that nothing connected it to the ground.

"It's a hover-stretcher," Scott explained. "It's much more comfortable for the patient than being carried or wheeled."

"Easy for you to say," John groaned.

"Nearly there," Scott soothed and, with Hamish walking alongside, he guided the stretcher towards Thunderbird One.

-F-A-B-

Virgil heard Gordon enter the flight deck, turned to ask if they were ready to leave, and was astounded to see anger suffusing the unfamiliar mask. "What's wrong?"

"Put me through to Alan!"

"Uh... Okay..." Virgil was tempted to repeat his question, but decided that, judging by the look on Gordon's 'face', now wasn't the time to start an interrogation. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five..." He looked back at the unfamiliar features. "Can we leave now?"

Gordon was about to reply in the affirmative when their younger brother appeared on screen with a question of his own. "What's holding you guys up?"

"You are!"

Alan and Virgil blinked at the venom in those two words.

"I am?" Alan squeaked. "How?"

"By making unauthorised cell phone calls!"

Virgil frowned. "What?"

Alan, however, had a good idea what had lit the rocket under the aquanaut. "That wasn't my fault!"

"Oh? So did the overworked network suddenly clear itself at just the right moment to receive a message?!"

Confused, Virgil stared at Gordon.

"No..." Alan seemed abashed. "Of course not."

"Did a cellular signal bounce off the moon and back to ACE?"

"Huh?"

Alan's response was a subdued: "Don't be silly."

"Did Lisa Crump wave a magic wand all of a sudden she was able to talk to our grandmother!?"

"What?!" Virgil would have jumped to his feet if his control yoke hadn't been in the way. "Lisa? What about Lisa?"

Gordon folded his arms and glared at the face on the video screen.

Alan's still looked abashed. "Grandma made me put a call through to Lisa's phone," he explained.

"What!?" Virgil repeated. "When Father finds out you've used Thunderbird Five's equipment without proper authorisation he's..."

"He authorised it," Alan interrupted. "I wasn't going to, but she gave him that look that meant he was going to be going without any meals for a week! He had no choice!"

"He might not have, but you should have stood your ground," Gordon stormed. "You know our rules and she would have forgotten that you'd stood up to her by the time you were home again!"

"I know, I know..." Alan protested. "What does it matter anyway? There's no harm done."

"No harm done!? Olivia refuses to leave Thunderbird Two..."

"What?" Virgil repeated a third time and turned on the closed circuit TV camera that kept watch over the passenger hold.

"...and she got Lisa to back her up by promising that she'll keep her informed what's happening with Butch's rescue... Since the phone network's working intermittently."

"Tell her she's got to go," Alan suggested, with the blithe air of someone who was thousands of kilometres away from the action and had no real understanding of the situation.

"I've tried that."

"Get someone from ACE to talk to her."

"She wouldn't listen."

"Shoot her with a tranquiliser, drag her outside, and say she fainted. You can tell the medicos that she probably hit her head during the first earthquake."

"Shoot her?" Gordon's emotions were being shaken up more than the earth beneath their feet this morning and Alan's suggestion had fired him up again. "Shoot her?! She's already threatened to go to the media and tell the world that International Rescue assaulted her! What do you think she'd do if I pull a gun on her?!"

"Uh..." Alan didn't have an answer to that.

"Gordon...?" Virgil didn't look away from the video screen.

"What!?"

"What _did_ you do to her?"

"Nothing! I haven't touched her. I didn't even check her safety harness. Uncle Hamish did that and I know that he knows what he's doing, so I didn't bother!"

"Then why is she crying?"

"Crying?" Gordon moved closer so he could see the CCTV screen.

Olivia was bent forward against her restraints, her head was in her hands, and her shoulders were shaking. Virgil turned up the volume and the three of them could hear the sound of heartbroken sobs.

"I didn't do anything! I didn't touch her! I..." Much of Gordon's anger evaporated as he looked at the forlorn figure on screen. "I may have yelled at her before I came up here, but that was because I was annoyed with her and I didn't want her to cause any trouble."

"What are you going to do?" Alan asked.

"We've wasted too much time and there's only one thing we can do," Virgil declared. "Sit down and buckle up, Gordon. We're heading back to ACE."

"But what about Olivia?" Alan demanded. "She's a security hazard. She knows you!"

"I'm aware of that. But maybe Uncle Hamish can talk some sense into her."

"And then what are you going to do if he talks her into leaving? It's not like you can call a cab to come and pick her up. Maybe he should talk to her over the radio?"

Virgil, about to ignite Thunderbird Two's VTOL jets, hesitated. "You have a point. I suppose we should at least let Scott know what's happened. Depending on the situation back at ACE he might prefer for us to wait until Olivia's out of the way. I'll give him a call..."

-F-A-B-

Scott, with Hamish Mickelson guiding the stretcher from the other side, led a supine John through the waterfall and parked his transportation, still hovering, next to Mobile Control.

Then he plugged the stretcher into the control unit and examined the numbers that appeared on screen. "You'll live," he told his patient.

"Can I get a second opinion on that?" Then John managed to open his eyes. "I'm sorry, Scott. You're going to be short-handed."

Scott smiled down on him. "Don't worry about it. You've reinstated communications with the furnace, which was the one thing you and no one else could do. Now that everyone's been evacuated we can bring Virgil on stream. All you need to do is get some rest. Don't forget to shout if you need anything."

"Right." John closed his eyes again as Scott and Hamish left, the waterfall sealing itself behind them.

"Should you be leaving him alone?" Hamish asked. "He didn't look well."

"Mobile Control's monitoring him," Scott reassured his friend. "First sign of trouble I'll be alerted. At the moment I'm more worried about the guys in the building."

His reassurances did nothing to ease Hamish's mind. "But he looked ill. What if he's sick? He's lying on his back and he can't move on that stretcher." He stopped walking. "I could stay with him if you want."

"I need you out here," Scott corrected. "Like I said, he's fine. Mobile Control will sense if there's a chance that he's going to vomit and will roll the stretcher to the side to keep his airway clear. Which," he managed a wry grin, "usually guarantees that that unhappy event occurs. The funnel by his head is a collection unit and will drain everything away. He's not in any danger from asphyxiation."

Hamish looked impressed. "I don't know the half of what your equipment is capable of, do I?"

"Oh... I'd say you only know about an eighth." Then Scott lost his grin. "How are your guys?"

"Eager to know what had happened. They got the impression that the roof had lifted and let some of the hot air out, but I don't know how accurate that assumption is."

"Is there any further damage?"

"Not that they could see."

"Good." Scott frowned and looked at his watch. "Where's Thunderbird Two? It shouldn't have taken them this long."

"Something's held them up?"

"Maybe Alan will know. I've got to report in about John anyway." Scott raised his microphone.

But he was stopped from making his call by another radio message. "Thunderbird Two calling Mobile Control."

"This is Mobile Control. What's your ETA, Thunderbird Two?"

"Ah..." both men heard Virgil's hesitation. "I don't know."

"_You_ don't know?!"

"Yeah..."

"Why not?"

"We have a situation, Mobile Control."

"A situation?"

"Is Mr Mickelson there?"

"He's standing next to me."

"It's Olivia. She refuses to leave Thunderbird Two. She says her place is at his side."

Hamish Mickelson looked startled. "I thought she understood that she was to stay with the others."

Scott made an exasperated sound. "Can't Gordon handle it?"

"No. She's threatening to tell the world that International Rescue assaulted her if we don't do it. She's also told Lisa that she'll report back on Butch's rescue, so Lisa's supporting her decision."

"How was she going to do that?"

"Apparently," and those back at ACE heard the grim irony in Virgil's reply, "the mother of the man who owns the business managed to get through on Lisa's cell phone."

Scott's eyebrows launched skywards. "She what?!"

Hamish groaned. "Lisa spoke to both Jeff and your grandmother."

"Olivia and Lisa," Virgil continued, "have got it into their heads that the network will work often enough that Olivia will be able to give a running commentary."

Scott cursed his grandma, his father, and Alan. "So you're still on the ground?"

"Affirmative. What do you want us to do? We were going to leave, but we thought she might listen to her boss if he talked to her."

Scott ground his teeth in frustration. "We haven't got time for that. John's had a fall and hit his head and I need you both and Thunderbird Two back here to get those guys out of the building."

"John? How is he?"

"Not as bad as I first feared, but he's going to be out of action for the rest of the rescue. We need you back now, Thunderbird Two."

"Understood." Virgil finally ignited the VTOL jets.

_1:26 p.m._

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

_1:26 p.m._

"Do you know what you've done?!"

Scott Tracy was livid. He had quietly finished his conversation with Virgil, had asked Hamish Mickelson to remain outside to await Thunderbird Two's arrival, had let himself into Thunderbird One's cabin without disturbing John, had closed the hatch against the outside world, and had then demanded that Alan patch him through to Tracy Island and stay on the line. It was once he had a clear view of the Tracys' lounge and could see the focus of his anger that he allowed all his frustrations of the last few hours to explode out of him. "What the he..." remembering who he was yelling at, he censored himself, _"heck_ were you doing ringing Lisa Crump?!"

Jeff looked startled at the unexpected, uncharacteristic outburst. Startled and displeased at his Rescue Coordinator's unprofessional behaviour and his son's disrespectful attitude. "Scott!"

Scott turned his focus on his father. "And you let her?"

"I couldn't see the harm…"

"You couldn't see the harm in forcing Alan to break one of our rules? The rules YOU laid down! The rules YOU said were sacrosanct."

Grandma frowned at the furious International Rescue operative. "All I did was give a poor frightened woman some support!" She folded her arms in a stubborn gesture that was reminiscent of her youngest grandson. The one who, observing through the camera in his portrait, looked like he wanted to make use of every kilometre between himself and the altercation and disappear.

Scott's glare switched back to his grandmother. "Support!?"

"Yes!"

"Don't you think Uncle Hamish would have liked the support of knowing that Auntie Edna's all right?" Scott demanded. "Don't you think every person at ACE would like the support of knowing that their loved ones survived the 'quake? Don't you think every person in the city would like to be reassured by people they know...? Grandma! You haven't given support! You've just made an already difficult job even more difficult!"

His grandma returned his glare at equal wattage. "I don't see how."

"You don't see…?!"

"All I know is that I've been shouted at by someone who should know better!"

"Mother…" Jeff said quietly. "Let him tell us what's happened to get him so riled up... Scott…" This time he said his eldest's name in a tone that suggested that maybe he was right to be angry. "Take a deep breath and tell us what's happened."

Realising that it was time that he regained his accustomed professionalism, Scott did as he was told. "Before I do that..." He glanced away from the camera. "John's been injured. I don't think it's serious, but it means he's out of the game." He entered something into a computer and Brains' tablet PC beeped. "He's asleep in a hover-stretcher underneath Thunderbird One. I've sent you through his stats, Brains."

Brains, who'd more or less been hiding behind the couch during the family dispute, examined the data on screen. "What happened to him?"

"Yes, what?!" Grandma echoed; the red of anger paling into the white of concern before levelling out into her more natural skin tones.

"There's a rift around the furnace building that he had to traverse to get to the communications' junction box. An aftershock knocked him off the platform and he hit his head."

Jeff's frown had been deepening throughout the discussion. "Are you sure he's all right?"

"Initially he wasn't operating at full revs," Scott admitted, "but he became more lucid after about ten minutes. His vital signs are okay now; aren't they, Brains?"

Brains looked up from the computer. "Y-Yes. He still appears to asleep."

"Good. I was about to report in when I received word from Thunderbird Two." Scott voice showed deep irony. "They had, in Virgil's words, _a situation_."

Jeff's frown deepened into a fully-fledged V. "What kind of situation."

"Olivia Annan refused to leave Thunderbird Two with the rest of ACE. Gordon couldn't talk sense into her and neither could Greg Harrison, and she was threatening to claim assault if either of them so much as touched her." Scott noticed a blip on a screen. "So, they've had to come back here with her in the passenger hold. At present they're doing what they can to extinguish the fire in the paint bay."

"What has this to do with your grandmother calling Lisa?"

"Because she believes the cellular network is operable, at least part of the time, Olivia's offered to report back to Lisa on how International Rescue are progressing with Butch's rescue. In light of this Lisa supported Olivia's decision to return."

Jeff looked exasperated. "Couldn't your brother and Greg have done something? We're only talking about two women: both of whom are probably suffering from shock."

Scott let out a snort. "This is from a man who couldn't stand up to his own mother over one phone call!"

Although angered by it, Jeff chose to ignore the comment. Instead he shook his head. "Olivia? Blackmail? I can't believe it of her. She's always been loyal to the company."

"Uncle Hamish seemed as shocked. Since John's out of action, I had hoped that we could use his services, but now his job is going be keeping Olivia well away from the danger zone. We're not going to be able to work freely if she can see our faces."

"C-Couldn't you wear your _Hoods_?" Brains queried. "Then she wouldn't, ah, recognise any of you."

"Brains, some time when all this is over, I'm going to dress you in one and send you on a route march. Then you'll understand why that idea is not practical. Or I'm sure Gordon will be willing to give you his feedback. He had to wear his, so Ginny Crump wouldn't recognise him." At the sound of another blip Scott glanced at another screen. "Two's down so I'd better get moving. I'll report in soon."

"Scott!"

Scott, about to vacate his pilot's seat, stopped. "Yes, Grandma?"

"I'm sorry that I butted in on a rescue…" She looked genuinely contrite. "Would you tell Gordon I'm sorry too? I'll make your favourite dishes when you're home as an apology."

Scott grinned. "I'm sure that will more than make up for any inconvenience."

His portrait became static.

"I owe you both an apology too, Jeff, Alan…" Grandma looked up at the framed portrait. "I know nothing of what it's like on a rescue and I should learn to keep my nose out of it."

"You meant the best, Ma," her son soothed. "None of us realised what the repercussions would be." The frown returned. "I wonder what's wrong with Olivia."

-F-A-B-

With some trepidation, and for a brief time at least forgetting that his eyes weren't looking out through his face at the world, Gordon approached Hamish Mickelson's personal assistant. "Miss Annan?"

Olivia, startled to realise that she was not alone, sat up suddenly and turned from him, brushing her tears away.

Keeping a wary distance, Gordon held out a box of tissues. "Is everything all right?"

"I..." Olivia sniffed and then looked back at the man who'd helped so many. "I'm ashamed... Of myself... I... I owe you my life... I would never tell anyone... That your actions... were anything less than... honourable..." She broke her staccato speech long enough to accept a tissue. "And poor Greg... He would never do anything... to anyone!"

Gordon sat down two seats away from her and placed the tissue box between them. "Then why did you feel the need to threaten us? We only wanted to get you to safety."

"Oh...!" Olivia threw her hands up in the air. "I'm all of a muddle. The idea that I'd be safe while those poor men are still in danger... And Lisa, terrified that something terrible will happen to Butch... And Mr Watts and... and..." The tears flooded again, and she made a grab for the tissue box.

Gordon got her a rubbish tin for her tissues.

Olivia pulled herself together. "You're being too kind to me," she admitted. "After what I said I'd do I don't deserve your sympathy... I... I just needed to be close to..." Upon hearing her name from behind them she turned.

Scott, wearing his fire-suit disguise again, was walking towards them, closely followed by Hamish Mickelson.

"Olivia?" the latter queried. "What's going on?" He claimed the seat next to his assistant, leaving Gordon free to escape to his brother's side.

"What's going on?" Scott's query was an unheard echo of his friend's.

Gordon shrugged. "Beats me. She's all apologies now. What are we going to do with her?"

"She can't stay in here. We may need to use Thunderbird Two."

"Are there any rooms still standing at ACE?"

"None that I'd feel comfortable leaving her and Uncle Hamish in. Not while there are ongoing earthquakes."

"How's John?"

"Annoyed with himself for making an awkward situation even more difficult. He's asleep."

"It's not serious?"

"I don't think so."

"Good." Gordon gave a sigh of relief. "At least that's one person we don't have to worry about." He looked back over to where the two members of ACE were sitting.

"I'm sorry, Mr Mickelson," Olivia was apologising. "I didn't want to cause trouble. I only wanted to be on hand to help you if you needed me."

"I appreciate your help, Olivia, and I always have. But I'd be happier if I'd knew you were safe." Hamish Mickelson made a point of holding her gaze. "Are you sure you weren't hurt while you were in the CAD room?" He indicated her black eye, which had bled under her skin down the side of her face. "Something clearly hit you."

Taking care not to cause herself more pain, Olivia touched the bruise. "Winston accidentally kicked me during the big earthquake. It's not serious."

"Are you sure? I wish you'd stayed and got medical help."

Olivia attempted a reassuring smile. "There are others with worse injuries than this and I was sitting here, on the flight to Bearston, and thinking how lucky I was. And then I thought about Mr Watts, and Butch, and Bruce…" For a moment Mickelson thought he was going to have to deal with a fresh wave of tears, but Olivia, after a stabilising swallow, held firm. "And I thought that it wasn't fair that I was be going to be safe when they were trapped. And then I thought that maybe I'd be able to help in some way…"

Her boss reflected that Olivia Annan was going to be more of a hindrance than a help.

"…And when I heard that at least some phone calls were getting through, I thought that maybe I could let everyone, especially Lisa, know how International Rescue was getting on."

"Olivia…" Mickelson considered reminding her that International Rescue preferred to work without publicity; that there were no guarantees that the cellular network was working; that there were others, himself included, who were desperate for news of their loved ones…

Instead he treated his PA to a reassuring smile. "I know you did what you thought was right. But I want you to stay close to me and out of International Rescue's way, okay? And if we find some way of getting you to Bearston, I want you to go with no complaints. Understood?"

Olivia nodded. "I understand, Mr Mickelson. I'm sorry."

"Come on then," he stood and, finally unbuckling her safety harness, Olivia followed.

She looked over to where the two men from International Rescue had been joined by the third…

No, she frowned as she corrected herself, this one appeared to be shorter and stockier than the one she'd seen working on the communications unit at the furnace building. Then again, she supposed, it could have been the same person. In those shapeless silver suits, they all looked alike and from this distance she couldn't even tell if some of the men from International Rescue were actually women… Apart from the one she'd threatened who wasn't wearing his suit's headgear…

One of the two whose identity remained concealed strode across to where she stood next to her boss. "Thunderbird Two has sprayed the paint booth with fire retardant foam," he announced, and Olivia recognised the somewhat metallic voice as being that of the man who'd saved her and Winston. She was about to apologise again when he continued. "I doubt that it's put the fire out, but it should have dampened it down somewhat. But I want you two nowhere near the factory, nor where we're going to be working. The risk of danger is too high. We're going to supply you with some shelter and I want you to assemble it on the park well away from the factory and any other hazards."

Mickelson nodded. "We understand."

"Wait here."

Scott left them and returned to Gordon and Virgil. Then, once he'd issued instructions to his brothers and had released some items from their lockers in the hold, he approached the couple from ACE again. "Will you need a hand erecting the tent?" he asked, placing it on a seat.

Hamish chuckled as he checked the instructions tag. "I've put up more tents than you've had hot dinners."

Olivia stared at him. That seemed to be a rather flippant comment to make to a stranger; especially one that she'd so recently antagonised.

Fortunately, the man from International Rescue didn't seem to take offence. "I thought that might be the case," and Olivia was sure she heard the merest trace of laughter in his reply. "If you would leave now," a silver clad arm pointed towards the exit, "we'll be able to start work. Please do not come near Thunderbird Two again. We may have to use her, and we don't want to risk either of you being blasted by her jets."

Hamish nodded. "We won't." Hoisting the tent to his shoulders and with a gentle touch on her back, he guided Olivia forward, through the passenger hold and, finally, out of Thunderbird Two.

Scott waited until he was sure they'd departed the aeroplane. Then he flipped his hood off his head. "Thank heavens she's gone," he said, wiping his brow on his arm.

Virgil removed his own hood. "You can say that again."

"Do you think I can take this off?" Gordon unzipped the neck of his suit and scratched at the base of his mask. "It's driving me crazy!"

"You can for now," Scott told him. "But you may have to wear another later."

Gordon froze, the fake skin pulled away from his chin. "That is not an appealing prospect." His face disappeared behind the latex rubber and his brothers heard a muffled: "I loathe this thing."

"We know," Virgil reminded him. "We all loathe them."

"Tell Brains." Scott pulled a microphone from out of his pocket. "I called base to tell them what was happening and when he suggested that we wear Hoods I threatened to send him on a route march wearing one."

The mask popped free leaving a mess of tousled red hair and a similarly hued Gordon. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

With an: "I'll report into base," Scott took a step away from his brothers, so he could speak into the microphone uninterrupted.

Virgil checked his watch. "Uncle Hamish and Olivia are clear," he announced, pressing the button combination that started his aeroplane rising on her legs. "Now we can finally do some work."

"About time," Gordon grumbled, peeling the first of his disguising gloves off. "What do you want us to do first, Scott?"

Scott Tracy, his face grim, re-joined them. "Come up with a plan and make it quick. I was just talking to Bruce. That last 'quake jammed the ventilation units shut. He said the heat build up's pretty intense. They've drunk the last of their fluids and they've got no way to cool down."

Virgil frowned. "How do we get to them?"

"I don't know yet. I was too busy worrying about John to examine the plans." Scott started hurrying towards the exit. "Let's see if Brains has any ideas."

-F-A-B-

The churned-up grass of the park was uneven, making finding a flat area for pitching the tent difficult.

Olivia assisted where she could, but the orientation of the tent made her think that her boss didn't know as much about camping as he'd said he did. "Shouldn't the door be facing that way?" She pointed towards where the bulk of Thunderbird Two was visible above and behind the ruins of the factory. The rest of the rescue was hidden by ACE's walls.

"We've already interfered too much," he reminded her. "I'm not going to give International Rescue any further reasons to worry about us. Even if it means…" he looked at the vista spread out before them – a ruined city with smoke and dust rising overhead, "looking at something depressing."

And Olivia, knowing that she was being admonished in his quiet but firm way, said nothing.

-F-A-B-

"Any suggestions, Brains?"

The three Tracy brothers had checked on the still sleeping John, and after a brief discussion about whether it would be better to leave him there or take him into Thunderbird Two's infirmary, had decided that tethered to Mobile Control he was closer to immediate aid should he need it. That left them clustered around the communications unit, trying to follow the building plans that were up on the screen, and attempting to make as little noise as possible.

On a monitor Brains nodded. "The geography of the land that the building was built on necessitated some, ah, architectural tricks during the design process," he admitted. "One of the corners is not load bearing. I b-believe that corner could be removed with minimal destabilisation to the structure." A rough circle appeared around a section on the plans.

Virgil stared at a red ring that seemed to encompass an alarmingly large part of the edifice that housed his friends. "Are you sure, Brains? Removing that much of any building sounds a bit drastic."

"Your father hired excellent architects, Virgil. I believe that you will be able to accomplish this task quickly and with minimal risk to those trapped. They will be in more danger if you take the time to try something else."

Whatever response Virgil was going to make was forgotten when an earthquake wobbled through the complex. The brothers grabbed at Mobile Control to maintain their balance while John, rocked awake by the motion, made an indistinct sound before appearing to drift back to sleep.

"He doesn't know how lucky he is," Gordon mused, looking down on his brother. "That's the only way to ride out an earthquake."

"At least his head doesn't seem to be hurting him." Virgil turned back to the screens.

"Let's see…" Scott had brought a recent photo of the building up on screen and overlaid it on the building's plans. "The problem is, Brains, that that's the corner is where there's a huge rift in the ground. It's the one that John fell into. Also, if we take that corner out, we'll probably take out the communications link. Can we remove any other areas?"

He wasn't happy with the answer. "Negative, Scott. To compensate with the poor foundations at the point, ah, which is probably the reason why the rift has formed there, every other wall of the building is load bearing. H-However the roof is not connected as a kind of safety valve. In the event of an, ah, explosion, it's designed to separate from the body of the building, releasing the pressure."

"Uncle Hamish said that whoever he was talking to had reported that the roof lifted when the paint booth blew," Scott recollected. "Does that mean we could use Thunderbird Two to remove the roof and then pull them out that way?"

"No. The roof is only, ah, sitting on the ceiling support beams that spread the load throughout the structure. There is not enough room between the beams to pull the men free safely. However, you could remove it to stop the temperature build up within the building."

Wishing that they had more to work with, Scott sighed. "In that case we'll have to make do with what we've got…" Frowning to himself he studied the picture on screen. "I'd use Oxyhydnite to cut an entrance, but we have nowhere to stand while we're making the cuts… However…" The other members of International Rescue watched him as he thought. "If we were to use lasers…"

"Lasers?" Gordon stared at him. "We could burn those men inside."

"I'm thinking of using them at a low setting."

Gordon made no comment as he waited for further clarification.

"We can fire the lasers from the other side of the rift… Just scoring the surface of the building here…" Scott drew a horizontal line on the photograph, across the corner and just below the line of the roof, "and here…" another line appeared on screen above the level of the concrete floor. "And if we were to make vertical cuts down here and here…" More lines became visible on Mobile Control's screen and the one on Tracy Island. "…then are you saying, Brains, that we could pull this section here clear…" He drew a cross on the corner of the building. "… without bringing everything down on the men inside?"

"I-It appears so, yes."

"Then that's what we're going to do."

"That's still a big chunk of concrete, insulation, Leadite and goodness knows what else to get rid of." Gordon pointed out. "How are we going to do that?"

Scott made some rapid calculations. "Pull it clear with the Firefly."

Virgil frowned. "How? We've got to fix the wall to the Firefly in such a way that it will pull the whole corner clear without it breaking into pieces." He knew that even before he'd started speaking his brother had already started analysing and discarding his original plan.

"You're right," Scott agreed. "Therefore, we won't pull it free. We'll use the Firefly to push the wall at an angle to clear away the corner."

"So, the lasers will only need to weaken the exterior."

"Right. This will also mean that the Firefly is side on to the building and, as it's wide enough to bridge that rift, that'll get rid of the problem of how to get our victims across the gap. They can enter Firefly through the port door and once they're on board we can simply drive them to safety."

Virgil trusted his brother's intuition. "Are we going to remove the roof?"

"It'll take time we may not have, and I want the two of us to be scoring the cuts while Gordon's standing by in the Firefly ready to roll as soon as we're clear."

"It sounds simple enough," Gordon agreed. "I can't see why it shouldn't work."

They heard their father's voice. "Are you happy with this, Brains?"

"I think this is an excellent solution, Mr Tracy."

Scott reached out for the off button. "Thanks, Brains. At least you've given us some good guidelines."

"Time for action." Virgil pushed himself away from Mobile Control. "Let's get moving."

They were all headed in the direction of the Waterfall's flaps when they heard a muffled voice from behind them. "Can I help?"

Scott crouched down next to John. "How are you feeling?"

His younger brother looked up at him from beneath a wrapping of silver blankets. "Well enough that I don't need to be restrained."

"I'm happy to do that." Scott obliged by undoing the straps that held John's body securely in the hover-stretcher. "But I think we can cope without you."

"Are you sure?" Relieved to be free, John levered himself up onto his arms.

"I'm sure. I don't want you doing anything too strenuous until Brains has checked you over."

John, always the sensible one, nodded. He looked up at Virgil. "If you've been released then I guess ACE has already been evacuated." He heard Gordon's make a sound and was surprised to see that brother's face darken. "What?"

"Olivia's still here."

"Olivia? Uncle Hamish's PA?!"

"Yeah." Gordon's growl had left John with no doubt of how his younger brother felt about the situation.

"Why?"

"Long story."

"I'm going to get the Firefly ready," Virgil offered. "Take care of yourself, John." Flipping his fire-suit's hood onto his head, he slipped outside.

"But…" John was still stunned by the revelation, "why didn't she go with the rest of ACE?"

"Like Gordon said, it's a long story and we don't have time to tell it to you now," Scott admitted. "But if you're feeling well enough he will explain it all on the flight home."

John thought that Gordon didn't look too keen on the idea.

Scott got to his feet. "In the meantime, my instructions to you are to rest. I don't think we'll need your help, but on the off chance we do, make sure your face is hidden. We can't risk Olivia seeing you."

"F-A-B. And if you do need my help, don't be afraid to ask." John lay back in his stretcher and closed his eyes as his elder and younger brother left Mobile Control.

The Firefly was already trundling towards them. It stopped parallel to the furnace building with its caterpillar tracks bridging a long rent in the ground. Virgil hopped out of the great machine and moved around to the back of the vehicle; opening a compartment to remove the lasers that were housed there. As he stepped over the gap, soil collapsed from its edges and fell into the hole.

Gordon watched his older brother work. "Let him drive the Firefly."

Without breaking stride Scott stared at him through his visor. "What? Why?"

"It's going to be a tricky job."

"You can do it. You've had the same amount of training that we all have."

"Yeah, but he's had more experience operating her than any of us. This is a job that is going to require finesse and he's more in tune with the Firefly than me." Gordon raised a hidden eyebrow in Scott's direction. "Or even you. Besides, you know he wants to do more to help his friends."

"That's why I want you to do it. They know Virgil."

"They know all of us. And none of them will recognise him in his fire-suit… I'm still trying to work out who you are."

Scott didn't chuckle as he considered the request. "Okay..." He jogged over to Virgil. "Hey! Change of plan. You're in the Firefly."

Virgil stopped and stared at him. "I'm what?"

"You're operating the Firefly. Gordon and I agree that this is going to need the master's touch and you're the master operator."

"I am?"

Scott didn't leave the discussion open for argument. Instead he initiated contact with the furnace building. "This is International Rescue."

There was a delay before he received a response from Bruce Sanders. "Yes?"

He was sounding drained.

"We have a plan," Scott informed him. "We are going to remove the southwest corner of the building. Can you move as far away from that as possible?"

"The… The sou'wezt corner?"

"That's the corner with the radio. I'm afraid that in order to reach you, we're going to lose communications." Scott wished he didn't have to make this admission and in the silence that followed, he wasn't sure if he'd been heard. "Bruce…? Can you hear me, Bruce?"

"I hear…"

"You need to move as far away from the corner with the radio as you can."

"I need to move…"

"All of you need to move away. You, and Butch, and Mr Watts. Understand?"

Bruce seemed to comprehend that his possible saviour was having concerns about his ability to act on what he was being told. "Butch's'elping Mizter Watt 'way."

"Good."

"Do you need me t'do anything 'fore I go?"

"No, Bruce. You can get to safety."

"Right…" There was another pause. "Thank you, International Rescue."

Scott barely gave his: "You're welcome" time to be picked up by the microphone before he was tucking it into his pocket and accepting a laser. "Get into position, Virgil."

With a "F-A-B," Virgil climbed into the Firefly and backed up, turning the machine until its blade was pointing at the corner of the furnace building.

"Right, Gordon," Scott instructed facing the building over the rift. "We'll start at the corner here..." A spot of light appeared at the junction between the two walls. "You can score the right side. I'll do the left."

With his own "F-A-B," Gordon fired up his laser; the lens of his hood darkening to protect his eyes the instant he sent the beam running along the top of the wall.

As the intense light bit into the cladding, Scott concentrated on balancing that fine line between speed and making an efficient cut. However, that didn't stop him from analysing his decisions. Were the lasers scoring deep enough that the Firefly wouldn't bring the building down on the helpless men trapped inside? Were they scoring too deep? Should he have instructed Thunderbird Two to remove the roof of the building and release the heat? Should they have attempted something else? But, as he changed direction, so he was cutting at right angles to the ground, he knew that he'd made the right decision. They'd be in the building before they could have even connected the grabs to the roof or made any other plans.

Gordon, never one to second guess Scott's decisions, worked solidly in the opposite direction. He liked Bruce and was friends with the Crumps. Max Watts, he knew was a respected member of his dad's company and that his father would take any injuries to his Production Manager personally. Gordon didn't want Lisa to go through the pain she'd experience if they failed to get her husband out in time and, remembering the loss of his own mother, was determined that Ginny would never know that feeling of emptiness.

His laser finished cutting horizontally and started moving down the wall…

Virgil sat ready and waiting in the Firefly and tried not to think about the heat build-up that was slowly, but surely, sapping the life out of his friends and former boss. He knew first-hand the kind of radiant heat the crucible furnace exuded and flexed his fingers, almost feeling the skin tighten and burn in sympathy. Maybe instead of sitting here doing nothing he should have taken Thunderbird Two and lifted the roof off the building, lessening the need to extract the corner in such haste? Then he told himself that Scott was right. Removing the roof would have wasted valuable time. He had to be ready as soon as his brothers switched off their lasers and stepped back.

Ready to move in and save his friends.

Alan, with little information feeding up to Thunderbird Five as his fellow International Rescue operatives concentrated on the rescue, tuned into the other rescue services in the city and then wished he hadn't. So many people had been trapped in the earthquake and too many people had been hurt… How many had been killed? Those numbers would be revealed all too soon. He thought of Butch trapped in what was in effect a concrete coffin and reflected on how weird it felt to have such a big, tough man idolise him. It had been years since he'd been a world championship winning driver and yet, each time they'd met, Butch had still treated him as if he were some kind of hero. It wasn't as if Alan hadn't been called a hero before; that was part of International Rescue's job description; but to be a hero for driving a car around a racetrack…?

Shaking his head in bemused wonder, he continued his monitoring of emergency services, noting other locations that could need International Rescue's help once they'd completed their present task.

Back on Tracy Island, things were subdued.

Brains was poring over the plans to the furnace building. Like Scott he was re-evaluating his original hypothesis. And also like Scott and the other members of International Rescue, he was of the opinion that they were following the best course of action. The men had been trapped in that heat for too long to waste time attempting anything else.

Grandma, still ashamed of her behaviour before and after she'd made that rash phone call, was attempting to keep a low profile. If she spoke it was nothing to do with the events happening in that part of world. Instead she pretended to concentrate on her knitting while trying not to worry about Bruce, Cyril, Lisa, and Ginny.

Jeff spent the time wondering how his team on the ground were coping with the knowledge that each of those waiting to be rescued were friends and not strangers; and reflecting on how knowing the people involved seemed to magnify the importance of what they were doing way beyond any rescue they'd attempted before.

He sat at his desk and waited for the next report from Thunderbird Five and ACE…

"_We're finished! Move in, Firefly!"_

Virgil barely gave his brothers a chance to move back before he had gunned the Firefly's engines and sent it rolling forwards. His readouts told him when the front of the left caterpillar track left solid ground and rolled out over the rift, but that didn't stop him. So long as three quarters of the tracks still held traction he knew that he had no need to worry. Not that he paid undue attention to what the screens about told him. He'd used the Firefly often enough over the years to be in tune with it and now he was operating as much by feel and sound as by the information being fed to him from the various sensors embedded in the vehicle's body.

Scott and Gordon stood, and watched, and waited.

Gordon frowned. "I don't like the way the ground's collapsing under its weight," he said as the edges of the rift crumbled and fell beneath the mighty machine.

"Me neither." Scott tried not to let his mounting concerns show in his voice as the Firefly's blade contacted the building. "But so long as the starboard track holds firm we'll be all right."

Gordon watched as the blade cut into the wall, shearing along the line that Scott had cut seconds earlier and stripping off the outer layer of the structure. "Do you want me to stand by in Thunderbird Two? If the ground gives way we're going to have to get that roof off while we think of an alternative plan."

Scott nodded his agreement as Virgil backed up, adjusted the Firefly's alignment, and resumed his attack. "Good idea."

Hearing an ominous creaking sound Gordon hesitated. When he saw that the building still held, and the ground hadn't collapsed further, he broke into a trot and disappeared inside Thunderbird Two.

Sitting in Pattillo Park, Olivia Annan and Hamish Mickelson tried to ignore the temptation to sneak back to watch the source of the sounds of revving engines and the screech of metal against masonry.

Olivia snapped her cell phone shut. "I can't reach Lisa," she said in frustration.

"I'm not surprised. Every time I tried to reach the rescue services the system was overloaded."

"It must have been a miracle that Mrs Tracy managed to get through."

Hamish Mickelson grunted.

Olivia put the phone into her pocket. "What do you think International Rescue are doing?"

Her boss responded with an honest: "I haven't got any idea."

"Do you think they will take a long time?"

"They'll take as long as is necessary."

"Do you think the men will be all right?"

"They were last time I talked to them."

Suddenly eager Olivia turned to her boss. "You talked to them? All of them?"

"Initially. The last few times that I was in contact, Bruce did the talking."

"So, he's… So, they're all right?"

"They were." Mickelson frowned. "But I'm worried about Max Watts. He's not as young as the other two. I hope they don't take too long."

Behind them and hidden by the factory, Virgil knew the exact moment when the Firefly punctured through to the interior of the building. The craft's outer skin was a layer of temperature sensors which told him when hot air started gushing out of the concrete cell. "We've breached the wall."

Scott permitted himself a small smile. "That's good, Firefly. It won't be long now, and you'll be able to pull them out of there."

"It won't be a moment too soon." Virgil checked the thermometer's reading. "It must be at least 115 degrees Celsius in there."

"It'll be dropping now that you've broken through."

"I hope their personal protection equipment is doing its job."

"If ACE are still using Tuffas' products they'll be fine. The only designs that I'd trust more are Brains' designs."

Concentrating on the job in hand, Virgil made no comment. P.P.E produced by Tuffas had saved many lives at ACE… Including his own.

More hot air leaked out of the building; rolling over the Firefly's frame and dissipating into the relatively cool air of the early afternoon. The corner was torn from the building and a cloud of dust cloaked the scene as the debris were shunted clear, piling up inside the rift. The Firefly continued inching forward, its left track sliding across its newly created bridge.

Virgil concentrated on one of the gauges until it told him that the port door was clear of any obstruction. When the light flashed he stopped the Firefly's engines and the mighty machine wound down, straddling the rent in the ground beneath the door. "Exiting Firefly."

He heard Scott's "F-A-B" in his earpiece as he headed back to the hatch that was the victims' escape route. The door hissed sideways and, after a brief look in the harsh glow of the light from the Firefly to reassure himself that he wasn't about to land on any rubble he jumped down to the furnace room floor. Projected into the inside of his visor a reading appeared, detailing the temperature the exterior of his fire-suit was being subjected to.

93 degrees Celsius.

In the centre-rear of the building stood the crucible furnace. The spherical heavy metal canister crouched there, dark and menacing as oily air writhed above it; visual evidence of the emanating heat which had been building up to unbearable levels. Virgil was almost sure that he could feel that heat though his own P.P.E.

He spied three shapes huddled in the far corner, well away from International Rescue's destructive entry. As soon as they saw him two of the silver-clad figures struggled to their feet before reaching down to assist the third who appeared to need assistance.

Virgil hurried forward; keen to help…

…That was until the world exploded around him.

_2:06 p.m._

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

_2:06 p.m._

John lay in his stretcher and tried to sleep, but his mind and body persisted in telling him that he wasn't tired, he wasn't sore, and that he should be out there helping his brothers save lives instead of lying down feeling like a fraud. Surely there was something he could do?

He sat up gingerly, experiencing no sign of the nausea that had plagued him earlier and thinking that he should radio home. This would have the dual purpose of letting his family know that they had no need to worry over him, and would give him the chance to see what was happening without getting in the way. Maybe then his dad, with Brains' assurances that he was all right, would let him leave the Waterfall? Then he _could_ help out by doing what he did best; relaying communications between the danger zone, Thunderbird Five, and base. He knew from long, hard experience how difficult it was to be cut off from the action with little knowledge of what was happening.

Satisfied with his plan he was about to get up when he found himself ejected without warning from the stretcher. As a roar ran through the complex it took his startled and overwhelmed brain a moment to realise what had happened.

Earthquake.

If it was an aftershock, it was a big one. Maybe not as big as the catastrophic event of 8:38 this morning, but if it were shallower than the original quake it had the potential to be just as destructive.

If not more so.

Struggling to get to his feet before giving it up as a bad job, he attempted to scramble clear of Mobile Control, which was jiggering across the park like it had a bad case of the hiccups. He had to re-evaluate his plans when he realised that Thunderbird One was swaying more than Thunderbird Four in a category three cyclone, and that the crampons that Scott had driven into the ground to keep the rocket plane's stabilising feet in place were raking through the soil towards him. One violent thrust threatened to tip the rocket plane over and her port leg reared up: soil dripping from the spikes. John, visions of being impaled on a large, heavy piece of metal, rolled clear just as the foot slammed down again.

Thunderbird One stopped her rocking dance.

The Earth stilled.

-F-A-B-

Gordon had just reached Thunderbird Two's flight deck when the earthquake hit. Unprepared for the upheaval and with his height above the ground accentuating the Earth's movement, he was tossed against the bulkhead. He had no chance to brace himself before he was pitched across the floor and slammed against the pilot's seat's support pillar. Winded, he grabbed hold of the pillar and hung on for dear life, glad that everything in the cabin was firmly tied down and that he wasn't the target of any stray objects that might have started flying about the room.

That was until a fire extinguisher at the rear of the cabin broke loose, hitting the floor and sending a spray of foam everywhere. The stream hit Gordon full on the back, soaking him with flame-retardant chemical before the cylinder, propelled by the pressure it was releasing, rocketed towards him. He ducked and felt it brush his hair before it ricocheted with a clang off Thunderbird Two's control panel. It rolled back a few centimetres and then, with a final gurgle, discharged the last of its contents and lay silent.

The Earth stilled.

Gordon lay just as motionless for a moment, running a mental checklist of possible injuries through his mind, before deciding that he was unharmed.

He realised that that had the potential to be a short-lived state of affairs when he started gagging on the extinguisher's contents. He staggered to his feet, knowing that the heavier than air gas was being cleaned by Thunderbird Two's filtration system. As he heard the aeroplane beep an all clear to tell him that she'd finished her automatic diagnostics check and that all was well for future flights, he glanced outside.

The scene had changed.

ACE appeared to be a burning heap and, as Gordon watched, a fireball exploded out of the rear of the building. His body switching to automatic self-preservation mode, he ducked behind Thunderbird Two's control panel. When conscious thought returned, he straightened and was relieved to see that the gas bay was still intact.

Then he noticed something else.

The earthquake, possibly coupled with the pressure wave from the explosion, had lifted the roof of the furnace building and pushed it sideways until it had slipped off its foundations. Now it was partially on the ground, leaning against the Firefly and blocking access to the International Rescue vehicle.

Ignoring his sodden fire-suit, Gordon slipped into the pilot's seat. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five!" Without waiting for a response, he launched the aeroplane into the air.

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Thunderbird Two."

"We've had another massive 'quake, Alan!" Gordon turned Thunderbird Two to face the burning building.

"What?!" Alan made a dive for Thunderbird Five's console, bringing up the on-screen seismograph. "That was a shallow one."

"Tell me about it. I was nearly bisected on Two's pilot seat." His eyes scanning the devastation below for any sign of his brothers, Gordon moved Thunderbird Two closer. "I think the paint bay's blown. I'm going to try to dampen it down again."

"Wouldn't it be safer to leave it?"

"Negative. The gas bay's untouched so far. If the fire spreads and that goes, the entire complex and much of the surrounding countryside is going with it."

"Is there any chance of that?"

"Yes. The last explosion took out part of the wall next to it. A couple of metres further and ACE would be obliterated."

Alan checked the plans of the complex that had been provided by his father. "Oxygen… Acetylene… Argon… Dehydroidizine… Hydrogen… You're right… There's enough there to make a crater the size of Tracy Island's."

"That's what I tho…"

"Gordon?" Alan heard his brother's voice peter off and felt his own stomach drop. "Gordon? What's wrong?"

What was wrong was that Gordon had spied a silver-suited figure lying on the ground. Up to this point the person had been hidden by the destruction to the furnace building and Gordon knew that there were few options as to who it could be. "Can you contact Scott?"

"I've been sending him a _please respond, _but he hasn't." Gordon could hear the concern in his younger brother's voice. "Why?"

"I think I can see him. He's on the ground." Gordon made up his mind. "I'm landing again."

"No! As you said if the gas bay goes everyone's had it. I'll contact Uncle Hamish and get him to assist. He'll get there quicker than you anyway."

"No need." As he moved in so that he could send a stream of fire-retardant onto the base of the skyward shooting flames, Gordon had spied two figures speeding towards the individual that he'd assumed was his eldest brother. "The cavalry's already on the way."

"Good," Gordon could hear Alan's relief.

"Any word from Virgil?"

"Negative."

"Releasing extinguishing foam… I'll send you Thunderbird Two's security video from when we flew over the furnace building for analysis." Gordon pressed the necessary buttons. "See if you can see Virgil or the others."

"F-A-B." Alan accepted the video file and played it through at normal speed before replaying it slower. "Where's the Firefly?"

"In the southwest corner of the building. You can't see it because of the roof."

"What?!" Alan examined the footage. "Is that what's propped against the building?"

"Yeah. Can you see Scott?"

"You're right. He's down and he doesn't look good."

Gordon increased the extinguisher's output, raising Thunderbird Two as International Rescue's extinguishing foam solidified and created a solid barrier against the oxygen filled air that was fuelling the flames. "How about the rest of them?"

Alan released a low whistle. "I can see through the roofing beams. That furnace hasn't cooled down at all. I can see the glow from the molten metal."

"Any sign of Virgil?"

Alan froze a frame and zoomed in. "No. Brains was right; those beams are too close together. The only reason why I can see the furnace is because it's so much brighter than the rest of the interior."

"See if you can raise Virgil. I need to concentrate on putting this fire out." Gordon swung Thunderbird Two around so he could change his angle of attack. As he did so he glanced out of the cockpit windows and felt his blood run cold.

Sunbeam Preschool was a distance away from ACE; far enough away that everyone in authority had assumed that it was safe from any potential disasters that might befall a major industrial plant. Yet the force of the last explosion had been powerful enough to cross a carpark, a road, a play area and level some trees before blasting out a wall. What had been a largely untouched building was now a crumbling ruin and Gordon hated to think what would have happened if he hadn't got the children and their carers out.

Telling himself that to dwell on what might have been was a pointless exercise, he concentrated on containing the fire burning beneath him.

-F-A-B-

The shallow earthquake had created as much upheaval for the couple waiting in the tent on Patillo Park as it had for those elsewhere in the complex. Thrown from their chairs, thoughtfully provided by International Rescue, Hamish Mickelson and Olivia Annan found themselves being tossed about by the writhing ground. The tent, unable to withstand the assault, had collapsed onto them, covering them like a shroud.

The Earth stilled.

Hamish found himself tied up in what appeared to be a giant knot of waterproof cloth. Squirming against the tent's folds, he pulled himself free. "Olivia? Are you all right?"

The mound next to him moved and a head of tousled hair peeked out. "Is it over?"

Hamish kicked the tent off his legs. "For now."

"Good." Olivia pushed the cloth off her body and demurely smoothed down her skirt. "How long will the aftershocks continue?"

"I wish I knew." Hamish got to his feet and assisted his PA to hers. "International Rescue said it could be months."

"Oh…" She accepted his help and then froze. "Can you hear anything?"

He listened; frowning. "No."

"No. Neither can I." Olivia tightened her grip on the hand that was still steadying her. "Do you think everyone's all right?"

They heard a blast of noise as Thunderbird Two's engines roared into life.

Olivia's eyes widened. "That doesn't sound like that Firefly thing. What if something's happened to it?"

Hamish moved as if he was going to check and then stopped as indecision overtook him. Scott's instructions were that he was to remain with Olivia and he wasn't used to disobeying orders…

But sometimes orders were meant to be disobeyed.

He made his decision. "Wait here. I'm going to see if they need help." He walked smartly away.

Olivia watched him as he stopped, stared… and then broke into a run towards the furnace building. The last time that she'd seen her boss move with such haste he'd been concerned about the wellbeing of members of his workforce. On that day lives had literally hung in the balance.

Olivia hoped that today wasn't going to be a repeat of that day.

As much out of a desire to help as out of sheer curiosity, she followed her boss's path, determined that she would stop when she could see whatever it was that had inspired him to move at a speed that belied his age and position in society. Once she had done that, she promised herself, she would observe if her assistance was needed. If it wasn't she would return to the tent, see what she could do about erecting it unaided, and wait until she was told that she could leave her self-imposed prison.

She reached her designated destination and looked towards the furnace building.

And Olivia forgot her promise to herself…

-F-A-B-

Having regained his breath after his duel with Thunderbird One and the Earth, John made a decision.

Flipping his hood back over his protective-helmeted head, he slipped through the Waterfall. If International Rescue had encountered any problems after that 'quake he could take over communications and leave Scott to concentrate on the more important tasks. If they hadn't, he reasoned that he could still do the same thing.

He heard the engines of Thunderbird Two blast into life seconds before he saw the running business-suited figure of Hamish Mickelson. This wasn't a good sign.

Breaking into a sprint of his own he caught up with and overtook the older man as they passed the gas bay; the sight of his brother on the ground giving his feet extra speed. As he approached the silver-suited figure, he realised that he didn't even know which brother it was…

-F-A-B-

When the 'quake had hit, Scott had done all that he could do when the Earth's upheaval had knocked his feet out from under him – fallen to the ground and stayed there; curled in a protective ball as he rode out the nauseating waves. He heard the roar when the remaining vats of paint ruptured and exploded. He was blasted by the pressure wave that lifted the roof of the furnace building up off its seating. He was pelted by clouds of dust and other debris when the heavy slab of insulating materials crashed into the ground.

Then the Earth stilled.

He lay there for a moment, hearing Thunderbird Two blast into life, glad that at least Gordon had survived the 'quake unharmed, and waited to see if the ground was about to start kicking up a fuss again.

It didn't, but despite that he knew that something wasn't right.

He could feel something pressing down on him.

Desperate to free himself from the pressure he rolled first right, then left, and right again. But nothing he did could release him from the heavy force that was pushing him into the ground.

Except that he could see that nothing was pinning him down.

He was unhurt.

Scott got to feet, certain that he knew what had been causing that unnerving sensation. Running towards the Firefly he grabbed his microphone from out of his pocket, staggering a little as he did so. "Virgil, can you hear me?"

He wasn't surprised when he received no answer.

"Virgil!"

Nothing.

The Firefly towered over him, straddling the partially filled rift in the ground; the building's roof and wall blocking its access hatches. All Scott could see of the machine was its blade, which was dug into the ground beyond the rift. Trying to slip between the hydraulic support arms to gain access to the hole that led into the building, his hood snared on a piece of metal and, irritated, he pushed it off his head. "Virgil!" he yelled, hopeful that his voice would carry into the building. "Virgil!"

When there was no response he told himself that was because neither of them could hear the other over the roar of the flames and Thunderbird Two.

That didn't stop him from trying again. "Virgil!"

This time he made contact with his brother.

Only it wasn't the brother he'd been trying to contact.

John had touched him on the shoulder. "Scott?"

Scott barely looked at him as he continued trying to worm his way through the struts. "Something's happened to Virgil!"

Pulling his elder brother out of a space that was too small for him, John looked into Scott's eyes. "What's happened to him?"

Neither sibling took any notice of Hamish Mickelson who, breathing heavily, skidded to a stop beside them.

Scott thought for the briefest of times, knowing there was only one accurate answer that he could give in reply to John's query. "I don't know."

"Have you heard from him?" John indicated the microphone. "Or…" He hesitated, unsure how to phrase his next question.

Scott nodded. "Yeah. It's happening again."

John knew exactly what his brother meant by this ambiguous reply.

Empathetic clairvoyance.

He would have preferred a more scientific explanation, but the best that anyone had come up with was that Scott and Virgil had some kind of psychic link that was awoken when one or the other was in major trouble.

As in life or death major trouble.

Irritated by the one-way lens in his hood prevented necessary eye contact, John flipped it off his head. "What do you feel has happened to Virgil?"

His brother frowned as he tried to analyse the sensations. "He's hot, of course."

John glanced towards the concrete tomb that housed a vat a red-hot molten metal.

"And he…" Scott's frown deepened. "Something… Something's pressing down on him… On the lower half of his body… and his arm." He looked at his own left hand.

"What do you mean pressing down?"

"Just that I can feel… Pressure's the only way I can describe it."

"Is it painful?"

"Yeah. But not too bad. But there was one point where I seemed to lose contact for a moment."

"Lose contact?"

"Like… I felt normal. That was nearly as bad as realising that something had happened to him." Scott looked down at the two hands that gripped his upper arms tightly. "You can let me go, John. I'm not going to make an unauthorised dash for Thunderbird One."

"Sorry." As John released his iron grip he realised that Scott seemed calmer than he had been all those years ago. "You are…" he hesitated. "More in control than last time."

"That's because this time I know what's happening to me."

John put his hand to his head, feeling the protective cap that resided there. Irritated by the sensation, he ripped it free, dropping it to the ground. "Apart from that, how are you? And I mean _you_, not Virgil. Are you hurt?"

"No." Scott undid the top of his fire-suit and rubbed his arm over his forehead. "What I am is hot."

A cool breeze had sprung up and John had been feeling his cheeks and scalp chill after the warmth of his cap. "No, you're not. Virgil is."

"You're right, John, he is. Roasting hot."

Hamish had listened to this exchange in mounting astonishment and then horror. Scott had told him that he only knew a fraction of what International Rescue's equipment did and it was clear that this was one ability that he'd never even dreamed of. Jeff Tracy must have allowed computer chips or some other device to be inserted into the bodies of his sons to allow them to communicate with one another. It sounded like they were able to experience what each other thought; felt; knew. Perhaps even the ability to control one another…?

Jeff Tracy had in effect made his own sons into robots!

Repulsed, Hamish literally recoiled.

Neither of his two companions saw him pale or took any notice of his backwards step.

"I'll contact base and let them know what's happening," John was saying. He did something to his watch.

But Scott shook his head. "No. I'm in charge, so I should do that."

John looked him in the eye. "I'm communications. You're operations. You do what you do best and concentrate on getting them…" he gestured with his head towards the furnace building, "out of there. I'll radio home."

-F-A-B-

Despite her promise to herself, her boss, and International Rescue, Olivia had been quietly observing what was going on. She'd heard names shouted. Names that she recognised as belonging to a group known to ACE.

That had to have been a coincidence.

Then first one, then the other of the International Rescue operatives had removed their hoods and Olivia, even from this distance, had recognised each of them.

Olivia Annan knew the identities of the men of International Rescue.

She also knew who had gone into the furnace room to rescue his friends and former workmates…

She started when she heard a noise from Thunderbird One. Whisper-quiet as it floated over the rough ground, some kind of computer pushed through the curtain that concealed the underside of the rocket and trundled past her towards to where International Rescue was working…

_No,_ she told herself. _To where the sons of Jeff Tracy were working._

Hamish turned when, with a quiet beep, Mobile Control settled close by. He saw the bewildered figure watching them from the park. "Oh, no."

Scott was already scouting around the furnace building, seeking out the best way inside and it was John who heard his quiet exclamation. "What?" His eyes followed his friend's and saw who Hamish had seen. "Oh."

"I'm sorry," Hamish apologised, as with an angry point of his finger, he instructed his PA to return to the tent. "I told her that she was to stay put."

"She's the least of our worries now." Mobile Control settled beside him and John raised the seat a fraction before sitting. "I suppose our conversation didn't make much sense," he stated as he fired up the console and checked its data in case there was something Scott could use.

"I was…" Hamish hesitated as he tried to seek out the right word. "Surprised."

"Not as surprised as we were when we found out."

"Found out?"

John glanced at his friend and saw the bemused frown. "Scott and Virgil have a kind of telepathic link between the two of them that only manifests itself when one or the other is in danger." He managed to smile. "As far as I'm aware the last time it happened was the last week that Virgil was employed here."

"Telepathy…?" This was even less believable than the idea that Jeff Tracy had permitted alien devices to be implanted into his sons.

"Yep."

"You mean ESP?"

"Yes. Once all this is over one of us will have to explain it to you in more detail, not that any of us understands it. For now…" John turned to the microphone. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Five."

Alan's face appeared on screen. "Thunderbird Five. What's going on down there!? How's Scott?"

"He's fine."

"He's unhurt?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Thunderbird Two sent me through video and he didn't look in good shape."

"He's okay, Alan." John glanced over at the figure who had reappeared from the other side of the building and wondered just how true that was.

"Good…" He saw the relief on Alan's face and realised that it was going to be short lived. "You guys had me worried. No one's answering their calls."

"That's why I'm manning Mobile Control. Scott's got more important things to worry about."

"In that case you must be feeling better."

"Much." John kept his reply short and succinct. "What's Thunderbird Two doing?"

"The paint bay blew in the last aftershock. He's putting out the fire to stop it from spreading. The gas bay's still a risk."

"Okay, Alan. We'll let him concentrate on that in the short term. Tell him to call me as soon as he can."

"You? What about Scott?"

"Scott needs to be able to concentrate on getting those guys out of the furnace building…" John hesitated. He didn't want to do this. "And I need to talk to base."

"You need…?"

"Put me though, Alan. And you'd better stay on line…"

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope enjoyed flying.

When getting around the countryside she was quite happy to accept the normal privileges accorded to someone of her position and let Parker chauffeur her in the car, but when they had to cross greater distances and FAB1 was not required she preferred to take control of her own plane.

Parker preferred it too. He'd rather remain close to Terra Firma, and if the situation arose where he was required to defy the laws of gravity, he was quite happy to allow someone take over the reins.

Now, high above the Pacific Ocean, he glanced down at the endless expanse of water. The lack of visual cues made it seem as if they had a smooth road running beneath their wheels, rather than rough water thousands of metres below them.

Her ladyship delicately flipped the switch that initiated radio contact with their destination. There was only a brief delay before her call was answered. "This is Tracy Island."

"Good day to you, Jeff. I am reporting in."

"Penny?"

"We are on our way for our debriefing."

"Debriefing." Jeff Tracy sounds chastened. "I'm sorry, Penny, I forgot you were coming today. The boys are out on a rescue."

"Oh, dear. Nothing too drastic I hope."

"Under normal circumstances I'd say nothing they couldn't handle. But this time the danger zone is at Aeronautical Component Engineering."

Lady Penelope supposed that this was supposed to mean something to her. "You must enlighten me. Aeronautical Component Engineering sounds familiar, but I am afraid that I cannot quite place it."

"It's one of my factories. Most of the staff don't know it, but they manufactured numerous components for International Rescue."

"You are concerned that someone will recognise their handiwork?"

"No. I'm concerned that someone will recognise the boys. Virgil was employed at ACE for a year before he joined International Rescue, and all three of the men they're rescuing know him and the rest of my family."

"And you have concerns that if these men realise who is behind International Rescue, then International Rescue will no longer be free to continue their work?"

"No, it's not so much that. Two of the men who are trapped are Virgil's friends; in fact, Bruce visited us here at the island for Virgil's birthday last week. And Max Watts is a loyal employee. I can't see any of them betraying us, but you know as well as I do that the more people who know our identities, the greater the likelihood that someone less well-meaning will also discover who we are. You know what that could mean to the world."

"I now understand why you were so distracted when I called you. Do you wish us to forgo our meeting? We can return to England."

"You'll do no such thing." And Lady Penelope heard the gruff affection in Jeff Tracy's voice. "If nothing else, I'll never see my favourite dessert again if Mother hears that I've turned you away."

"You've got that right, Jefferson."

Lady Penelope smiled, and Parker chuckled at the older, but still authoritative voice of Mrs Tracy.

In the background they heard another familiar sound.

"Sorry, Penny," Jeff spoke over the noise, "but duty calls. Thunderbird Five's making contact."

-F-A-B-

John still hadn't worked out how he was going to broach the subject. But then, as his father's face appeared on Mobile Control's screen, he decided that the best way was to keep it simple and stick to the facts.

Jeff's expression showed no hint of concern, in fact he appeared relieved to see who he was talking to. "How are you feeling, John?"

"I'm fine. I don't even have a headache, so I thought I'd take over communications and leave Scott free to oversee the rescue."

"Good. Anything to report?"

John didn't hesitate. "There's been another 'quake. Quite shallow by the amount of damage it's done. I'd estimate it to be about six on the Modified Mercalli Intensity Scale. It caused the paint bay to explode again, so Gordon's putting the fire out with Thunderbird Two."

"He's concerned that if it blows again it could take the gas bay with it," Alan offered.

There was a hint of a frown on their father's face. "And how are the men in the furnace building?"

_Keep to the facts _John reminded himself. "We lost communications with them when Virgil removed the corner of the building."

"Hasn't he reported in yet?"

Well-practised at keeping his thoughts hidden from the world, John kept his voice unemotional. "No. We've lost contact with him after the 'quake."

"I've been trying to reach him," Alan confirmed. "But his radio's dead… But then," he added helpfully, "I lost contact with Scott too and he's okay."

Now Jeff's frown was clearly defined. "You haven't heard anything?"

Wishing he had another answer, Alan shook his head. "No."

"Yes…" John amended. "But not directly." He glanced across to the couch where his grandmother was sitting; listening in silence.

"Not directly?" Jeff's eyebrows had shot up at the contradiction. "John, what do you mean by _not directly_?"

"I mean…" John wished there was a simple, logical, _believable_ way of putting this. "Scott says Virgil's injured."

He would have sworn that he saw his father pale. "Scott says…?"

John nodded. "Scott says that he's feeling pressure pressing down on the lower half of his body and his left arm."

"And that that pressure has been caused by something that's happened to Virgil?"

"Yes." John saw his grandmother grasp the arm of the couch as if she were reaching out for support.

Jeff exhaled a breath to try to dispel the knot that had suddenly formed in his stomach. "Does Scott know what's causing this pressure?"

"No."

"Right…" Jeff made a conscious decision to keep focussed. "Apart from that, how is Scott?"

"He's more in control than last time. He says that's because this time he understands what's happening to him."

"Where is he?"

John glanced across to the figure who was examining the sloping roof. "He's trying to work out how we're going to get into the building."

"Why can't you continue with the original plan and use the Firefly as a bridge?"

"The 'quake caused the roof to slide off the building. The Firefly's sandwiched between it and the wall."

Alan, as shaken as his kin, but equally determined to maintain his professionalism, agreed. "Gordon sent me video as he flew overhead. I'll patch it through…" Jeff's computer beeped. "Don't worry about the person on the ground, that's Scott… uh… after the aftershock knocked him over."

Jeff directed the video to the large screen behind his desk. They looked into the interior of the building with its glowing furnace and saw the silver-suited figure writhing next to it. "Are you sure he's unhurt?"

"He told me he was," John admitted. "And I've seen nothing that makes me think he's hiding any injuries from us."

"Good." But the knot didn't lessen.

"Also…" John bit his lip. "Olivia saw us… Scott and me."

"She saw you?!"

"Yeah. Scott had removed his hood while he was trying to find a way into the Firefly and I took mine off so we could hold a proper conversation… Neither of us have put them on again."

Jeff didn't want to worry about such a triviality, but worrying about Olivia stopped him from thinking about something even more worrying. "Do you think she recognised you?"

Unsure, John glanced at the man who had been standing silently at his side. "What do you think, Uncle Hamish?"

Hamish, startled at being drawn into the conversation, hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. "When I saw Scott on the ground I ran to help him. She probably wondered if she could help." He managed a wry smile into the camera. "I needn't have bothered. John got there before I did." The smile disappeared. "I'm sorry, Jeff, I told her to remain with the tent."

"Until today I wouldn't have had any concerns about her loyalty to us," Jeff admitted. "But after the way she's been behaving…"

"I know. It makes me wonder if she sustained a head injury during the initial earthquake."

Those in the lounge heard a familiar voice filter across the radio network. Scott was standing a couple of metres away and was speaking into his microphone. _"How close are you to putting the fire out, Thunderbird Two?" _

Alan opened the link so that everyone could hear Gordon's reply. "_Close. I'm just dampening down a couple of hotspots."_

"_If there's no danger of a flare-up leave it. I want you to get that roof off the Firefly ASAP."_

"_F-A-B."_

There was a change in the pitch and level of noise as Thunderbird turned and cruised overhead.

"Gordon doesn't know that Virgil's trapped yet," Alan admitted.

"And Scott doesn't know that Olivia's seen us." Compensating for the increased noise, John turned up the volume on Mobile Control just as another voice entered the conversation.

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control. Go ahead, Thunderbird Two."

"I've been pulled off the fire and Thunderbird Five told me to report into you when I'd finished there."

John gave silent thanks that his prankster brother had a serious side that made him invaluable to International Rescue. "I'm taking care of communications," he explained.

"Understood. Do you want me to lift the roof away or just tip it clear?"

John looked at Scott who'd joined them at Mobile Control to observe the operation.

"Lift it away," the latter instructed. "I don't want anything jeopardising getting in to those guys or getting them out. I'll give directions from the other side."

John nodded his understanding and Scott jogged across the compound.

"Do you need my help?" Hamish asked.

"No. We can handle it."

"In that case…" Hamish looked up at the green bulk of Thunderbird Two that was manoeuvring into position and John saw a hint of regret. "I'll go and make sure Olivia doesn't see anything else she shouldn't."

John gave him a grateful nod. "Thanks." He turned back to the microphone. "Lift it clear, Gordon. Scott and I will talk you in."

"F-A-B… I can see right into the building from here, but I can't make out anything other than the glow from that furnace. I'd hate to be trapped in there."

John removed a portable microphone from Mobile Control and moved to a better vantage point so that he could direct his side of the operation. He switched the microphone to two-way communication. "Gordon…"

Gordon sounded bemused by his brother's lack of protocol. "Yes, John?"

"We've lost contact with Virgil and the Firefly."

"Virgil probably dropped his mic after that last 'quake and hasn't had time to report in."

John wished it was that easy. "I don't think that's it. We know that something's happened to Virgil."

Bemusement was replaced by alarm. "Something's happened!? What do you mean!?"

"Since that last 'quake, Scott's been feeling that something's wrong."

"Feeling?! You mean that empathetic clairvoyance thing?"

"Yes."

"What's he feeling?"

"Pressure on his lower body and arm."

"Anything else?"

"Heat."

"That's logical… Well, as logical as ESP can be. Anything else I need to know?"

"Olivia's seen us, so we've given up on secrecy protocols."

"At least that means that we can work freely. No more Hoods." Gordon had an idea. "Want me to broadcast a message through the loudspeakers? Let them know we're okay and we're working on getting them out?"

John kicked himself for not thinking of such a basic communications suggestion. "Good idea."

The next time he heard his brother's voice it was coming from overhead and at such a volume that Scott, watching Thunderbird Two move into position, visibly flinched. "This is International Rescue. We will have you out of there in no time."

Scott sprinted across to John. "Tell Gordon not to do that again!"

Alarmed by the almost panicked expression in his brother's face, John obeyed without question. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. All future communications are to be made over the radio network, not loud speakers."

Gordon was confused by the instruction. Nonetheless he intended to obey it. "F-A-B. Does that mean you've contacted them?"

"Negative." John raised a querying eyebrow at Scott who triggered his own microphone.

"Virgil's got a headache," the latter explained, "probably caused by dehydration, and the volume of your broadcast felt like he was being stabbed in the head."

"Understood," Gordon sounded chastened. "I didn't think of that… If Virgil's got a headache after half an hour, I hate to think what the others must be feel…"

"Guys!" Gordon's words were forgotten when he was interrupted by an excited Alan. "I'm getting a message from the Firefly!"

_2:37 p.m._

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

_2:37 pm_

In the distant city of Bearston, ten minutes away as the Thunderbird flies, the majority of the staff of ACE sat, waited, fretted, and hoped that they would soon receive word of their families, friends, and workmates.

At first, they'd been the only refugees from their home town; the speed of Thunderbird Two overtaking even the helijets which had had a head start on the mighty transporter; and they'd caught the authorities of the town by surprise with the speed of their arrival. At a loss with what else to do with such a large group of unharmed people, ACE were installed in a community hall across a park from the local hospital.

After a time, the park became a makeshift airfield as helijets arrived, offloaded the more seriously injured – those that the earthquake-stricken city's own hospital couldn't deal with – and disgorged more bewildered, frightened evacuees. These were directed by kindly, but increasingly overworked, locals towards the hall.

It was now a noisy, crowded, hub. Young, old, strong, weak, babies bawling and the elderly in tears. All waiting for news of some sort or another. All wishing that they could just go home and forget that this day had happened.

But there were bonuses about being in another city far away. Here all the services were fully operational, including the cellular network. On the walls TV screens had been erected; one giving live feeds from the disaster zone, one listing known casualties, and one scrolling down the names of newcomers as they were signed into the hall and other locations outside the broken city. It was these last two that drew the attention of most of those camped in the refuge.

The members of ACE huddled together, clinging to each other as their one source of comfortable familiarity. They'd initially claimed the hall's seats, but as more and more of the elderly and infirm had arrived, they'd given up their chairs until now they all sat on gymnastics mats on the hall's cold wooden floor.

Winston, a withdrawn shell of his former exuberant self, massaged his ribs, feeling them ache from where a table, a chair, or maybe even Olivia had struck them.

"Winston?" Alaina, a first aider who'd been made redundant by the hospital staff whisking Keegan Clark away, touched him gently on the arm. "Are you all right? Maybe you should see a doctor?"

"I'm sure they are treating those with a greater need than I." He managed a smile, which almost revealed some of his old irrepressible humour. "My body will survive," he told her. "It's in here," he held his hand over his heart, "that hurts."

"You're worried about Rex?"

"Rex… And those other poor souls trapped in that horrid furnace room."

On the other side of the group Lisa, Ginny curled up asleep in her arms, checked her cell phone again and sighed. Soon after their arrival the few phones rescued by the group had been passed around their workmates to allow each of them to leave messages on their friends' and loved ones' voicemails. Now all were waiting hopefully for that call that would relieve them of their anxieties.

So far all had been disappointed.

Lisa frowned at the phone. "No news from Olivia," she admitted.

"I'm not surprised," Greg told her. "It's a miracle that that call from Jeff Tracy even got through."

Bringing up a web page on her phone, Lisa searched through the list of missing. The names Butch Crump, Bruce Sanders, and Max Watts were still listed, even though every person in her group knew exactly where they were. At a loss as how to categorise them at this early stage, the member of the disaster coordination team they'd registered with had listed their location as unknown. The theory being that once they were freed and brought to a place of safety, their status would be changed accordingly.

Lisa hoped that when they were released, they would be brought to this hall and not the hospital…

Or worse.

In her arms, Ginny whimpered and squirmed. Needing to calm her child who was in the throes of a traumatic dream, Lisa kissed her on the top of her head. "Hush, Darling," she whispered. "You're safe. Mama's here."

Ginny nuzzled deeper into the warm security of her mother's arms and was still.

"Would you mind if I used your phone?" Greg asked her. "I'd like to check on Mavis."

Lisa hesitated. "My battery's getting low," she admitted. "I forgot to charge it last night."

He indicated a power socket next to them. "Maybe someone will have a charger you can borrow?"

Freddy Eagles overheard the conversation. "If you let me check on my family, I'll go ask if anyone's got a charger," he offered, getting to his feet.

Lisa smiled up at him. "If you can find a charger, you'll be the first to use it."

"Thanks!" Eager for news, Freddy hurried away.

"I'll tell you one thing," Greg growled as he accepted Lisa's phone. "Rules or no rules. From now on I'm carrying a mobile with me everywhere I go. Jeff Tracy will have to understand."

Lisa indicated her own phone. "I'm sure he will."

"Do you honestly think you'll still have a job after all this?" Nancy Jones asked. "Who's going to rebuild a factory in a town where there are earthquakes? Mr Tracy's not stupid. ACE is finished."

"You're right," Greg agreed. "Mr Tracy's not stupid. He knows that it's better to keep an efficient, hardworking, workforce together in an already profitable business than throw it all away. Somehow or other, he'll reinstate ACE." Disgusted by the storewoman's habitual negativity he concentrated on the phone in his hand.

Lisa watched him as he scrolled down a long list. "Any news?"

With a shake of his head, Greg closed the web page and handed the phone back to her.

"Nice one, Freddy!" Peter Digby exclaimed. "You've found a charger!"

"Huh?" Freddy stared at his colleague and then, as if it had suddenly appeared out of thin air, at the cable in his hand.

"Freddy?" Alaina stood and gently took the cable from him, holding it out to Greg who plugged it into Lisa's phone and the wall. "What's wrong?"

Freddy, the young man who was more often than not told to shut up by his colleagues, seemed to struggle to find the words. "I checked a list."

Trying to break through the barrier he'd erected, Alaina touched him on the arm. "Which list?"

"Injured. A list of injured."

Now Alaina took his hand. "Sit down, Freddy," she instructed, pulling him down onto the mat beside her. "Did you know someone on this list?"

He nodded and swallowed. "My sister."

The staff of ACE knew all about Freddy's sister. Some of his most frequent monologues had been about what a pain she was and how she made his life a misery. But she'd attended a few social club events as his guest and everyone had seen how close the pair truly were.

"Is she badly hurt?"

"I… I dunno. All that I know is that she'd been treated in a triage area in Roosevelt Park. I don't know if she's still there or if she's been taken to a hospital."

Still holding his hand, Alaina rubbed his arm to comfort him. "Any word on your parents?"

"No. What if they don't know!? What if I have to tell them that she's seriously injured?"

"Shush," she soothed. "You don't know that she was."

"But where are they? I don't know where they are!"

"None of us know where our families are, Freddy, but at least you know your sister's being cared for."

He managed a nod, sniffed, wiped his eyes, and lapsed into an introspective silence.

"Freddy?" At Lisa's tentative call, he looked up. "What are your parents' names?" She indicated her charging phone. "I'll look them up."

"Billy, ah, I mean William and Amelia."

Lisa entered the names into her phone. "Sorry, Freddy, but they're not listed."

This time he managed a wan smile. "Maybe that's good, huh?"

"That's right, Freddy," Greg agreed. "No news is good news. We've all got to believe that."

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

Olivia Annan and Hamish Mickelson said nothing to each other apart from offering guidance and requesting help as they resurrected the tent. In the distance, still raging in the background behind the roar of Thunderbird Two's engines, the blare of alarms continued.

Olivia picked up the first chair and handed it to her boss before claiming the second chair as her own. Planting it firmly on the ground so that it was facing out over the ruined city and her back was to the rescue going on beyond the factory behind them, she sat down and tried not to think about any of the things that she'd seen, heard and experienced. But they gnawed at her mind; worrying her and sending out more questions rather than answers.

And at the moment, it seemed that there was only one question that could be answered. "Mr Mickelson?"

He didn't acknowledge her; preferring to study the destruction before them. Red, blue, and amber flashing lights decorated the city in a way that was anything but festive. "Yes?"

"That man… The one on the ground… Is he all right?"

Hamish reflected that he didn't know. He couldn't know because he didn't understand. Still he had to give an honest answer. "He's unhurt."

"Good."

Olivia had hoped that that one fact would be enough to quell the knots of questions, but she still felt restless. "Mr Mickelson?"

"Yes."

"I… I know I shouldn't have followed you, but I thought you might have needed my help. And I wanted to help… After what International Rescue did to save me and what I threatened to do to them… I wanted, I _needed_, to make it up to them." Frightened by her bosses continued silence, Olivia hugged herself. "I've made it worse… Haven't I?"

Hamish didn't know what to say.

"That man… Those men… The ones from International Rescue… They were… I mean, were they… Are they..." Olivia bit her lip. "Jeff Tracy's sons?"

Now he finally looked at her, needing to trust her as he'd never trusted her before and unsure if he could or should.

"One of them… Scott… He was calling for Virgil… Was that our Virgil…? The one who worked here…? Mr Tracy's son?"

Hamish didn't respond.

"Is he hurt?"

Hamish didn't know if his friends would approve, but he decided that the need for secrecy had gone… "I don't know. But I think there is a probability that he is."

"And… The other men in the building?"

"I don't know," Hamish repeated. "International Rescue lost contact."

Lost contact?! But that was impossible. International Rescue were the most technologically advanced group on the planet. They were unstoppable. They were invincible! They produced miracles!

Then Olivia remembered the faces behind the mask of International Rescue and she knew that they were only ordinary men. They were flesh and blood, as weak and powerless when their technology failed them as those trapped in the furnace room. She felt despair well up inside her. "I only wanted to help! I didn't want to learn International Rescue's secret! I don't want to hurt them! I won't tell anyone who they are. I wouldn't!"

"Olivia…" Hamish decided he should at least try to lay down some ground rules. "You now know one of the biggest secrets in the world today; one that almost everyone would love to know. There are people who would kill to learn what you've learnt. For your own safety as well as that of International Rescue and everyone who works at ACE, you can't breathe this to another living soul."

She nodded in silence and then thought of another question. "Did you always know who they were?"

Hamish Mickelson managed a grim smile. "Jeff Tracy and I go a long way back. He would sometimes talk about an idea he had for a worldwide rescue organisation. I never took him seriously, because I never thought he'd achieve it."

"But he did?"

Hamish was silent.

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

_2:08 pm_

Virgil Tracy didn't think he'd been knocked out.

For a while there, things had got confused and hazy and he'd been aware of a multitude of sensations and stimulations that told him everything and nothing of what was going on around him.

Then, as his mind cleared, he became aware that he was lying on his back and that three flushed, PPE-protected, faces were looking down on him.

Then he became aware that the view before him wasn't framed by his firesuit's visor.

Desperate not to reveal his identity, Virgil rolled clear.

The surge of pain that flooded his system caused him to grey out and for a moment he lost contact with his surroundings.

When he'd regained his faculties, he realised that Bruce Sanders was holding his shoulders down. "Don' move," he was told, followed by a rather unsure: "Virgil?"

Virgil nodded and after a second's indecision Bruce released his hold.

There was silence as Virgil tried to work out what he should say to his former, and obviously shocked, colleagues. Then he decided that it was probably more important to find out what was wrong with him. Raising his head slowly and with care so that he wouldn't twist whatever it was that wasn't in the shape it had been when he'd climbed into the Firefly, he looked down his body.

He decided that he would have rather have not known.

The last earthquake had brought down one of the roofing beams and this was lying across his lower torso. From this angle it appeared that the crucible furnace had been dislodged from its pouring pivots and was adding its weight to the beam; towering over him as if it were waiting for the moment when it would encase him in its load of molten metal. His breathing felt restricted; both by the pain caused by the movement and that great weight on him. His left arm, the one on which he'd chosen to wear his watch, was trapped under a slab of concrete that had probably crushed more than the communications timepiece. The hand was numb, but he could feel something tickling around his wrist.

Overriding all this was an almost unbearable heat.

Surrounding him on the floor, his head resting on a pillow of the drying mud, lay little hills of liquefaction. Some had been scraped away from the side of his head.

Despite his shock at learning of his predicament, Virgil was surprised to realise that he wasn't in a much pain as he supposed he should have been.

Then he wondered if he knew the reason why.

He also wondered why none of his brothers had acted on their original plan and come barrelling in through the Firefly to rescue them all. A chill of fear for his brethren overrode the heat of the furnace and shot through his body, causing another spasm of pain.

He breathed through it.

Deciding that, as there was nothing he could do about his present predicament he'd better do something about those he'd been tasked to rescue, he cast a critical eye over the men next to him. Both Bruce and Butch looked ready to drop and he had no idea how Max Watts had had the strength to crawl across to the side of the man from International Rescue. "Where… Where's my microphone?"

"Erm…" Bruce picked up a mess of electronics and a piece of metal fell free. "Thith it?"

That was his two principle methods of communicating with the rest of the team gone, but Virgil knew he had one other option…

If his companions were strong enough.

"Butch…"

Virgil's voice came out as little more than a croak and the big man leant closer to hear him. "Yeah?"

"In…" Virgil struggled to switch his brain on. He was dehydrating in the heat and his head felt like it was on fire. If he was this bad after a matter of minutes what must the others be like…? "In the Firefly…"

"Th' wha'?"

Bruce pointed towards the vehicle that was supposed to form the gateway between their present cell and freedom. "Think meanth that," he suggested, his thirst thickening his speech and causing his dehydrated tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth.

"Oh. Righ'. Wha' aboudit?"

The heat was oppressive, and Virgil was struggling to focus. "On… the far wall… Head height… There are lockers…"

"Lockerth on t'far wall," Butch repeated, wanting to reassure his friend that he was following what was so hard to relate.

A dark shadow moved in, blocking out the light of the sun and blue sky. The hellish glow from the furnace reflected off the beams remaining overhead.

Trying to picture the Firefly's interior, Virgil managed to flop his good arm over his eyes. "Find one that says… fluids… Unlock… the locker…" He struggled to swallow, feeling as if his throat was closing in on him. "Refrigerated… Get bottles… for each of you…"

Butch's face broke into a grin of delight that he'd been chosen to do something practical in one of International Rescue's famous vehicles. "Gotcha." He clambered to his feet, staggering slightly as he threatened to overbalance. He regained his footing and, almost falling up the step, made his way into the Firefly.

They heard a bang as he did overbalance on the uneven floor.

Virgil hoped that he was strong enough to stand, open the locker and bring back the vital liquids. "Bruce…"

Bruce, his first aid training kicking into action, had been doing what he could to ascertain Virgil's injuries, coming to the conclusion that they were as bad as he feared and could possibly be worse than he knew. Cutting through the protective clothing was an option, but one that had the potential to reveal problems that his substandard state of mind was unsure he could control. He'd already decided that he wasn't going to say this to the man lying before him and hoped that Virgil wouldn't ask.

Virgil didn't. "Go to… front of Firefly…" He managed to point in the general direction of the machine's nose. "Sit… control seat…"

"Con-trol thea'?"

"Press button marked _T-B-5_."

"Bu'on mark' TB5."

"Get help."

"Right," Bruce agreed.

"_This is International Rescue,"_ a voice blared. _"We will have you out of there in no time."_

All three men flinched as the magnified sound reverberated through their heat-induced aching heads.

"Gordon…" Virgil groaned.

Bruce had visibly paled at the unexpected aural onslaught. He swallowed and then prepared to push himself off the floor.

"Bruce!"

Bruce looked down at his friend. "Yeth?"

"Help… put my… hood back on," Virgil begged.

Confused by the request, Bruce frowned. "We know it'th you."

"Can't… take much more… of this heat…"

"Oh." Bruce looked embarrassed. With clumsy hands he replaced the hood he'd removed only minutes earlier and sealed the join. He clambered to his feet, each movement seeming to take real effort and stumbled away, as unsure on his legs as Butch.

This left Virgil alone. Alone with his nemesis from when he'd worked at ACE.

Virgil had expected Max Watts to be in a worse condition than he was. He looked up at the older man. _He's in better shape than I am_.

The Production Manager shuffled closer. "Virgil Tancy?"

"It's Tracy, Mr Watts." Virgil saw the supervisor look abashed at his gaff and wished he hadn't corrected him.

"Thith th' job y' lefd ACE for?"

Virgil thought it was safer, and less painful, to say nothing.

"You're m'mber of Indern'shonal Rethcue?"

"Yes."

"An'… An' you… You thaved m'life… 'gain."

Virgil decided against saying that so far, he hadn't succeeded in saving anyone's lives. They were all still in jeopardy; including his own.

Watts cast an agonised look down to the concrete slab across Virgil's torso. "An' you' bin injured 'gain."

"No… regrets." But Mr Watts didn't look any happier. Wanting to change the subject Virgil asked: "How'z George?"

He saw a small smile on the Production Manager's face upon hearing his son's name. "Doin' well. He'z recordin' a' alb'…" The smile transformed into panic. "He'z in recordin' stud'o! Whadif… Whad if it came down in th'earthquake?! Whadif 'ez 'urd?! An' m' wife. 'Ow'z she?!"

As Max Watt's already red face reddened even further, Virgil wished he hadn't asked the question. It was all too easy to forget that there was a whole damaged city out there when he was trapped in here in his own little world…

-F-A-B-

Bruce Sanders managed to make his way into the Firefly and welcomed the cool air conditioning with relief. Butch had found the required locker and had withdrawn two bottles of what looked like water. He handed one to Bruce and then ripped the top off the second; downing it all in one gulp. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Needed tha'." Seeing Bruce struggle to remove his bottle's lid, he opened another and handed it over, taking the unopened one for himself.

Bruce, grateful for the help, disposed of his bottle of regenerating liquid at a similar speed to his friend, followed by a second. He sighed in relief. "Give me another and then you'd better get a couple out to Mr Watts."

"An' Virgil." Butch pulled three more bottles from the locker, but Bruce stopped him.

"No, don't give any to Virgil."

Confused, and a little angry, Butch stared at Bruce. "But m' pal'll be gettin' hot!"

"I know. And I know he'll be as desperate for a drink as we were. But he's probably got internal injuries. Even giving him water could do him more harm than good." Bruce saw Butch's face drop.

"He's bad?"

"I couldn't tell, Butch, but I think it's not good…" Bruce indicated his destination. "Now I've got to tell the rest of International Rescue what's happened to him. Once Mr Watts has had something to drink bring him in here." He turned, saw the control seat, and started his trek towards it.

As he collapsed into the chair Bruce blinked away the fatigue that seemed to fill his bones. He was about to push the button marked _TB5_ when he felt something tap him on the shoulder. Butch, his various pockets packed with bottles, handed him the one in his hand.

"Thanks." Bruce pushed the button as he accepted the drink. He had gulped down a large percentage of the bottle's contents before someone came on line and surprised, he spilt the remainder of his drink down his front. It was only Butch's audible gasp that brought him back to his senses.

Alan's expression of eager hope quickly morphed into confused shock before transforming into professional neutrality.

Realising that a star-struck man was still hovering at his shoulder, Bruce turned. "Go give the water to Mr Watts, Butch," he instructed.

"Wha'…? Oh… Yeah…" His eyes glued to Alan's image, Butch backed away to the entrance hatch and just managed to avoid falling out of it.

"Bruce?" Alan decided that the most logical thing to do was ignore the fact that International Rescue's secret was a secret no longer. "Where's Virgil?"

"That last earthquake brought some of the roof down," Bruce admitted.

"It landed on him?"

Bruce nodded. "He's trapped under it… But he's alive and conscious!" he added hurriedly. "He's been responding to us and has been giving us instructions."

Alan didn't seem surprised to hear that his brother had been trapped. "And Mr Watts?"

"Dehydrated like the rest of us. Butch is going to give him some liquids and then bring him in into this… machine…"

"Good."

"Ah…" Bruce hesitated. He had loads of questions, but one held priority. "How long before you can get us out of here?" He waited in some trepidation in case he didn't want to know the answer.

"The roof of the building has blocked the Firefly's exits," Alan told him. "Once Thunderbird Two has cleared that out of the way we'll be able to free you."

"Thunderbird Two?" Bruce asked what seemed to be a ridiculous, yet in light of what he was learning, obvious, question. "Scott?"

"Gordon."

"Oh." Despite the Firefly's insulating walls Bruce could hear the roar of engines. "How long will that take? I… That is…"

Despite his determination to maintain his professional demeanour, Alan looked alarmed at Bruce's hesitation. "What's wrong?"

"I… I don't know how long Virgil can stand being in there. Even without the weight that's on him the heat's a killer. I've learnt how to administer IVs; after Virgil saved Lisa I decided I needed advanced first aid training; but I don't think I'm steady enough to insert the cannula at the moment." Bruce held up his hand, which was shaking. "And, even though the roof's gone, it's still hot enough to boil liquid. I could be cooking him from the inside out."

"We won't be long," Alan reassured him, praying that he was speaking the truth. "Now… I need you to tell me exactly what's happened to Virgil…"

Outside at Mobile Control, Scott and John huddled around the screen. They could see and hear both Alan and Bruce, but only Thunderbird Five knew that they were listening in. Hovering above them, awaiting his instructions to resume the removal of the roof, Gordon was maintaining a similar watch.

"One of the roofing beams has crushed him across the pelvic area," Bruce was saying. "And the last 'quake destabilised the framework of the crucible furnace. The whole thing's resting on the beam."

"What's wrong with his left hand?"

Bruce didn't even question how Alan had known that Virgil had suffered an injury there. "A lump of concrete's landed on it. It doesn't look too heavy, but none of us are strong enough to shift it at the moment."

"Any signs of bleeding?"

"I couldn't see any, but I don't know that that means anything; his PPE's still intact. 'Sides I couldn't get close enough to give him any kind of examination." Bruce looked downcast at his failure. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alan instructed. "How's his breathing?"

"A little restricted by the beam," Bruce managed a hopeful grin, "but he's still doing it."

Alan made a note. "Has he lost consciousness at all?"

"I wouldn't say he was unconscious, but he nearly fainted when he tried to move before he realised he was trapped."

"Anything else we need to know?"

"Probably, but I can't think at the moment. My head's too sore." Bruce heard a noise behind him and looked around. "Butch has just brought Mr Watts in here, so I'll go back out and sit with Virgil."

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do," Bruce corrected. "He's my friend."

Alan treated him to a grateful grin. "Thanks, Bruce."

"No worries. I know that if I was in his situation I wouldn't want to be alone…"

-F-A-B-

As much as to keep them both calm as to block out the depressing view, Virgil had closed his eyes and shielded his visor when he heard Butch return. At Max Watts' strangled "Thank you," he lowered his arm to see Butch, holding the older man upright, assist him to drink from a bottle.

Butch saw that he was being watched and gave a goofy grin. "I jus' seen Alan Tracy," he boasted, and then, as if he realised that Virgil would have known full well just who he had been talking to, shrunk into himself.

Virgil felt his mood lighten for a moment. No matter how many times he'd met Alan, Butch had never managed to lose that air of hero worship when it came to his youngest brother. It was an attitude that caused Alan some embarrassment and, while Virgil had got as much enjoyment as his brothers teasing the youngest about it, the knowledge that Alan was held in such high esteem filled him with pride.

Not that he'd ever tell his kid brother that. "What'd Al'n zay?"

"Dunno. Bruce's talkin' to 'im." Butch attempted to wipe his forehead on his arm and was thwarted by his PPE's hood.

The fact that the big man was being affected by the heat again after such a short space of time rang alarm bells. "Take Mr Watt' in' th' Fir'fly," Virgil instructed.

Butch hesitated and then, instead of doing what he'd been told, pulled a piece of material from out of his pocket. He twisted the lid off another bottle and tipped some of its contents onto the cloth, managing to spill a fair bit in the process. Then, as the excess barely had time to soak into the mud before it evaporated off the floor, he unzipped Virgil's hood, gently laid the cloth on his friend's forehead and sealed the hood again.

Surprised at the unexpected show of intelligence, and grateful for the largely useless attempt to cool him down, Virgil could only respond with a sincere: "Thankz."

With a shy, "Y'welcome," Butch got to his feet. He reached down to attempt to pull Watts to his feet, but the older man's legs were unable to support him. He slipped from Butch's hands and collapsed back onto the ground.

Not for the first time in their association, Virgil was amazed by Butch's strength and determination, as the big man bent down, collected his supervisor into his arms and, as easily as he would Ginny, lifted him off the ground. As they returned to the Firefly, Virgil listened for the sound of tripping or a body hitting the floor, but there was nothing.

Not until Bruce reappeared carrying a fan. "It was Alan's suggestion," he said as he set it up, so it was pointing in Virgil's direction. "He said it might help a little."

Virgil waited in vain for the temperature to cool as Bruce attempted to make himself comfortable on the hard floor. Then the latter cursed. "I forgot to ask where the first aid kit is."

"Don' worry… Y' can'… do much… in this hea'… 'Cept remove… th' cloth off… m'ead."

Bruce managed a grin. "Was that Butch's idea?"

"Yeah… Doesn' work… Dried too quick."

"Hold on." Bruce shifted the fan, so it was blowing cooler air across Virgil's face and then removed the cloth. "It's dry as a bone."

"Mean' well."

"Yeah, I know. For such a tough guy he's a pussycat."

"Never fi' in… wi' the Skulz."

Bruce grimaced. "Don't mention the Skulz. My head's already hurtin'."

"Wha' did… Al'n say?"

"The roof," Bruce looked skywards towards the supporting beams, "has blocked the doors on the…" he waved his hand in the direction of the Firefly. "Soon as Thunderbird Two lifts it clear, they'll begin the rescue."

Alongside the hum of the Firefly and the low frequency drone of Thunderbird Two in hover mode, Virgil heard the familiar sound of a rescue beginning in earnest.

"So…" Bruce began, pretending to only have a casual interest. "If you're part of International Rescue and Alan's in Thunderbird Five, and Gordon's flying Thunderbird Two…" Virgil raised an eyebrow (the only part of his body that didn't seem to hurt) in surprise. "Does this mean your whole family's a part of International Rescue?"

"Is Intern't'n'l Resc'."

"You are International Rescue?" Despite what he already had discovered about the organisation today, Bruce looked astonished. "Then last week… When Tin-Tin and I were watching the Netherlands disaster…?

"Delayed… TV feed. I wa'… zupposed… to be… on vacation… wi' you."

"But they need' your help?" Bruce guessed.

"Ye'."

"Wow…! Boy, do I feel a fool."

"You're no' a f'l. Goo' camoflaj."

Virgil saw his friend's old impish look. "I wish you could have shown me some of your machines when I was at your place. The Mole sounds amazing!"

"You' seen par' o' it…"

"I've seen part of it?" Bruce frowned, concerned about his friend's lucidity. "When?"

"'Member the… ad shoot?"

"'Thad chute...? Oh! Th' ad shoot? That catalogue that Tuffas shot using Lisa and Winston as models?"

"'Member when… they were… tryin' to… get photos… an' we were… workin'?"

"Remember! Greg flipped! He dragged the guy to Mr M.'s office by the collar while we were left to cool our heels above the crucible..." Bruce glanced at the cylindrical object towering over them exuding waves of heat and decided his words weren't exactly accurate or tactful.

"We were… pourin'… the drill."

"The drill? Of th' Mole!?" Astonished, Bruce sat back. "D'you mean ACE made th' Thunderbird'?"

"Some… part'."

"Wow!" Bruce took the lid off a bottle of water, unzipped his hood, and took a swig as Virgil looked on enviously. "Warm," he said in disgust and dropped the empty bottle at his side. "Were we th' only reason why International Rescue was called 'ere?"

Virgil shook his head. "Winst'n… an'… 'Livia trappe'… in CAD."

"Were they ok? Did you rescue 'em?"

"Bo' fine… 'Livia didn'… wanna leave… Unc' 'Amish." Virgil gave a slight flick to his head. "She' ou'… dere. 'Very-one else… in Bearzdon."

Bruce was looking towards the Firefly's open hatch as if he wished he could join his workmates.

Virgil took pity on him. "Won' be… long 'fore… th' guys ge'… 'ere," he said, hoping that he wasn't lying. "Go an' waid in th' cool."

"Nope. I'm stayin' wi' you."

Virgil was gripped by a sudden need to apologise. "Bruze… 'm sowwy… Wanded to… dell you… 'bout… 'Natin'l Rezc'… bu' couldn'…"

"I know."

"Zecuri'y."

"I know," Bruce repeated. "I know how important Internation'l Rescue's securidy is. I've read all I coul' abou' you."

There was silence inside the building. Outside they could hear ongoing activity.

Virgil was the first to speak. "Never like'… dat thing," he admitted, glaring at the crucible furnace that hung two metres over him.

"I know. Y' called it Medusa."

"Ye'."

"Never though' I'd see you here ag'in… When dey build this building, I made a copy o' the pic'ure you drew." Bruce pointed behind Virgil's head. "I stuck id on th' wall." He managed a laugh. "Wanna 'ear somethin' ironic?"

Virgil nodded. It was easier than speaking.

"Lisa, Butch an' I were talkin' this mornin', abou' you. We though' you weren' 'appy workin' for Mr T. an' we all agree' tha' Internation'l Rescue was th' ideal job for you. Guess you go' th' las' laugh."

Virgil managed an obliging chuckle.

"Las' week… While I was on vacat'n wi' you… Id wasn' that you're no' happy, was id?"

"'Appy?"

"Wi' your life. You were worrie' I' find ou' your secre'."

Virgil risked a tiny nod.

There was a pause as both men battled the heat to think.

Bruce had been scratching tired patterns into the mud. "Course you're nod the only one wid secre's," he admitted.

Virgil raised a curious eyebrow.

"This mornin' Lisa starded match-makin'…" Bruce couldn't help the slight self-satisfied smirk that played around his lips. "Didn' tell'er I spoken for."

"You… gotta… g'rlfr'nd?"

"Yep."

"You'… seriou'?"

"Are we serious?" Bruce thought for a moment. "Till a coupla hour' ago I would've said tha' we jus' get togetha for few laughs… But now, I can' bear the though' o' bein' withou' 'er."

Virgil understood. He'd seen many people in that situation over his years with International Rescue. He was just glad that there was no one to miss him…

Apart from his family... And friends. "'Ow'd… you… meed?"

Bruce chuckled. "'Member my ol' rus'bucket?"

Virgil did remember Bruce's old rundown car. It had appeared to have been held together by duct tape and good luck.

"She fina'ly gave up one nigh' in th' middle of the bigges' storm of th' year. I was stranded in th' mid'le of nowhere an' the tow-truck firm had four cases before me. I was tryin' t' repair id an' was soake' t' th' skin an' feelin' miserable. Then she arrive', an' like a sunbeam made 'verything seem' brighder."

Virgil raised a querying eyebrow.

"She led me sid in her car for the nex' two hours while I waided for the tow. We talke'." A whimsical expression softened Bruce's face. "Never realise' 'ow special she wa' till then. I call her Sunbeam." Now he looked embarrassed. "We b'n together 'bout eighd month."

"Dad's goo', Bruze. Whad' 'er name?"

An aftershock rattled through the area. It wasn't big; most of those in the city were barely aware of it; but the movement of the earth turned mud into liquid, ground wood against metal; ground metal against concrete…

And ground concrete against a trapped human being.

A fireball of agony shot out from Virgil's midriff and left hand, blasting through the rest of his body. Only just managing to bite back a scream, he shut his eyes in a futile attempt to hold back anguished tears. His right hand grappled for something to cling to before, battling the pain, his body went into spasm, tearing at his muscles and tendons. As his body arched bile rose up in his throat and threatened to erupt out. His pain-overloaded brain didn't comprehend that as he was trapped on his back and with his head inside a hood, vomiting would be more than a messy inconvenience.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear a voice. "Breathe, Virgil," someone was telling him. "Breathe through it."

Conscious thought returned, and Virgil tried to obey. Slowly the pain subsided, leaving him feeling limp, drained, and with a fever of hope that the next 'quake wouldn't occur until after he'd been released from his prison…

Or was dead.

He was becoming more aware of his surroundings. Next to him a kind of mud had bubbled up through a crack in the floor like a mini volcano. The liquefaction had erupted out of the ground and flowed down its flanks, pooling by his side.

Bruce, with what little strength he had left, struggled to push it clear of his friend's body. "'Ave you go' a shovel in there?"

Virgil couldn't answer.

Licking his dehydrated lips, he had the unexpected pleasure of feeling liquid beading there. Desperate to quench his thirst he drew it into his mouth, tasting metal.

Virgil had bitten through his lip.

Bruce looked as distressed as Virgil had felt. "You 'kay?"

No. He was most definitely not okay. But, not willing to move his agonised abdomen more than necessary, Virgil nodded.

It was only then that he realised that he still had a death grip of Bruce's hand. Wondering where he got the strength from he forced his fingers to uncurl, releasing his friend.

Bruce almost looked disappointed that he'd let go. "Wish I coul' do more."

But even Virgil could see Bruce had reached his limits. "Go… Fir'fly."

"No. No' leavin' y'u." Bruce sagged.

Virgil didn't have the energy for this conversation. "Go."

Bruce sagged even further, his determination not leave his friend overriding common sense. "No."

Virgil was equally determined that if one of them was going to be evacuated from here in a body bag, it wasn't going to be Bruce. There was nothing else for it. Knowing he was going to regret it, he took a deep breath. "Butch!"

The blast of pain wasn't as bad as he'd feared, and by the time the fireworks had stopped shooting around his innards and he'd regained his breath, Butch was beside them, pulling at a protesting Bruce's arm.

"No! 'E's my frien'. 'm no' leavin' 'im."

"Ya can't stay here. Look at ya!"

"Bu'…"

"Go, Bruce," Virgil whispered. "If I 'ave t' shoud aga'n, Scodd gonna be mad wi' you."

Finally, Bruce allowed Butch to assist him to his feet and partially lead him, partially drag him, through the clouds of kicked up dust to the revitalising coolness of the Firefly's air conditioning.

And Virgil was alone.

But not for long.

Having laid Bruce down on one of the Firefly's platform seats and left Max Watts plying him with several bottles of International Rescue's refreshing liquid, Butch had returned. He plonked himself down on the ground in a shower of dried liquefaction, sat cross-legged, and regarded Virgil. "'Ow ya doin', Pal?"

Not good.

Butch didn't seem perturbed by Virgil's lack of a verbal response. "'Spose y' know that Liesl and Ginny are safe?"

Virgil responded with a small nod.

"I talked to Liesl earlier."

Virgil nodded again.

"I been talkin' to Alan…" Butch's face lit up. "He said they're both in Bearston."

Virgil managed a third nod.

"S'ppose I got y' ta thank for savin' m' girls."

Virgil attempted an "it was a team effort" grimace.

"Thanks, Pal."

Virgil smiled. "No regrets," he whispered.

"S'ppose th' Red-Arrow's bin trashed in the 'quake." Butch looked saddened by the loss of his sports car.

Their sports car, Virgil reminded himself. Ever since he'd signed back half of the classic automobile to the Crumps, he'd tended to forget that he was part owner; only remembering when it came time to pay the insurance and other costs that kept it roadworthy.

But Butch had brightened. "Maybe y' an' me could fix it togetha?"

Virgil thought that highly unlikely…

-F-A-B-

Outside, everything was ready. Scott gave the whole outfit a once over to convince himself that nothing could go wrong and then gave the command.

"Okay, Gordon… Lift the roof clear…"

_3:07 pm_

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

_2:45 pm_

Once they'd heard all they could about the condition of those trapped inside the furnace building, Scott had given the order to resume their rescue attempt. "Okay, Gordon. Send down the Leech."

"_F-A-B."_

A hatch opened in the underside of Thunderbird Two and a large plate, tethered by four strong cables, descended.

"Move point-one to port, Thunderbird Two."

The Leech swayed on its cables as the mighty transporter moved a fraction to one side.

"You're on target. Hold starboard cables steady. Continue port's descent."

John stood back, close to the Firefly's blade, as the Leech descended towards the fallen roof. He was, while trying not to be obvious about it, keeping as close a watch on his elder brother as Scott was on the descending Leech.

That was until a shallow earthquake rattled through the complex and John watched, alarmed, as Scott paled before wrapping his arms about himself in a gesture of comfort and protection. John waited to see if any comment was made about Virgil's condition, but when none was forthcoming decided not to ask. Any information received would be vague, and there was little they could do until the Leech had done its work.

Alan had no such inhibitions. "Thunderbird Five has just recorded a 3.4 quake," Mobile Control announced. "Any reports of damage?"

Leaving Scott to concentrate on the rescue and thinking that he knew exactly what "damage" Alan was concerned about, John returned to the communications console. "Negative, Thunderbird Five. Have you heard anything?"

"Nothing from the Firefly…" Alan made sure that only one person was listening on the network. "How's Virgil? Did Scott react at all?"

"Yeah. But he hasn't said anything, so I'm trusting that there's nothing to report… Have you told base?"

"I figured you were too busy to, so yes."

"Thanks. We're nearly ready to attach the Leech, so I'd better head back. Give me a call if you hear anything."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

A feature was appearing on the radar.

Lady Penelope smiled. This part of the world was treating her to one of the best flying days she'd known for a long time and she was enjoying herself. Without a care she initiated the radio link. "Contacting Tracy Island."

There was a marked pause before she received the expected response and, aware of no cause for concern, Lady Penelope continued flying. Both she and Parker knew that International Rescue had more pressing business to worry about than their imminent arrival.

Finally, Jeff came on line. "Are you close, Penny?"

"I am, Jeff. We have Tracy Island in sight."

"Good. I'll monitor your landing, but you'll excuse me if I don't greet you?"

"Of course. You can tell us all about the rescue when we join you."

Jeff Tracy made no comment as he signed off.

And so, apart from Parker's habitual closing of his eyes as the wheels drew close to the runway, (really, Lady Penelope mused, the Skyship One's hijackers had a lot to answer for), it was with no hint of the drama that they were about to encounter that they landed.

The doors to the hangars set aside for visitors to the island were open and the pink aeroplane came to a halt outside.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Kyrano?" Lady Penelope enquired as she alighted from her craft. "How delightful of you to welcome us."

He gave a slight bow. "It is without delight that I greet you, Lady Penelope." The bow was repeated. "Mr Parker. The rescue is not proceeding as we should wish."

"'Ow's that?" Parker asked. "'As somethin' gone wrong?"

Kyrano started loading the island's guests' bags onto a motorised trolley. "Those that International Rescue were tasked to save are close to regaining their freedom. But it is with sadness that I tell you that Mister Virgil has been injured in the course of their rescue. I felt that both yourselves and the Tracys should want you to hear this before you approach the villa."

"Virgil has been injured?" Lady Penelope's crease-free forehead creased a millimetre. "I am assuming from your manner, Kyrano, and your desire to spare Jeff the discomfort of telling us this himself, that this is not a minor injury?"

The older Malaysian looked at her and she could see that his eyes, perpetually solemn, were grave. "We have little information at this time, but that which we have leaves Mister Brains with a belief that Mister Virgil's injuries are of a serious nature. Perhaps serious enough to leave little optimism for his survival."

Lady Penelope held back her usual laconic "how tiresome"; replacing it with a more appropriate: "How worrying… Brains is at the danger zone?"

"No. Mister Brains is in the villa."

"Then we shall hold onto the hope that, as he does not have all the facts, things are not as dire as we all fear."

-F-A-B-

_2:59 pm_

"You're almost there, Gordon," Scott announced. "Activate suction."

The Leech was now suspended beneath Thunderbird Two at an angle almost perpendicular with the ground, but parallel with the roof that was their barrier to gaining access to the Firefly. A quiet hum could be heard from the device.

"Move in."

Making sure that Thunderbird Two remained motionless in the air, Gordon eased a lever to the side. Beneath the transporter the Leech inched closer until, with barely a sound apart from the continuing drone, it contacted the roof. He checked the display on his console. "We're green."

He heard Scott order him to: "Hold position," and cursed. He wanted to get that roof out of the way and get aid to his brother. Not sit up here waiting!

Scott was just as desperate to get to Virgil. But his was a desperation tempered by an unwillingness to risk any possible holdups because they'd rushed the job. "John. Check the seal," he commanded, running his fingers around the join on his side.

John complied, not feeling the pull of suction against his fingers as he ran them along the junction between the rough roof and the Leech's smooth pad. "We're good."

"Good. Stand back." Scott obeyed his own order and then raised his microphone. But before he was able to speak he felt something stop him.

John was alarmed to see his brother pale and put his hand to his midriff. A glance at Mobile Control confirmed that there had been no aftershock. "Scott?"

Ignoring him, Scott lifted the microphone to his lips. "Lift away, Gordon."

"F-A-B." Concentrating on keeping lateral movement to the minimum, Gordon pulled back on the control yoke and Thunderbird Two rose up, the roof dangling below. "Wait till I'm clear before you move in," he added; thinking that since Scott was being so super-cautious, he had probably just wasted his breath.

It was John who'd had to obey the command of Thunderbird Two's pilot. His nerves were so taut with strain that he'd taken a step towards the Firefly at the first sign that the roof was shifting. He checked himself with an order to let Scott make the first move.

Scott kept his cool… And a close watch over the roof rising over their heads. Finally, he was satisfied that there could be no danger of accidental contact between the obstruction and the Firefly. "You're clear, Thunderbird Two. Move out."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Gordon headed back towards the one clear space big enough to hold Thunderbird Two. Once there he turned the aeroplane so it was facing its original orientation, released the suction, retracted the Leech, and, without worrying about the damage he was doing to the now redundant roof, landed on the spot.

Then he was running through the aircraft…

Scott was the first to the Firefly's entrance. Slamming his hand against the print reader to unlock the hatch, he bounded through before the extending steps had touched the ground. His only stop was to grab a medical kit and pull on his hood before he was inside the furnace building, the door closing behind him as clouds of dried mud floated up from the floor. The heads-up temperature display on his visor immediately shot up to 82 degrees C.

John, accepting the unsaid instruction that his role was to tend to those inside the Firefly, cast an expert eye about and evaluated who needed the more immediate treatment. He crouched down next to where Max Watts was lying on a couch. "How are you feeling, Sir?"

Watts, so startled by who was about to assist him, forgot his hatred of the title as he attempted to sit up. "I'm all right."

"Lie back for a bit," John advised. "Let me have a look at you first." He glanced over his shoulder. "How are you feeling, Bruce?"

"Been better. Been worse."

John managed a reassuring grin. "I'm sure you have. Have you had plenty to drink?"

"I've had so much you'll probably need Thunderbird Four to rescue me."

John chuckled and resumed his inspection of the older man before him.

"John…?"

John turned when he felt the touch on his shoulder. "Yes?"

"I did all I could. But with the heat… I couldn't think properly… And I was scared that if I cut into his PPE…"

John held up his hand. "I know. And Virgil knows too."

Bruce looked glum. "I wish I could have done more."

"Just staying with him, despite the discomfort you must have been in, meant that you did more than we would have asked of you."

"But was that enough?"

John had no answer to that.

Gordon, having sprinted across the space between Thunderbird Two and the Firefly, barrelled through the firefighting vehicle to the entrance to the building beyond. But, instead of leaping down the steps to its interior, he pulled up short as the door opened, staring at the scene before him.

He heard a quiet voice. "Is he that bad?"

Pulling himself together, Gordon retreated into his usual refuge of humour. Looking over his shoulder, he grinned at John. "Just lying around while the rest of us do all the work as usual."

He flipped his fire-suit's hood onto his head and the door slid shut behind him…

-F-A-B-

Hamish Mickelson and Olivia Annan had watched from their tent as Thunderbird Two had soared overhead with something dangling from its belly, before dropping down to land in its field over the road from ACE. They'd seen an auburn-haired figure leave the aeroplane and sprint across the road, disappearing behind the ruined building that had been their state of the art factory. They'd heard the relative silence that told them nothing of what had happened to the victims of the earthquake.

Olivia clutched at the cloth of her skirt, balling the material up in her hands and revealing more of her legs than she would normally have considered acceptable, especially in front of her boss. Not that Mickelson noticed, as he too waited to see if they were going to learn anything and debated whether or not they should do something.

He evaluated what they knew. Four victims; with a possibility that all four were injured; to be saved by three rescuers; one whom he knew had been hurt. For a man who excelled at keeping a multi-national business running for one of the wealthiest men on the planet, those numbers didn't add up. With a silent prayer that Jeff Tracy would understand the rationale behind his decision, he took Olivia by the arm and guided her further. "We'll move closer," he explained. "They may need our help."

-F-A-B-

_3:05 pm_

Far away in Bearston, people were still waiting for news. It had been two hours since Thunderbird Two had disgorged them into the field beside the hospital, and people who had negotiated the same journey by road were only just starting to arrive. As each new batch of refugees signed in, each and every person huddling in the hall craned their necks to see if it was someone they loved, someone they knew, or at least someone with news about those they cared about. At one point Matt Walker had let out a delighted cry and run across the room, nearly bowling over several people in his haste, and had wrapped his arms about a woman who, holding a frightened child by the hand, had been trying to register with the harassed clerk. His workmates looked on in pleasure, and with envy, as he picked up the child, hugged her tightly, and then, once registration had been completed, escorted them over to his colleagues. "Do you all remember my wife, Karla, and our daughter Holly?"

Karla and Holly found themselves to be the recipients of welcoming smiles and the cause of a lot of nudging as the group shuffled around to let the two newcomers in.

Karla clung to her husband's hand. "How did you all get here?" she asked. "It took us an hour just to get from First to Fifth Streets."

Matt couldn't keep the touch of pride out of his voice. "We were flown here in a Thunderbird," he boasted.

Holly fixed her dad with a look that said that she couldn't quite believe him. "Which one?"

"Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two?" Karla echoed. "International Rescue's Thunderbird Two?" At her husband's nod she added: "Why?"

Suddenly Matt remembered that he was more fortunate than some. "A truck slammed into the factory trapping Winston," the draftsman pretended to doff a cap to the newcomer and Holly, happy now that she was away from the shaking ground and could relax in her dad's arms, giggled, "and Olivia."

"Olivia?!" Karla's eyes were round as she looked around the group for the missing Personal Assistant. "Where is she? Is she all right?"

"She's fine. She's stayed back at ACE with Mr Mickelson."

"Stayed there? Why? Why aren't they here, away from the aftershocks?"

"Erm…" Matt glanced across at Lisa, who was checking her phone again. "Mr Watts, Bruce and Butch were all trapped in the furnace building. International Rescue are still trying to save them."

Holly tugged at her father's sleeve. "Will I get to see a Thunderbird?"

"I don't know, Honey. This hall's filling up fast. They may have to take them somewhere where there's more room." Lisa looked up when she heard Matt's suggestion.

Alaina lent over so Karla could see her. "What is the city like? We've only seen the area around ACE."

"You wouldn't recognise the place," Karla declared. "Buildings have collapsed, there are great holes in the road." She squeezed Matt's hand. "The chimney's come down through our ceiling. I was in the lounge when the earthquake started. I just managed to reach the door when the whole thing just crashed down right where I had been standing. A lot of houses have lost their chimneys, or walls, or roofs."

There was silence as everyone wondered how their homes had fared.

"As soon as the shaking stopped, I grabbed my car keys and drove to the school to collect Holly. I had to wait while they took the school roll and then I had to sign her out, so they had a record that I'd taken her. Those poor teachers, they must be have been worried sick about their own families, but they made sure all the children were safe. As far as I'm concerned, they all deserve medals. When we left those kids who hadn't been collected were on the fields playing games. I guess the teachers thought it was safer outside than in the buildings."

"You didn't go past Apple Street, did you?" David Griffen asked. "My house is there."

"No. Sorry."

"What about…" and Karla found herself harangued by numerous questions from people desperate to know if their homes still stood.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. I was so scared, and Holly was crying, and the ground was still shaking, and the roads were cracked, and I was trying to find a way out of town to safety. The traffic lights weren't working, there weren't enough policemen on directing traffic duty and there were traffic jams everywhere. The only buildings I remember seeing were the Knighting Building, which looked unscathed, and the Carlyle Building, which had lost its frontage. I could see right inside to some of its rooms. There were papers everywhere."

The people around her contemplated what she had said. The Knighting Building was a local landmark; a heritage council building that had been strengthened some years earlier (thanks to a large anonymous donation by Jeff Tracy). The Carlyle Building was a much more modern structure that had been built next to the Knighting and had taken over its official role. The Carlyle had both been reviled and loved by locals for the juxtaposition it created with the "grand old lady" as the local preservation society had called the original building.

"There were people digging in the rubble," Holly announced. "I think they were looking for other people."

"I concentrated on driving while Holly tried to get you on your phone, Matt…" Karla steered the conversation away from worrying thoughts. "But we couldn't get you, or my parents. The phone lines aren't working. We had the radio on and they were saying that the power, the water and the sewage aren't working either. There are broken pipes and connections all over the place and they're predicting that it'll be days, if not weeks, before some parts of the city are reconnected." She shuddered, and her husband put his arm about her and pulled her close. "I'm glad to be out of there."

-F-A-B-

_3:10 pm_

There were many who wished they had the option to leave, while there were others who were miles away.

He was lounging in a deck chair, basking in the warmth of the sun, having made the request for someone to bring him a refreshing drink. In the distance he could hear music playing and a gull squawked as if as a vocal accompaniment. Palm trees waved in the gentle breeze.

It was a haven. A haven from the noise, and bustle, and fear, and pain…

He felt something touch him. Someone called his name.

A reassuring pair of blue eyes swam into view; a lifeline with reality. "Sco'?"

Those eyes were tainted with worry, but smiled down at him. "Are you back with us?"

Virgil frowned. "I wa' dreamin' I wa' home." Over Scott's shoulder he saw Gordon assist Butch to his feet and lead the big man, protesting, away into the Firefly. "They 'kay?"

"John's checking them over, but I think they'll be all right." Scott began the examination of his patient.

"You 'kay?"

Scott looked back at his brother. He could have played the usual game of pretending not to understand the meaning behind the question, but he knew that they didn't have the time. "The lower half of my body feels like it's got a major case of pins and needles, including my legs." He managed a reassuring grin. "Must mean that yours are still attached, right?" He resumed his examination, running his hands down the sides of his brother's body to check for abnormalities. "I don't want to cut into your fire-suit until we've cooled the air down in here. It's still hot enough to burn. What can you feel?"

"C'n't feel m' legs. C'n feel you."

Scott made no comment. "Any pain I should be aware of?"

Virgil went to indicate his upper abdomen until a sharp burst of pain told him excessive movement wasn't a good idea. "When I m've."

A different kind of pain had clouded Scott's eyes, but he refused to give voice to it. "Let me check your hand."

Virgil watched as his brother crossed to the other side and felt down his arm. "Guess I won' be playn' th' piano 'ny time soon."

Concentrating on his examination of the lump of concrete that held Virgil's arm trapped, Scott forced out a chuckle as Gordon returned, carrying a refrigeration unit. "Does it hurt?"

"Numb. Thingk I c'n feel bleedin'."

His brothers thought that under the circumstances that wasn't that surprising.

Gordon started setting up the unit. "Let's see if we can reduce the temperature, then we can start getting some fluids into you."

Virgil licked his dry lips with an even drier tongue. "C'n't wai'."

Scott stood. "I'm going to start planning how we're going to get you out of here. Gordon will keep you company."

Virgil watched him circle around the building until he disappeared from sight behind the furnace.

"You know Scott…" Upon hearing his brother's voice, Virgil looked back at Gordon. "He's a firm believer in International Rescue's motto. He won't rest until he works out a way to get you out of here. And you also know that he WILL get you out of here."

Virgil nodded. He knew that as well as he knew that he was trapped under a heavy load of concrete and metal in various states. He also knew that to free him would not be an easy job.

Especially freeing him alive.

-F-A-B-

Scott took his time as he tracked a path through the liquefaction, circling the structure that had supported the crucible furnace as he tried to gain as much information as he could before he came up with a plan.

This crucible, he knew, was larger than most, and he also knew from previous experience that it was large enough to swallow a man. It was able to be moved about the place on rails and at present was positioned roughly in the centre of the room; closer to the back wall than any of the others, but with enough space for him to move behind without coming into contact with the overheated sphere. The rails were buckled and clogged with liquefaction. Above, a gantry ran the length of the building, allowing operators access to the area above, while the crucible itself was separate from any other structure and mounted on two pivot points that allowed it to be raised, lowered, and poured into the appropriate mould.

Once hidden from everyone else's view he flipped a switch on his hood. "Brains? Are you reading me?"

Back in the lounge on Tracy Island Brains started. "I… I'm reading you, S-Scott."

"I need your help here. Do you feel up to seeing some video?"

Brains looked down at the tablet computer in his hands. It showed what was obviously a scene shot by a handheld (or more likely a hood-held) camera of what remained of the roof. He couldn't help but notice that the underside of the beams above the furnace appeared to be painted a fiery orange and seemed to move with a strange light of their own as heat waves writhed above the crucible's open mouth. "J-Just a minute, Scott. I'll go somewhere m-more private."

Hurrying through the complex Brains retreated into his laboratory and locked the door behind him, before sitting at a bench and connecting a larger video screen to the feed from his tablet. Assured of total privacy, since he was the only person, aside from one other, who had the authority to unlock the door and enter his lab, he opened his mouth to tell Scott to begin…

The door slid open.

Brains jumped at the unexpected intrusion. "M-Mr Tracy!"

"Brains."

"I… I, er, don't think you ought to be in here, Mr Tracy."

"Virgil's my son." Jeff claimed the seat next to the engineer. "If his brothers can deal with seeing him the way he is, then so can I."

Brains considered asking his employer to confirm that statement when Scott interrupted. "Brains? Are you ready, Brains?"

Brains swallowed. "I… I'm ready, Scott."

"Okay…" There was no change in Scott's demeanour as he redirected the video camera to the space below the furnace.

Jeff made a real effort not to react to what he saw. Positioned beneath that heavy weight were two silver-clad legs twisted at angles that made them look like they'd been disconnected from a mannequin. It was hard to believe that they were connected to a human being.

Trying not to think about who those legs belonged to, Scott got down on his knees and, pushing the drying mud clear, tried to ascertain the extent of the injuries. He soon had to admit that the curvature of the crucible and the radiating heat, coupled with his insulating gloves and the victim's protective suit were thwarting his efforts.

"Can you feel a pulse?" Brains asked.

"Negative, but I think that's because of our clothing, not because there isn't one."

Jeff imagined Scott biting back an additional: "I hope."

"A-Any signs of swelling?" Brains asked.

"Possibly. Once again our clothing makes it hard to tell."

"What treatment have you given him?"

"None yet. It's too hot to risk cutting into his fire-suit. Gordon's set the refrigeration unit by his head to try to cool him down and once that's working we'll get some fluids and pain relief into him. Do you need to see anything else here?"

"C-Can you give me a close up of the junctions between the furnace and the frame?"

"F-A-B."

The image changed and now Jeff was looking at the machinery that had been employed by ACE. This was one of the flagship companies of Tracy Industries; one that he'd helped build from humble beginnings; one that he was responsible for...

Jeff vacated his stool and returned to the lounge.

-F-A-B-

Frustrated by the limited options available to them and with his camera still sending a video feed back to Brains, Scott completed his circuit. He crouched down next to Gordon who looked at him with eyes that begged to know the truth, even though Scott was sure he didn't want to hear it.

Scott definitely didn't want to tell him.

Giving Brains the chance to see more than just Gordon's fear, he looked away, realising with some relief that in that small area things had cooled down enough that Gordon had felt confident in cutting open Virgil's fire-suit and inserting an IV. "You're giving him fluids?"

"Yep. I'm pumping them in."

Scott turned to the invalid. "Is that helping?"

Virgil chuckled. "Yes."

"Good." Scott circled the patient and examined the trapped arm again, giving Brains the chance to see what they were up against.

"I've given him some IVA6 too," Gordon elaborated. "The analgesic kicked in almost as soon as I had the IV in place. Right, Virgil?"

Virgil chuckled again. "Right."

Gordon grinned. "It's good stuff, isn't it, Virg?"

Virgil responded with another chuckle. Then he frowned. "'m not smiling, am I? Don't wanna smile."

Gordon gave him a reassuring pat him on the arm. "No, Virgil. You're not smiling." For the briefest of moments his eyes met with Scott's.

The latter gave no hint of the emotions he was feeling. "Are you getting his stats?"

"Yep." Gordon indicated a case that was open next to them. "They're quite good, considering."

"Good." Pleased that they'd been able to offer some relief if not much else, Scott smiled. "Can you send them through to Brains? I'm going to check out the others and report into base. I'll be back in a moment." He switched off his video link to Tracy Island and retreated to the Firefly. Taking care to make sure that the door closed behind him to ensure that none of the heat infiltrated the machine and so no one could see the scene inside the building, he flipped off his hood and cuffed his brow.

It was John who asked the question that everyone wanted answered. "How's he doing?"

"According to Gordon and the scanner, better than expected, especially now that he's getting fluids and pain relief. How's everyone here?"

"Doing fine," John told his brother to a chorus of affirmative sounds. He stood, giving his trousers an unnecessary brush down from where he'd been kneeling on the floor next to the reclining Max Watts. "I was thinking. If we bring Uncle Hamish and Olivia in here, they can keep an eye on these guys freeing me up to help you."

"Olivia…?" Scott frowned. "In the Firefly?!"

"You don't need to worry about her," Bruce protested, recognising Scott's mistrust of anyone outside International Rescue's circle. "There's no way that Olivia would betray you; not after all International Rescue has done."

"For ACE an' everyone in th' world," Butch confirmed. "No one would b'tray you guys."

Scott grunted. "I wish that were true."

"She's seen you and me, Scott," John told him. "Besides…" he nodded over to the hatch that led out to the rest of the world. "There's no point trying to conceal anything now."

Scott turned and saw Hamish Mickelson peering in through the door. A sound outside told him that Olivia was close by.

The former looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Scott, but John's right. Since Olivia has recognised you I thought we would be of more use helping you than sitting in Patillo Park. If you'd rather, we can go back to the tent."

Scott gave a sigh that was less exasperation and more resignation. "You may as well both come in."

Hamish obeyed, closely followed by his Personal Assistant.

What happened next was a surprise to almost everyone.

With an exclamation of "Olivia!" twinned with an equally ecstatic "Bruce!" and a synchronised "are you all right?" the couple rushed into an embrace that left the onlookers no doubt that their relationship was more than that of co-workers.

Astonished, Scott glanced at his honorary uncle.

Hamish's jaw had dropped. "I honestly had no idea… At least now we know why she was so reluctant to leave."

Finally letting go of her Bruce stepped back so he could examine his girlfriend. "Are you sure you're all right, Sunbeam? Virgil said you and Winston had been trapped in the CAD room."

"I'm okay," she reassured him. "Thanks to International Rescue. But how about you? Are you sure you're okay?" She laid a cool hand on his flushed face.

"I'll live." Bruce indicated the discolouration around Olivia's eye. "How did you get that?"

"I fell against a cupboard, or a cupboard fell against me" she joked. "Either that or Winston kicked me. Things got confused in the earthquake."

Someone cleared their throat and, embarrassed, the couple took a step further apart.

Mickelson frowned at his P.A. "I wish you'd told me about you and Bruce, Olivia."

She blushed, the colour mottling her bruising. "I'm sorry, Mr Mickelson, but we agreed that it would be best if no one at work knew. We didn't want to create any problems."

"Problems." Scott managed to refrain from shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Instead he decided that he had more important things to worry about. "We've got work to do… Uncle Hamish, you are to ensure that everyone stays in here. If you think anyone needs further treatment you know how to get hold of Alan."

"Of course, Scott."

"There are drinks in…" Opening the refrigerated locker Scott discovered that it was almost empty. "We'll get you some out of Thunderbird Two. John, can you take care of that?"

"F-A-B."

"And I want you to get the SLAA6 kit."

John went as pale as he had after his blow to his head, but maintained his professionalism. "Understood."

Scott turned for the door that led to the cool afternoon air. "I'm going to radio base and give them an update."

John chased after him, catching International Rescue's Rescue Coordinator by the arm. "We're going to need all three of us to effect this rescue."

"Agreed. I don't like leaving Virgil alone, but we have no choice. We can't ask Uncle Hamish or anyone else to stay with him."

"Then why don't we take a communicator out to him? Thunderbird Five and base can keep him company."

"That's a good idea." Scott frowned. "One I should have thought of."

"You're operations. I'm communications," John reminded him. "You've got enough to worry about…" He glanced over at the group who were pretending to not be intrigued by their conversation. "Are we really going to need the SL kit?" he asked, sotto voce.

"Maybe." Scott's face was set in grim determination. "I'm hopeful we won't have to use all of it, but we need to be prepared."

"And remember our motto as well as the Boy Scouts'."

"_Never give up at any cost_," Scott quoted.

"Exactly."

The two brothers exited the Firefly; Scott turning left to Mobile Control; John right to Thunderbird Two.

Alan was on the line almost as soon as Scott hailed him. "What's the plan?"

"Can you set up a conference call with base, including Brains? I haven't got the time to repeat myself."

Seconds later Scott's video screen had split into three. The bottom two images showed the concerned frowns of Alan and Brains, while the top concentrated on Jeff Tracy and the lounge.

Scott detailed his findings. "… and I've told John to get the SLAA6 kit."

Alan went as pale as John had done upon hearing the name. "Are you going to have to amputate?"

"I'm going to do whatever's necessary to get him out of there alive," Scott told him. "Even if it means sacrificing his hand."

Alan made no comment.

"What's your take, Brains?" Jeff asked.

"From wh-what, ah, Scott has just told us, and what I've seen, I believe that he is following the best course of action. Under the circumstances there aren't many options."

Scott wished Brains had been able to offer more. "We may not need to use the Surgi-laser, but whatever we do, just freeing his arm isn't going to be enough. It's going to take a miracle to get Virgil out of there alive…"

-F-A-B-

It was while this morbid conversation was taking place that John was loading up a hover-trolley with further bottles of refreshing liquid. Then, hoping fervently that he was wasting his time, he entered Thunderbird Two's medical supplies room. Punching the initials S.L.A.A.6 into a keyboard he watched as a case slid through a hatch and onto a waiting bench.

Dry mouthed he opened the case. Inside, cradled by each of their individually cut cavities, were items designed to save a life. Hypodermic syringes, medicines, bandages, tourniquets, and in the centre of it all, round and innocuous despite its life-changing purpose, lay a Surgi-laser.

It was designed to slip around a trapped limb. When activated a series of lasers would, with surgical precision, cut through whatever it encircled; cutting and searing at the same time. The Surgi-laser would then separate into two, sealing both edges it had created. When put to its proper purpose it was quick, efficient, and…

And irreversible.

Amputation.

As with all of International Rescue's equipment, the Tracys had practised using Surgi-lasers long before their first dramatic rescue of the Fireflash. Brains' demonstration had been on a raw leg of beef that he'd smuggled out of the kitchen from under Grandma's nose.

It was the smell of searing flesh that had been the worst for those watching. Alan had been physically sick, and his brothers hadn't felt much better. As they'd seen the Surgi-laser in action they'd all sent up a silent prayer that they'd never have to use one in an actual rescue. To use it on a stranger would be bad enough… but to use it on a brother…

John took a deep breath trying to steady his nerves as well as his stomach, shut the case, and returned to the trolley. The trip over the rough ground between Thunderbird Two and the Firefly was taken with an inordinate amount of care as he tried to focus his thoughts away from the medical bag held tightly in his hand.

He reached the Firefly a short time after Scott, and accepted Hamish's offer to transfer the drinks to the refrigerated locker. This left him free to finally enter the furnace building.

John still hadn't seen inside the building that imprisoned his brother and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. But knowing that Virgil and all his family needed him to be strong and do his duty, he flipped his hood over his head, adjusted his grip on the case, took a deep breath of the oxygen that was flowing inside his suit, and slid open the door; stepping outside.

What he saw almost took his breath away.

The Surgi-laser in his hand was useless! There was no way that freeing Virgil's hand could help in his rescue. In fact, the impression that John got from his vantage point at the top of the steps, was that his brother's torso had already been sliced into two by the concrete beam that lay across it. He wondered how Virgil had managed to survive for so long.

And then John realised that he knew.

Gordon looked up, saw the case that John was holding, and his eyes widened. John understood exactly how he was feeling.

"Never give up at any cost," he told himself and took his first steps into the furnace room…

_3:33 pm_

_To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12

John settled the case containing the Surgi-laser down where Virgil wouldn't see it. "How's it going, Fellas?"

Gordon looked up from where he was monitoring Virgil's vital signs. "He's doing well."

"Great." John smiled down on his trapped brother. "Still hanging in there, Virg?"

"Jus' hangin' around." Virgil chuckled, and Gordon chuckled along with him.

"It's the pain relief," he explained. "It's taken the edge off, hasn't it, Virgil?"

"Yep. Now it doesn't hurt one bit." To demonstrate, Virgil pointed up towards the roofing beams. "Pretty colours… Wanna paint it…"

"You can do that later." Gordon caught the limb and laid it back down on the muddy floor.

"Later?"

"Yes. Later. We don't want you to do any more damage, do we?"

Virgil gave a drunken nod. "No." And Gordon had to hold him down again as he attempted to look about him. "Where'z my paints?"

Gordon glanced over to where Scott was exiting the Firefly, carrying another case. "You don't have time to look for them now. It looks like things are about to get underway."

"Oh, goodie! Party time!"

Scott placed this case adjacent to the concrete that pinned Virgil's arm down. "I want you two to set this up while I explain to Virgil what's going to happen," he ordered. Taking Gordon's place, he knelt on the floor. "I'm not going to lie to you, Virg, because I think you know as well as I do how badly you're hurt and what we're going to have to do to get you out of here."

"Gonna haveta get that weight off me," Virgil informed him with a cheerful smile.

"Right. And to do that we're going to cut through those beams," Scott pointed to what remained of the roof.

"Pretty beams. Pretty colours. Gordo said I can paint them later."

"Oh, Gordon did, did he?" Scott raised an eyebrow in that brother's direction.

"Once his system stabilises he'll sober up," Gordon explained. "Which should be any time now."

Scott continued. "We'll lift the beams out of the way, so that we can use Thunderbird Two to lift the furnace off you. Once that's clear we'll be able to get rid of that beam and give you some proper care. In the meantime, we're going to release your arm. Okay…?"

"Oki-doki."

"And we may have to use the Surgi-laser to do it… Do you understand, Virgil?"

Virgil glanced over to where John and Gordon were setting up a framework above the concrete that trapped his hand and felt the last intoxicating effects of the pain relief vanish.

He looked back at Scott, wishing that his brother could give him some positive news, but knowing that that wasn't going to happen. "I understand."

He heard a quiet voice off to his left. "We're ready."

Despite his intention not to do so, Virgil looked over at John. The frame above the concrete slab was a kind of crane which had several strong cables suspended below. Each of these cables were attached to the slab and were taut, ready to lift the crushing weight off what remained of his hand.

John smiled at his brother, but Virgil could see that it wasn't a genuine smile, but a futile attempt at reassurance. The rest of John's face was as taut with the strain of what he was about to do as the cables attached to the concrete. Gordon was crouched in such a way that Virgil couldn't see his brother's face through his visor, but he was sure that if he could he'd see the same expression.

"We'll numb your arm before we start," John reassured him. "You won't feel a thing."

Virgil had a feeling that his brothers were wishing that they could numb their own emotions just as effectively. "Just do what you have to do," he instructed.

As Gordon cut the material of his fire-suit clear and John readied the numbing injection, Virgil looked back at his eldest brother. He didn't want or need to watch. He knew exactly what the procedure was: numb the arm; apply a tourniquet; attach the Surgi-laser around the arm as far down as practicable; activate the Surgi-laser; clean up what remained…

At least he thought that was what was going to happen he reflected as he felt the prick of the needle. Now that his body had been saturated with fluids and pain relief he wasn't sure how much of his memory was accurate and how much was clouded by medication and pain.

But there was one thing Virgil did know without a doubt. He didn't want to witness what was about to happen to him, and he definitely didn't want to smell it. For the first time since he'd arrived at ACE he was glad that he couldn't remove his hood.

"This won't take long," Scott soothed. "It'll be over before you know it."

Desperate to keep his thoughts away from the activity to his left, and glad that the sides of his hood blocked his peripheral vision, Virgil repeated his earlier question. "How are Bruce, Butch and Mr Watts?"

"Mr Watts is still quite weak, but the other two are sitting up. I think they'll all be all right," Scott reassured him. Then he managed a smirk. "Especially Bruce, now he's got Olivia looking after him."

Confused by his brother's unprofessional grin, Virgil frowned. "Olivia? What's Olivia got to do with it?"

"Because the two of them are an item." Scott looked genuinely surprised. "Didn't you know?"

"No. We were talking before and he said that he had a girlfriend and that he hadn't realised how serious he felt about her until after the 'quake, but he didn't tell me who she was. We had an aftershock and that kind of made us forget everything." Virgil saw Scott give an involuntary rub to his abdomen. "You felt it too?"

"Yeah." Scott glanced across Virgil's body, the sides of his hood hiding his expression. He reached out for the IV draining into Virgil's arm and increased the speed of flow.

And Virgil felt an involuntary movement of his shoulder, but resisted the temptation to look back at what was being done. The rest of his left arm felt numb and detached from his body.

Literally as well as figuratively.

Another figure stepped into view and John crouched down by Scott's side, his expression hidden by the reflections on his visor.

Virgil waited to be told the worst.

"We didn't have to activate the Surgi-laser, Virgil."

Even though, in view of the larger picture, it was a small victory, Virgil felt a surge of relief.

"But we haven't released it," John warned, "just in case."

"Okay." Virgil nodded his understanding.

"I'm going to get the video console," John added. "I'll be back in a minute and then we can concentrate on getting the rest of you out in one piece."

"Thanks."

"We're going to need all three of us to complete this operation," Scott said as John hurried away into the Firefly, so I'm afraid you're going to have to rely on Alan to keep you company."

"I'm sure he can do that. He's probably bored up there all alone."

Scott stood when John returned, carrying yet another of International Rescue's cases. "I'll be back soon, Virg."

"Right." Virgil watched as his next eldest brother opened the case and started preparing the video console. "John…?"

John turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Me?"

"Your head."

"I'd forgotten all about that." John's hand automatically went up to where the bandage on his head was hidden beneath his hood. "At a guess, a darn sight better than you at the moment."

"Good."

John returned to his work.

"Will you do me a favour?"

"A favour?" John was surprised. "Of course, I will… If I can."

"Look after Scott for me."

Now John looked startled by the request. "Look after Scott?"

"We… We all know that the odds aren't in my favour. And that he'll pretend that he's coping to protect the rest of you. Don't…" Virgil considered his words. "Don't let what happens to me destroy him."

"But why me? What makes you think I have any control over Scott?"

"Because we all respect you…"

"You do?"

"Including Scott."

John just managed to avoid echoing the words. "But why me? Dad commands more respect than I do."

"He's got to look out for the bigger picture. You're my big brother. You have the authority."

"Authority!?" At Virgil's nod, John screwed up his face. "Scott's the big brother type; not me."

"That's why he's going to need someone he can lean on."

"And you've chosen me…" John thought for a moment. "All right. I'm not saying that I think I'll be successful, but I'll try because you asked." He tweaked the video console, taking an inordinate amount of care to ensure that it was standing at the right angle. "And I'll tell you why."

Virgil waited as John concentrated on his tweaking.

"A few minutes ago, we all thought that we were going to have to amputate your hand. It was the last thing that I wanted to do, and I was scared stiff, but I knew if it meant it gave you a chance I had to do it… And then you looked straight at me and told me to do whatever was necessary. The fact that you were willing to trust me meant a lot, Virg." John adjusted the angle of the video camera, so it was focussed on the man on the ground.

"It was only because it was you who asked that gave me the strength to say it."

John's head snapped around. "Huh?"

"As long as we've been International Rescue, you've always been the comforting voice guiding us. You're like a guardian angel watching over everything we do when we're out on a rescue."

John managed a hollow chuckle. "I've been called many things over the years, but never a guardian angel…" He frowned. "But surely Dad…?"

Virgil was shaking his head. "No. He's got the authority, but he doesn't have the knowledge. He doesn't know what it's like to go up against what we go up against when we're on a rescue."

"Oh…" The console was checked again. "Does this mean that you couldn't have given Gordon the go ahead?"

"I know he wouldn't do anything stupid; he's a total professional when we're on a rescue, but… and this is probably the meds doing the thinking, I wouldn't put it past him to say he'd used the Surgi-laser, just because he'd think that when I found out the truth the joke would make me feel better."

"You're right…" And John finally looked at his brother. "It is the meds thinking… What about Alan? He's literally watching over us now in Thunderbird Five."

"I know he's a total professional too, but he's always going to be my kid brother."

"_That_ I can understand… Well, considering what you've just told me, I have to say that I'm honoured, Virgil. I'm not going to promise that I'll succeed, but I will promise to do all I can to help Scott cope with whatever fate throws at us."

"Thanks." With a surprising speed, Virgil caught his brother's hand. "Thanks, John… For everything."

"You're welcome." John squeezed the hand before flicking a switch and the video screen glowed white. "Calling Thunderbird Five."

Alan's image appeared. "Thunderbird Five… How's everything going, John?"

"Too slowly and I've got to get out of here so we can pick up the pace. Can you keep Virgil company?"

Alan smiled. "Sure."

"See you soon, Virgil." John moved out of the way, allowing Alan to see the person the camera was focussed on.

This time Alan's smile was for his other brother. "How're you feeling, Virgil…?"

John took the chance to escape into the Firefly. Everyone was huddled at one end of the vehicle and he turned his back on them all as he removed his hood.

"John…" He hadn't heard Gordon approach. "Scott wants us to… Are you okay?"

"Yeah…" Seeing his brother's concerned frown, John managed a shaky grin.

"Are you sure? This is a tough situation for all of us, and you've been injured today."

"I'm fine, Gordon. Virgil and I have just been talking and…" John wiped his eyes. "And the meds are making him say silly things."

Gordon understood. "Scott wants us over at Thunderbird Two to start getting things ready."

"Good. We need to get Virgil out of there."

-F-A-B-

"Jeff?"

Jeff Tracy was standing on his patio, leaning on the balcony rail and gazing out over the Pacific Ocean. He turned upon hearing his name. "Penny…" He nodded at the man a step behind her. "Parker."

"Mr Tracy."

"Kyrano has informed us about what has happened." Lady Penelope laid her hand on Jeff's arm. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Nothing…" Jeff managed a rueful chuckle. "Sorry, but I've got to admit that I forgot you were coming. Events have overridden everything else."

"Do not concern yourself about us, Jeff. It is quite understandable that your attention should be elsewhere." Lady Penelope paused. "How are you?"

"Me?" He almost seemed surprised by the question. "I'm all right," he growled.

Even though she didn't believe so, Lady Penelope decided that it wasn't wise to press the issue. "Have you received further information from the boys?"

"Scott's come up with a plan. They should have Virgil out within the hour."

"And…" Lady Penelope broached what promised to be a delicate subject. "What is his prognosis?"

"Not good," Jeff admitted. "I've seen video and it's a miracle that he's survived at all. I don't know if he can last until the boys can rescue him. But they say that at the moment he's lucid and quite cheerful… Not that that's anything to be pleased about."

"And the people they went in to save, how are they?"

"From the information Alan's received they're all going to be all right."

"That is something to take comfort from."

"I guess…" Jeff sighed. "This rescue's been wrong right from the beginning."

"Wrong?" Lady Penelope queried. "Because the people you have rescued worked for you?"

"Not only worked for me, most of them are Virgil's friends. They've visited us here on the island."

"And you are worried that they will learn that we are International Rescue?"

"It's too late to worry about that, because they already know."

"Do you believe that you will need my services to negate any threats?"

"I doubt it. I can't see any of them betraying us." Jeff sighed. "If I'm honest, Penny, it's Scott I'm really worried about." Something similar to shock or horror must have shown on their faces, because he snapped. "Don't look at me like that!" Turning his back on them he fixed his attention on the innocent ocean.

There was silence between them as Lady Penelope and Parker gave him time to regain his equilibrium.

After a while he spoke again. "It's not that I'm not worried about Virgil," he explained. "I'm worried sick about him, and Mother's pretending that she's okay, but I can see that she's only just managing to hold it together. And Alan's having to deal with it while he's all alone. He's got a strength I wish I possessed. But Scott…" He gripped the rail tightly.

"Jeff…?" Lady Penelope glanced at Parker whose craggy features were creased even further into a frown.

Jeff sighed again. "I'm not sure how to explain it."

"Perhaps if you were to start from the beginning."

"The beginning? I don't know how long ago that was; the boys don't discuss it."

Lady Penelope and Parker allowed him a moment to think.

Finally, Jeff began speaking. "If I remember right, the first time you visited the island, was the first time you met Scott and Virgil?"

"Yes," Lady Penelope agreed. "That is correct."

"And that was because Virgil had injured himself at work and was on leave? And Scott had just left the Air Force?"

"Yes."

"I told you that there was something about their relationship that I'd explain some day when you knew me well enough to not think that I'd lost my marbles." Jeff Tracy finally found the strength to turn back to face the two English visitors. "And now I think you know us well enough to hear our story. Hopefully afterwards you'll understand my concerns and know that I'm not placing a value on the life of one son over another..." His eyes fell for a moment on the middle portrait on the far wall. Then he abruptly turned back to the ocean.

Lady Penelope and Parker waited.

Jeff looked at his hands. "You've must have some idea of how close Virgil and Scott are?"

"They do seem to possess a bond that could be construed as being stronger than that between your other sons," Lady Penelope admitted. "Not that anyone could regard your sons as being anything other than close."

Jeff didn't acknowledge her comment. "I learned exactly how close when Virgil was a student at the Denver School of Advanced Technology and Scott was in the Air Force as part of the World Government's peacekeeping efforts. He was flying aid to civilians displaced by a military regime … His plane was shot down."

There was a quiet "Lummee" from Parker.

"I've still got friends in the Air Force, but I'm not part of the military machine anymore, so they didn't tell me what had happened... Virgil did."

This was a puzzling statement. "Virgil knew?" Lady Penelope queried.

"I was in the middle of an important business dinner when I got this frantic call from Virgil begging me to tell the Air Force that Scott was in trouble. He told me that he'd," Jeff mimed quotation marks, "felt the plane fall out of the sky and crash."

"Was he with Scott too? Did he parachute out of the aeroplane?"

"No. He'd been asleep in his bed in his apartment in Denver."

Both Lady Penelope and Parker had to admit to a strong feeling of confusion. "Was it a dream?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"No, he was awake… Kyrano called it _empathetic clairvoyance._"

Parker was no longer able to keep a respectful silence. "You mean seein' h-into the future, type thing?"

"No. I mean being able to feel and experience what the other was feeling and experiencing at a moment of crisis. Not that I believed Virgil at the time. I told him I was disappointed in him and that we would discuss his behaviour at a later date and then, I'm ashamed to say, I hung up on him."

"I have always found Virgil to be the most sensible of people," Lady Penelope told her friend, "and this sounds to be quite out of character. However, you said he was a student at the time…"

Jeff gave a mirthless grin. "You're following the same line of reasoning I used initially. That was until I gave myself a chance to calm down and realise that it _was_ uncharacteristic behaviour."

If it had been anyone else telling him this tale, Parker would have been convinced that they were caught up in a practical joke. "Did the pair of 'em 'ave a radio h-each? Somethin' that Mister Scott weren't meant to 'ave on manoeuvres?"

"No, nothing as logical as that," Jeff told him. "I couldn't leave my dinner, so I asked John to go around and check up on him. Which he did…"

"And?"

"He told me that Virgil was claiming that Scott had hurt his right arm and was demanding that he, John, had to call me and tell me to contact the Air Force to check that they knew that Scott's flight was in trouble. It wasn't until John had rung me to tell me that he'd managed to calm Virgil down that I received the phone call…"

Jeff's knuckles were white as he gripped the balcony rail as he gazed out over the Pacific Ocean.

After a period of silence, it was Lady Penelope who made the enquiry. "What was this phone call, Jeff?"

"It was from an old friend who's still a Major General in the Air Force… Virgil was right. Scott _had _been shot down."

"Lummee," Parker repeated.

"Virgil knew what had happened even before the Air Force knew. For the next 24 hours if there was the one thing that gave me hope, it was that Virgil was convinced that Scott was still alive."

Lady Penelope made no comment. "And the rest of your family. How did they react to Scott being, ah, MIA?"

There was a snorted laugh. "I'm sure you can guess. Mother was staunch. Gordon and Alan were frustrated that they couldn't do anything, and ready to take the nearest plane to join the search party; and I've got to admit that I was just as impatient. You've no idea what a relief it was when Virgil told us that Scott was safe. He knew before the Air Force had even received notification that the flight had been found." Jeff Tracy managed a wry grin. "You're both looking sceptical."

"This is an…" Lady Penelope did some thinking of her own as she sought the right word, "unexpected story, Jeff."

"Unexpected and unbelievable?" he asked.

"Did either of your sons offer an explanation for Virgil's knowledge of Scott's condition?"

"Both of them would try to laugh it off, although Virgil preferred not to talk about it. He'd developed an infection in the same spot as Scott's broken arm and most of us assumed he'd been ill the whole time and it was a huge coincidence. It was John who was most convinced of their empathetic clairvoyance connection."

Lady Penelope gave a delicate frown. "I should have thought that an empiricist like John would have needed more evidence."

"He got it." Jeff turned back to the Pacific Ocean. "I told you earlier that Virgil was employed at ACE before he was due to join International Rescue?"

"Yes?"

"Once he'd finished his employment there we were going to step up a gear and channel all our energies into getting the organisation operational. As you know Scott and Brains were already living here, as were Alan, John, and Gordon. Mother was staying with us to make sure that we were eating properly and looking after ourselves, especially Gordon who was still recovering from his hydrofoil accident…" Jeff paused at the memory. "This day most of us were in here… in the lounge…" Jeff glanced over his shoulder into the room and his eyes fell on the middle portrait again. "We all witnessed it…"

Lady Penelope and Parker waited to hear what the family had witnessed.

Jeff managed to drag his eyes back to the couple at his side. "The first sign that things weren't normal was when Scott sprinted full speed up those steps," he indicated the gracefully curving pathway that led from the courtyard to the villa, "straight across the lounge, knocked Gordon and his grandmother aside, and disconnected a very important phone call I was making."

"That don't sound like 'im," Parker offered.

"Exactly what I thought, Parker; especially when he dragged me out of my chair and started making frantic calls himself. Then he threatened to expose International Rescue to the world by flying Thunderbird One to ACE…"

"'E wouldn't!?"

"If Alan hadn't tackled him to the floor I think he would," Jeff corrected. "I was ready to read him the riot act when John realised what was wrong. He managed to calm Scott down enough to get the story."

"And this story was?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"Virgil was in trouble. Scott claimed that he was overheating and that something was burning his hands. Once _I'd_ calmed down enough to realise that Scott was behaving in exactly the same way that Virgil had the previous time, I started trying to contact ACE myself… with no luck…" Jeff's gaze went back out to sea. "It had gone into full emergency shutdown."

"How had Scott known?"

"Telly-phones?" Parker suggested again.

"I wish it were that straight forward. Max Watts was ill with influenza. He should have been home on sick leave, but he, the stubborn, loyal man that he is, came in to work. Because he wasn't thinking straight, he hadn't put his safety gear on properly and fell off the gantry above the full crucible furnace. I'm told that his harness only just managed to save him from falling into it… Virgil, Butch Crump, Bruce Sanders, and Greg Harrison tried to save him…" There was a pause. "It's Max Watts, Bruce and Butch who we had to rescue today and it's that crucible furnace that has trapped Virgil."

Lady Penelope made no comment of the irony of the situation. "The rescue must have been successful."

"Virgil rappelled down to Max, but he had to remove his gloves to enable him to secure Max's harness. You may have seen how in certain lights the skin of his hands look…" Jeff thought of a suitable simile, "artificial?"

Lady Penelope and Parker nodded.

"That's as a result of the treatment he received after the heat from the furnace burnt all the skin off his hands. That was before his own safety line gave way and he almost fell in." Jeff clenched his own hands into white-knuckled fists. "Scott felt every minute of it."

Lady Penelope didn't comment. "How was Virgil rescued?"

"Hamish Mickelson rappelled down and saved him. I've known Hamish since we were in the Air Force and he's known about my plans for International Rescue for nearly as long, and I've never been so grateful that I've had him as a friend and employed him as the General Manager of Aeronautical Component Engineering as I was that day."

"Did Mister Scott know when Mister Virgil 'ad been saved?"

"Yes."

"Lummee."

"I may not understand exactly what it is that gives them that bond, but I've been mighty glad that they have it…" Jeff looked down at his white-knuckled hands and rubbed them together to restart their circulation. "Until today."

Despite her friend's conviction, Lady Penelope was still sceptical. "And you are saying that this, ah, bond has revealed itself again?"

His eyes still on his hands, Jeff nodded. "Scott felt the pressure that Virgil was under as soon as it happened. It's only because he knew what was happening to him and that they were in a situation to do something about it that stopped him from freaking out like last time."

There was silence between them.

Jeff Tracy finally found the strength to look back at the English pair. "Now you know why I'm so worried about Scott. What's going to happen to him without…?"

"Jeff Tracy! I will not hear you talk like that! Do not even think it!"

He was silent.

"Remember International Rescue's motto!"

"_Never give up at any cost_," he intoned. "I've been telling myself that for hours. It's all I've got to hang on to."

"Not 'all', Jeff. There are your sons. You know full well that they will not give up on Virgil without a fight. Hold on to that."

"'Er Ladyship's right, Mr Tracy."

Thankful for their words of reassurance, Jeff managed a smile. "You're both right." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good company at the moment."

"You are always excellent company. However," Lady Penelope decided that it would be tactful to depart, "if you will excuse us, Parker and I must unpack. But please, if you require our services, do not hesitate to ask."

Jeff didn't acknowledge them as the pair withdrew from the lounge on their fictitious mission.

It wasn't until they were alone in their palatial suite that Lady Penelope next spoke. "That was an, ah, unexpected tale, Parker."

"You're not kiddin', m'Lady. D'ya think there's anythin' h-in h-it? All this supernatural mumbo-jumbo?"

"Scott and Virgil possessing a paranormal bond? It is obvious how close the pair are, but I never assumed that it was to this extent. And if it had been anyone other than Jeff Tracy telling us, and the situation were not so dire, I should have thought that he was a partner in one of Gordon's jokes."

"But since h-it's 'im 'e must be tellin' the truth."

"Or at least what he believes to be the truth."

They lapsed into reflective silence.

Lady Penelope sighed. "Poor Jeff."

"Yeah," Parker agreed. "H -if you h-ask me, that h-is a man 'oo thinks 'e ain't gonna see 'is son h-alive h-again.

Lady Penelope didn't answer, but she agreed with her butler's assessment…

-F-A-B-

The hall was becoming crowded and noisy. The amount of people standing around almost made it impossible to see the screens that revealed the information that everyone was desperate to learn.

"Greg… Greg!"

Greg Harrison had heard his name mentioned many times since he'd arrived in Bearston, but it had rarely been said in relation to him. But this time his head snapped up as he recognised the voice. "Mavis?" He scrambled to his feet, staring through his broken spectacles, as he frantically looked around for a glimpse of his wife. "Mavis!"

"There she is!" Lisa pointed past the group to where two women were pushing their way through the throng.

With another "Mavis!" Greg Harrison bulldozed his way to his wife, wrapping her up in an embrace that spoke of the love he had for her and the relief that he felt that she was all right. It was a hug that was returned in kind as the rest of ACE's group and total strangers looked on, pleased for the couple.

When Greg finally let Mavis go, he was still beaming in happiness as he turned to the woman by her side. "It's good to see you too, Edna," he said as he gave Hamish Mickelson's wife a warm hug.

Her response was less warm as her eyes roamed around the room searching for her husband. "Greg? Where's Hamish?"

"Back at ACE," he admitted. "But don't worry, he's okay."

"Back at ACE! Why did he stay behind?"

Greg lost his happy smile. "Butch, Bruce and Mr Watts are trapped in the furnace building," he said in a quiet voice. "He's staying there until they're rescued. How did you both get here?"

"After the earthquake I didn't know what to do," Mavis admitted. "There was no water or sewerage on in our neighbourhood and I was worried about you. I decided that I couldn't bear staying at home alone, so I left a note saying where I'd gone and started walking around to Edna's. I'd hoped that she'd heard something… Which she had..."

"I had the emergency radio on," Edna added. "It said that International Rescue had been called to the factory and that staff had been airlifted to Bearston. That was when we decided we didn't want to hang around waiting. The roads were impassable for cars, so we decided to start walking. We'd barely gone two blocks when some workmen in a truck stopped to check we were okay. When we said our husbands worked at ACE and we were going to try to get to Bearston, they offered us a ride to the bus station. We managed to get seats on the same bus," she gave her husband a fond squeeze, "and here we are."

"You must be tired. Come and sit down." Greg led the way and once again the staff from ACE shuffled about to make space for two more.

"Tell us what exactly happened after the earthquake," Edna requested.

There was an uneasy silence as everyone wondered just how much they should repeat in front of Lisa.

Whose daughter filled the awkward gap. "I flew in a Thunderbird," Ginny said proudly.

"Wow!" Mavis and Edna chorused.

"Was that exciting, Ginny?" Edna added.

Ginny gave an emphatic head nod. "I saw fish."

Mavis frowned. "Fish?"

"There was a video on Thunderbird Two to keep the kids entertained," Lisa explained. "And you sang the Thunderbird song for the man from International Rescue, didn't you, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded. "He was nice. He liked fish."

"Thunderbird song?" Edna enthused. "I didn't get to see a Thunderbird, so I'd love to hear the song."

Lisa hugged Ginny. "Would you like to sing it for us, Honey?"

Ginny shook her head. "I have to go potty."

"Oh, dear." This was something that Lisa, seeing the constant flow of people coming and going from the toilets, was dreading.

"They've just brought in some portable lavatories," Edna told her. "They're outside."

"We'll use them then, shall we?" Lisa got to her feet. "Come on, Sweetheart." She picked her daughter up. "Come and tell me if you hear any news," she requested.

Once the pair had gone, Mavis turned back to her husband. "Right, Greg. Now tell us everything that happened…"

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13

Max Watts, Bruce Sanders, and Butch Crump were feeling better than they had for hours.

Better in body, but not in spirit.

Bruce leant back, resting his head on the Firefly's bulkhead. "I can't help going over and over what Virgil is going through. I'm sure there must have been more I could have done to help him."

Sitting next to him, Olivia pulled him close. "Don't!" she begged. "I'm sure you did all you could."

"Yeah," Butch agreed. "Ya couldn' lift tha' weight off him."

Bruce shook his head. "I didn't want to. At least not until advanced medical help was standing by to care for him. But I'm sure I could have done him something to give him a better chance."

Max Watts levered himself into a sitting position, and, worried about the man's strength, Hamish Mickelson sat next to him, ready to support him if needed. "The temperature was too hot in there, Mr Sanders. If you had done more, you could have done more harm than good."

Mickelson nodded. "He's right. Don't blame yourself for doing the right thing."

"'Sides," Butch added, "'e's got the best people lookin' afta him. They'll get him out, get him t' hospital, an' he'll be fine." His face lit up in a delighted smile. "When 'e's better we're goin' t' work on th' Red-Arrow togetha."

"Butch…" Bruce stared at him with an intensity that made the big man feel uncomfortable. "The odds are against him surviving this."

"I know 'e's kinda squished…"

Bruce felt Olivia shudder at Butch's description and it was his turn to pull her closer.

Mickelson, seeing both actions, offered a quiet, admonishing, "Butch."

Butch didn't hear him. "'e was talkin' t' us," he reminded his fellow workmates. "'e didn't give up last time an' 'e ain't gonna give up this time. 'e's gonna be all right!" Sure of his diagnosis, he finished his recitation with a duplicate of one of his daughter's empathic head nods.

"I know he didn't seem too badly affected," Bruce said quietly, "and that he was interacting with us, but that's because the real danger hasn't hit him yet."

"Ya mean 'e don' know wha' trouble 'e's in?"

"I mean that the longer he stays trapped, the less chance he's got of surviving. As soon as they lift the roofing beam off him the odds are he'll suffer from crush syndrome."

Butch frowned. An expression echoed by most of his associates. "Crush syndrome?"

"Because of the weight on him the blood in Virgil's body isn't able to circulate right through it. The muscles in his lower half will be dying and breaking down into toxins. As soon as the weight's released those toxins will flood the rest of his body, poisoning his vital organs and causing them to shut down. Also tissue from the broken-down muscles could clog his kidneys, resulting in renal failure."

"Are you saying, Mr Sanders, that, in effect, his body will poison itself?" Watts suggested.

Bruce nodded. "The condition is considered terminal if the patient's been trapped for over four hours."

"But Virgil's only been trapped for a little over an hour," Olivia reminded her colleagues. "There must be some hope for him."

Bruce took her hand. "The heat he's in is going to speed up any deterioration."

"Virgil's brothers won't give up on him," Mickelson said quietly. "They'll do all they can to save him."

"I'm sure they're going to do their best. They'll be giving him pain killers and they'll overload his body with fluids and sodium bicarbonate to dilute the toxins, but we've got to remember that there aren't any guarantees. If they get it wrong he can go from being alert and cheerful to…" Bruce swallowed, unwilling to say the word, "…within minutes. The condition is called the _smiling death_."

Butch had been looking more and more depressed throughout Bruce's explanation. "D'ya think 'e knows?"

"He will have been trained to deal with these situations. Maybe even dealt with victims of crush syndrome himself…" Bruce paused. "I'm sure he knows."

Butch's face dropped.

"That's going to be hard enough for his family to deal with," Mickelson said. "But it could also mean the end of International Rescue."

"Do you mean they'd give up?" Bruce asked.

"No. I mean that if he survives long enough to require hospitalisation it'll be almost impossible to keep Virgil's identity secret. And once the world knows he's Jeff Tracy's son it's not going to be too difficult to work out that a man with that amount of money and social conscience is one of those bankrolling International Rescue. Once that's known it won't be too hard to put two and two together and then the whole family will be implicated. They've succeeded up till now because they haven't had to deal with interference from the outside world, but once everyone knows who and what they are, they'll have the media following their every move. And once their headquarters is exposed, they'll be at the mercy of every criminal and despot willing to travel all those miles to take control of the Thunderbirds. That island will become a fortress and their lives will become intolerable because they won't be able to relax. They'll always be waiting for the next invasion."

"So…" Max Watts began slowly. "You're saying, Mr Mickelson, that it would almost be a blessing for the family if he should die?"

"I know they won't feel that way, but if they are to have any hope of living lives that are anything approaching normal, then…" Hamish looked as if he was forcing himself to say the final word, "yes."

"Not if Virgil isn't part of International Rescue," Olivia stated.

"But he is and there's no way that they can hide it," Bruce reminded her. "Everyone probably knows that International Rescue is working at ACE; radar would have tracked them in and our colleagues will have been bragging all about flying in a Thunderbird. And there's no reason for him to be in the furnace room. It's always locked. How could he get in there if he doesn't work for International Rescue?"

"Because he works for ACE!"

Everyone took a moment to mull over what Olivia had said.

"Are you suggesting, Olivia," Aeronautical Component Engineering's General Manager began slowly, "that we're going to have to ask over thirty people to keep a secret; to lie to authorities, their friends, and their closest family members; to never mention it to another living soul, not even each other if we're going to ensure total secrecy; to ensure International Rescue's secret isn't revealed to the world?" He let out a breath. "That's a big ask. I'm not sure that even Jeff Tracy commands that sort of loyalty. I'm sure I don't."

"No!" Olivia leant forward. "He started work here today. He'd grown tired of living the playboy life on the island, wanted to use his old skills again, missed his friends, and asked to come back. He thought it would be fun to surprise everyone and, because he's the owner's son, you agreed to it. The plan was that he was going to wait just outside the furnace room to surprise Mr Watts, Bruce and Butch."

But Mickelson was shaking his head. "I would never agree to that, and I'm sure Virgil wouldn't ask me to. Not without clearing it with the Production Manager first."

"But you did, Mr Mickelson," Max Watts told him. "Last Friday after the weekly debriefing once Greg and the other charge hands had left the office."

Mickelson stared at him. "But Max…"

"You spoke to me because you're aware that I hadn't always treated him fairly the last time he was employed at ACE…" The Production Manager's complexion reddened in a way that had nothing to do with the heat he'd been exposed to earlier. "I was able to assure you that I would treat Virgil Tracy with the respect that an engineer of his abilities deserved."

Hamish Mickelson couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "Are you sure, Max?"

"Quite sure. And if any parts of our meeting are unclear in my mind, it's because of the trauma I've been through."

"And it explains why he insisted that I didn't wait around to wave him goodbye when he brought me home yesterday." Bruce waved his hand to demonstrate. "Because he didn't fly out again."

"No one's gonna question i' much anyway," Butch claimed. "Afta a 'quake this size people are gonna have otha things t' worry 'bout."

Mickelson hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Butch nodded.

With four pairs of eyes on him, willing him to agree; ACE's General Manager considered the plan. "Are you all in agreement?" He looked between each of them in turn.

"After what I did to International Rescue, I owe them this, Mr Mickelson."

"I wasn't able to help him before, but if I can help him now I'll do anything, Mr Mickelson."

"He saved my life twice, ah, three times, Mr Mickelson, and it's the least I can do for Virgil. For both Mr Tracys."

"Ya c'n count on me, Mr M."

Bruce looked at his workmate and friend. "Even if that means lying to Lisa, Butch?"

Butch seemed to sag, then the big man pulled himself up to his full height. "Even if I hafta lie t' Liesl."

"Thank you." Hamish stood. "I'll be back in a minute." He headed for the Firefly's door that exited onto ACE's compound.

"Mr Mickelson!" Olivia leapt to her feet. "Where are you going?!"

"To plant corroborating evidence. I'll be back soon." And he was gone.

-F-A-B-

It was a subdued group that met in Thunderbird Two's hold.

Scott, his head having been in one of the lockers as he selected the equipment they were going to need, looked at John. "How's Virgil?"

"Okay."

Scott noticed Gordon's pointed look and accompanying glance towards their brother and gave a minute nod of understanding. He'd been commanding them through all sorts of situations for long enough to understand most of their communications: verbal and non-verbal, and Gordon's actions coupled with John's downcast expression told him all he needed to know. He filed it away for future reference, but didn't comment. "If Alan sends the alarm I'll be the one to head back to him. You two carry on getting our equipment together."

He received twin "F-A-Bs" in response.

"We're going to remove the roofing beams," he explained, "but as they're structural, we're going to have to ensure that if any of the walls collapse, they fall outwards."

"But we've only got one Super-Jack operational," John reminded him; his words reassuring his brothers that he was still in the game. "The other one was broken when it fell out of the pod."

"I know. So, we're going to have to make do. We'll use the Giraffe."

"The Giraffe?" Gordon stared at Scott. "But that's a scissor lift, not a jack."

"It's near enough to one for our needs. We've only got to use it once to exert pressure on that wall, so if it burns out or gets damaged it won't matter."

"Okay," John agreed. "That's two walls taken care of. What about the other two?"

"We'll use the Firefly's blade. The hole in the wall's big enough to accommodate it and a gentle backwards traction should ensure the rubble falls the right way."

"And the fourth wall? That's already got dirt outside pushing against it."

"We're going to have to trust that the ground under the creek is unstable enough to cause it to fall outwards. We'll put blast-blankets around him just to make sure."

None of the brothers were happy with this arrangement, but they accepted that it was the best they could do.

"Right. That's the equipment we need. Gordon: You get the Super-Jack."

"F-A-B." Gordon took off on his errand.

"John."

John was already running through his mind the quickest way of unloading the Giraffe. "Yes?"

"How are you feeling?"

John looked surprised at the question. He frowned slightly in the direction that Gordon had just departed. "Fine."

"Got a headache?"

"No."

"Any nausea since you left Thunderbird One?"

"No."

Scott's blue eyes were boring into his brother's. "Light-headedness? Sensation of being disconnected from what's going on around you. Any general feeling of being unwell."

"I'm fine, Scott!" John snapped. "We're wasting time!"

The stare didn't waver. Then Scott shook his head. "No… I can't take the risk… Gordon!"

Gordon came racing back, hurdling a bag of blast-blankets in his haste. "What?"

"I want you to take Thunderbird One and fly Uncle Hamish and the rest of them to Bearston. We don't need spectators."

"Uncle Hamish?" Gordon stared at him. "Are you sure? Another pair of hands won't go amiss."

"He doesn't have any training on our equipment and he'll be more of a hazard than a help. Go." Scott flicked his head at the open pod door. "We need you back ASAP."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

With a glance towards Thunderbird Two to ensure that he wasn't seen and stopped by the men of International Rescue, Hamish circumnavigated the factory until he was outside his office. His windows were already broken, and he took off his suit jacket to shield his hands as he knocked out the last jagged remains. Then, using the jacket as protection against the remnants, he climbed through the window.

His feet crunched on the glass on the floor and slid out from under him as the slippery panes lost traction. Grabbing at a nearby cabinet he only just managed to stay upright.

Then he took a moment to examine his office.

It was a mess. Never before had he seen it in such an untidy state and he wondered how he would ever find anything ever again. Papers were strewn everywhere, his coffee had spilt over his desk, and his floor was awash with dust and debris. The painting behind his desk had been impaled on the back of his chair as it had crashed to the floor and was rent with a huge rip that ran diagonally across the centre. It had been a gift from the owner of ACE and Hamish knew that the artist that had painted it would probably never get the opportunity to restore it.

Turning his back on the familiar scene with its heart-rending signature, he went to the filing cabinet where he kept the files of his important clients. Barely willing to hope that the mechanism would work, he pressed his thumb against the scanner and was surprised when the top drawer popped open.

Pulling at the drawer's handle he realised that the cabinet had been warped in the earthquakes. Bracing himself he pulled at the drawer with more force and it moved an inch. A more forceful yank opened the gap further and a subsequent tug exposed enough of an opening for him to slide his hand inside.

It took some manipulation and several false starts, but at last the file he required was in his hands. He pulled out two sheets of paper. _Job application_ they read at the top. Applicant…

_Virgil Tracy._

How many years ago had Virgil sat in this very office and filled in this very piece of paper? It had been a secondary document that had been processed by the human resources department; one that had been made out in the name of Virgil Tancy. This, the genuine article, had been kept safe in case the need ever arose.

Hamish Mickelson had never dreamt that the need was to save the identity of the people of International Rescue.

Placing the pages on the ruins of his desk, he reached back inside the filing cabinet and retrieved some computer files. These he dropped into his trouser pocket.

Grunting as it resisted his efforts, but mindful that many other confidential files would be left waiting for potential looters if he didn't, Hamish rammed the drawer shut again and locked it.

The pens on his desk seemed to have been scattered to the four winds and he hunted around for them before giving up on the task and heading through to Olivia's office. Like a miracle a black pen still sat on her keyboard and he used it to change the dates on the official document in his hand. An artful tear helped to hide a particularly bad attempt at forgery.

The building had done its job and remained intact long enough for its occupants to escape, but subsequent aftershocks had brought down part of the office block's ceiling. It was a struggle, with his heart in his mouth, for Hamish to get past the loose timber framing and plaster to the Human Resources department, but, mindful of what failure could mean, he persisted until he reached his goal.

Now? How to place the application so that it didn't look like it had appeared some hours after the building had been evacuated? Hamish tried picking up the top sheet in the "IN" tray without disturbing the dust and debris, but much of it slithered across the document's surface and pooled together. Nevertheless, he placed the account application in the tray, trying not to think about how the signature matched that on the painting, and replaced the original document on top of it.

He regarded the "IN" tray with a critical eye. It didn't look as devastated as the rest of the desk and he scooped some dust off the floor and blew it over the offending documents. Satisfied, he scuffed the area where he'd mined his camouflage, decided that there wasn't a lot else that he could do, and turned to leave.

Departing the damaged building was proving to be much more difficult than entering and he only just managed to avoid pulling half the wall down on top of himself as he struggled through the door back to Olivia's office.

As he took a moment to regain his breath, he considered if there was anything else he could, or should, do.

There was nothing. Nothing except to leave the ruins of his daily life. He went to climb back out through the window.

The glass beneath his feet slid out from under him and this time Hamish did lose his footing. He crashed down onto the rubble, jarring his left shoulder and slicing open his hand on a jagged shard. Not willing to waste time, he tried to sit up, but his shoulder muscles protested, telling him to lie still until help arrived.

He told his shoulder muscles to get into line, wrapped his previously immaculate handkerchief about his hand, and staggered to his feet.

Taking a moment to regain his breath, he was relieved that the pain, instead of increasing, was subsiding into a dull ache. After climbing out the window, he peeled his jacket off the sill and glass remains, gave it a shake to remove the accumulated debris, and draped it over his left arm to hide his injuries.

His subordinates were relieved to see him re-enter the Firefly. "Mr Mickelson!"

"Are you all right, Mr Mickelson?!"

"We were worried about you!"

"Ya're all mucky, Mr M. Watcha been doin'?"

"I've been back in the office," Hamish admitted, as he claimed the seat next to Max Watts, grimacing as he twisted his shoulder. An involuntary twitch sent his jacket sliding to the ground revealing the bloodied handkerchief.

"You're hurt!" Olivia exclaimed.

There was a moan followed by a thud as Butch slid to the floor, unconscious.

For a moment everyone forgot about Mickelson's hand.

"Why does he do that?" Bruce groaned as he attempted to get to his feet.

Olivia pushed him back into his seat. "You stay there. I'm not having you collapse as well. I know enough first aid to put him into the recovery position."

"What's happened to him won't happen to me." Bruce protested, as she attempted to move the big man onto his side. "His arm's in the way."

Olivia tucked Butch's arm into the side of his body and tried to roll him towards her over it. "There's not enough room in here."

"So long as he's on his side, his airway's open, and you haven't cut off the blood supply to his arm, he'll be fine."

"What's wrong with him, Mr Sanders?" Watts asked.

Bruce looked up from the action on the floor. "He faints at the sight of blood."

Despite everything Mickelson chuckled. "Remind me to never nominate him to be company first aider."

"What's going on?"

Everyone looked at Gordon Tracy.

"Mr Mickelson's cut himself," Bruce explained. "And Butch fainted when he saw the blood."

Gordon crouched down to check on Butch, but the patient was coming around. "How're you feeling, big fella?"

Butch sat up slowly. "'Kay… I think."

"Good. Just stay sitting there because I'm going to look at Uncle Hamish's hand…"

There was another moan and Butch fainted again.

"We'll leave him," Gordon sighed. "And I'll see if I can get you fixed up before he comes around again." He took down a first aid kit. "And what have you been up to?"

Hamish cleared his throat as the handkerchief was pulled back. "I know it was a stupid thing to do, but I went into my office to get some records." Using his other hand, he attempted to reach into his pocket, wincing as his muscles complained.

Gordon saw the grimace. "Is your arm sore?"

"I wrenched my shoulder. It's nothing."

"Wrenched your shoulder?" Gordon frowned at his honorary uncle. "What records could be more important than your health?"

"These ones..." Hamish pulled the computer files from his pocket. "They're the design specs for some of ACE's most confidential clients and I didn't want to take the chance that someone else, such as looters, would find them." He held them out to Gordon. "Since it's vital that no unauthorised people see them, and I assume that you'll be taking us to a mustering station where they could be lost, I thought that maybe they'd be safer in the hands of an organisation used to keeping secrets."

Mildly curious Gordon glanced down at the files' labels. "_Graham Corporation"_ read the top one. He slid that out of the way and read the second. _"Barrett Ltd"_.

These were the names of shadow companies that had commissioned the craft of International Rescue's fleet.

"Thank you," he said, accepting the files and putting them into his own pocket. "International Rescue will keep them safe," he added.

Butch stirred again and, keeping his eyes shut so he wouldn't see anything red and life-giving, slowly sat up.

Gordon glanced down at him, seeing the colour return to his cheeks. "How are you feeling, Butch?"

"'M 'kay."

Relieved, Hamish cleared his throat again. "You're possibly unaware," he told the International Rescue operative cleaning the wound on his hand, "that that young man whose life you're trying to save, is the son of the owner of this company."

Suddenly concerned with more than a cut hand and a wrenched shoulder, Gordon looked up.

Hamish pretended not to notice. "Virgil Tracy had worked here for a year, several years ago, and since then he's been living with his family on their tropical island. But he grew bored with the playboy lifestyle and asked if he could apply to become part of ACE's payroll again. He was a skilled engineer and valued team member then, and so I was happy to reinstate him. I've known his father since before Virgil was born and as a favour he asked if we could keep his re-employment secret. He wanted to be able to surprise his friends when he started work this morning." Hamish nodded in Bruce and Butch's direction.

Max Watts nodded. "I was the only other person aware of this deception," he confirmed.

"Although Max's recollections of our meeting last Friday are rather hazy due to the ordeal he's just been through," Hamish elaborated.

"We got a huge shock when we first saw Virgil," Bruce added. "Didn't we, Butch?"

"Yeah," the big man agreed, pulling himself off the floor and back onto the seat. "'E was th' last person I 'xpected t' see."

"It is terrible that such a horrible thing should happen to him on his first day at work," Olivia collaborated.

Hamish nodded his agreement. "It wasn't that long ago that I put his application details on payroll's desk. I hid it so that it wouldn't be found instantly, and the secret revealed before we were ready. I doubt that anyone's even had a chance to see it." Wincing, he reached into another pocket. "That's a copy of his information we have on file. It'll tell the hospital the name of his next of kin."

Stunned, Gordon listened to the tale that was being told. With everything else that had been going on he hadn't given consideration to what it would mean for International Rescue should his brother survive long enough to make it to a hospital. That these people who had no real need to do so would lie for his family…

Hamish was continuing. "As soon as I get to somewhere with phone coverage, I shall have to let his father know what's happened. But it's going to be a shock to Jeff to know that his son's been hurt while working for one of his own companies. They're a close family and I need to let him and Virgil's brothers know that we're there for them, and we'd do anything to help them get through this." He paused for dramatic effect, but his sadness was real.

Gordon finished bandaging the cut. "Thank you for that background information. I'll make sure that we pass it on to the relevant authorities." His eyes briefly locked with each of them before he reached for a sling. "This is only to support your arm until we get you out of here," he told Hamish, strapping the older man's arm to his torso. "Get it and your hand checked out when you can."

"When are we leaving?" Watts asked.

"Now." Gordon went to get him a wheelchair. "I'm flying you out in Thunderbird One."

"Now?" Olivia slid off her seat and assisted Bruce to stand. "But I need to apologise to the man I threatened."

Gordon, unfolding the 'chair, waved over his shoulder. "Apology accepted."

Olivia stared at him. "But…"

Hamish chuckled. "He was wearing a mask, and quite an effective one at that. Even I didn't recognise him."

"And I'm glad I don't have to wear it now." Gordon pushed the 'chair over to the Production Manager. "Would you like to sit in here, Mr Watts?" He locked the 'chair's brakes.

He was as startled as any of them when Scott leapt into the Firefly, grabbed an oxygen cylinder from a rack, and disappeared into the danger zone.

Gordon, flipping his hood over his head, rushed to the door so he could look inside the ruined building. "What's the situation, Alan?" he asked his fire-suit's microphone.

The rest of the group watched him anxiously as he listened to his brother's reply.

He frowned. "Does Scott need any help?"

There was further silence as the unseen and unheard Thunderbird Five responded.

"Understood. I'm flying the rest of ACE out in Thunderbird One now. I'll be back ASAP…" Gordon listened some more. "F-A-B." He flipped his hood back off his head and smiled at his companions.

…Who couldn't help but notice that his smile wasn't genuine. "What's happened, Gordon?" Bruce asked.

Gordon gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Virgil got fed up with Alan's company; which anyone would; so Scott's gone to give him someone intelligent to talk to." Not giving anyone a chance to raise the questions he knew were pressing, he turned to the other two production workers. "Can you guys get around under your own steam, or do you want a chair too?"

Butch got to his feet. "'M good."

"Bruce?"

"I'm okay."

Gordon wasn't so sure. Bruce seemed less than steady, but once he had Olivia to lean on, appeared to gain the strength to make the walk.

Gordon turned to his most recent patient. "Uncle Hamish?"

"Lead on, Gordon. We're wasting time and you've got important work to do."

It was the first opportunity that Bruce, Butch, and Max Watts had to see a Thunderbird and all three gaped at the enormous bulk of Thunderbird Two on the other side of the road. Butch stumbled, almost losing his footing on the uneven ground, as he stared in awe at the mighty transporter. But instead of steering them in that direction, Gordon led them around the corner of what remained of ACE's factory to the sleek rocket plane that was Thunderbird One.

Despite his desire to get out of the way so International Rescue would be free to rescue Virgil, Bruce stopped in awe at the sight. "Wow!"

Gordon locked the wheelchair's wheels and assisted his patient on board, then called the others into the cockpit. "We've got a bit of a problem," he admitted. "This is a one-man craft with the capacity to take two passengers." He lowered the seat that had been stowed away. "And I'm not meant to carry five of you. So, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you three," he pointed at Watts, Bruce, and Butch, "to lie on the floor, while you two," he indicated Hamish and Olivia, "can have the seats… And I'm also going to have to ask you all not to mention that I'm carrying unsecured passengers. Otherwise I'll lose my pilot's license and Thunderbird One will be grounded by the International Air Ministry."

Intrigued, Hamish stopped doing up his harness. "International Rescue is registered with the I.A.M?"

Gordon pretended to be surprised by the question. "Registered with the I.A.M.?" He grinned. "We're not. So I guess that's that problem solved." Banishing his joker persona, the grin disappeared. "I'll try to make the flight as easy as possible for you all and we'll only be in the air less than ten minutes, but I will ask one favour. I won't have time for long goodbyes or thank yous. Once we're down I'd like you all to leave and get as far away from Thunderbird One as quickly as you can. I'll radio ahead for assistance."

"Understood," Hamish agreed, and Gordon settled into the pilot's seat.

"Thunderbird One calling Thunderbird Five."

Those in the cabin heard Alan's voice. "Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"Am lifting off for Bearston with five on board. Will you radio ahead and warn them? And tell them to keep clear, I want to be on the ground minimal time."

"F-A-B," Alan responded. "Anything in particular I should pass on?"

"Negative. You know their conditions. Although you might add that the General Manager of ACE has sustained a cut to his hand and a wrenched shoulder. Nothing major, but he should get it checked out."

"Understood. Contact me when you're back in the air."

"F-A-B."

There was a roar, a crescendo of vibration built up, and then Gordon's passengers experienced their first ever flight in a Thunderbird.

-F-A-B-

"Hello, Lisa."

Lisa, returning from the portable lavatories, stopped upon hearing her name. She turned to face one of Ginny's preschool teachers. "Hello."

"We've started a little play group in the other room," the teacher told her. She smiled down on the young girl pressed up against her mother's legs. "We were wondering if Virginia would like to join us."

"Would you like that, Ginny?" Lisa asked, hoping that her daughter would say yes. Every minute that Butch was trapped was becoming harder to bear, and she was becoming exhausted by the need to keep her emotions in check to protect her little girl from the horrific scenarios that kept on playing through her mind.

Ginny, much to Lisa's relief, gave one of her head nods. "Yes, pwease."

The teacher smiled again, this time at Lisa and this time with empathy. "We'll only be in the next room if you need us, or vice versa."

Lisa managed a smile of her own. "Thank you."

She took a moment before starting the obstacle course of human bodies back to her ACE colleagues to check the various lists for any familiar names. Half relieved that she didn't find any she resumed her walk to her workmates.

She arrived back to a group to great excitement.

"Lisa!" Alaina Hardy grabbed her by the arm. "We've just heard! There's a Thunderbird on the way!"

Disbelieving, Lisa stared at her. Then a roar could be heard…

Growing louder…

-F-A-B-

The flight seemed to be over as soon as it started with no adverse effects or discomfort to anyone on board.

Gordon was out of his seat and pulling his hood back over his head. "Okay, folks, this is goodbye." The door to the outside world was opened and Olivia left the rocket plane; turning to greet three aid workers who'd rushed forward with their wheelchairs as soon as Thunderbird One's engines had shut down.

"It goes without saying that we wish you all the best," Hamish told Gordon as Max Watts negotiated his way out of the rocket plane.

"Thanks." Gordon accepted the briefest of handshakes before returning to the pilot's seat to await the moment when he could blast off again.

Not wanting to hold up Gordon's return, ACE's three production workers hadn't protested as they were offered the use of wheelchairs. He watched as they were hurried towards what appeared to be a hall, outside of which a crowd was growing. Several phones were raised in his direction.

"Sorry, folks," Gordon told the unhearing mob. He flicked a switch; disrupting and wiping all recording functions.

Then he saw a shapely, pony-tailed, overalled figure push its way through the crowd. "Butch!"

Butch heard Lisa's shout and launched himself towards her.

His wheelchair suddenly jettisoned of its weight, the orderly steering it was nearly catapulted over its back and onto the ground. He steadied himself and looked around casually, hoping that none of the audience has seen his embarrassing slip.

Most of the 'audience' hadn't noticed, captivated as that were by the sight of the husband and wife embracing each other.

Another figure pushed its way through the horde; running towards the refugees from Thunderbird One. Despite his concerns for those back at ACE and his need to return with all speed, Gordon couldn't help but smile when he saw his "Uncle" Hamish discard his sling, sweep "Auntie" Edna into his arms, and pull her into a reciprocated warm hug.

It wasn't often that he got to know those he rescued and seeing his family friends reunited filled him with a warm, fulfilling glow. It was these little moments, insignificant in the greater scheme of things but still important, that made all the sacrifices, and fears, and failures worthwhile…

…Most of them.

Thunderbird One beeped an alert that said that they were cleared for take-off and Gordon launched her off the ground…

-F-A-B-

"Hamish!" Edna ran towards her husband. "Are you all right?"

"I am now." There was a small cheer from the waiting group as he pulled his wife close and embraced her. Then he remembered his promise. "Let's move away," he suggested, guiding her towards the smiling faces outside the hall. He heard a blast of noise, felt a rush of warm air on his back, and turned to wave goodbye and good luck, but Thunderbird One was already almost out of sight.

And then he and the others were surrounded by their associates from ACE. Questions were asked and repeated and asked again by a different voice. Requests for accounts of what had happened, enquiries over peoples' health, and remarks over Olivia and Bruce's proximity to each other were made. Beaming, even Greg Harrison forgot his usually hidden animosity towards the Production Manager and was enthusiastically shaking Max Watts' hand.

It was bedlam.

Wanting to get what had to be done, done, and wishing he didn't have to do it, Hamish Mickelson raised his good hand. "Could I have your attention please? I would like to have a word with my staff." Lowering his hand, he felt someone grasp it and realised his wife was holding it. He gave hers a squeeze.

"Hamish," she said quietly, "shouldn't Max, and Bruce, and Butch, and…" she gave a pointed look at his injured arm, which he was favouring, "you get medical help?"

"Soon," he promised. "I need to do this first." He looked back over the group in front of him. "Quiet, Everyone…"

"Everyone" was too excited to take notice.

"Quiet, please!"

A first aider was taking Max Watts' pulse. "I think you should see a doctor."

"No," Watts responded. "I'm not leaving until everyone has been told."

Olivia hugged Bruce's arm. "I think you should see a doctor too."

"Not yet. Not until Mr M.'s told everyone."

"Everyone" got a shock when, for no apparent reason, Butch let out a howl and burst into tears.

"Honey?" Lisa held him close as he sobbed and the hubbub from their workmates increased. "What's wrong...? Butch?"

Realising that in their present state no one was about to calm down and listen, Mickelson climbed onto a seat associated with a picnic table; raising his hand again. "Quiet please, Everyone!"

It was a full minute before he was assured that "Everyone" could hear him without him having to shout.

"I have something to tell you…" he began. He cleared his throat. "I know you all remember Virgil Tracy…"

"Don't you mean Virgil Tancy?" someone asked, and an awkward chuckle rippled through the group.

Their boss didn't smile at the joke. "We all know that in the year that Virgil worked here he became a valued member of our team, not only for his engineering skills, but because of his various acts of bravery…"

"Everyone", bemused by his subject matter, gave subdued nods.

"And you all know that since that year Virgil has been working for his father Jeff Tracy from their home…" Hamish sure his hands were shaking, shoved them into his pockets…

An uncharacteristic gesture that didn't go unnoticed by his wife.

"After all this time, Virgil decided that he needed a change of scene and he asked me if there was any chance that he could be re-employed at ACE. I agreed, and he started this morning."

"Everyone" started talking in confusion.

"But I didn't see him."

"He wasn't at this morning's meeting."

"I suppose that if you're the owner's son you can be late on your first day."

"Where is he now?"

"Anyone seen him?"

Butch bawled into Lisa's shoulder.

Mickelson held up his uninjured hand and there was silence apart from the sobs from the man at the back of the group. "Virgil wanted to surprise you all and so he didn't attend this morning's meeting. As you know two of his closest friends at ACE were Bruce Sanders and Butch Crump…"

Bruce looked pale, subdued and unwell, while Butch pretended to pull himself together. A façade that was shown for what it was when a tear wobbled on the end of his nose. He gave a humungous sniff and rubbed it off on his sleeve.

"…and I agreed that he could surprise them, by meeting them at the furnace…"

"I was aware of this arrangement," Max Watts claimed.

Wishing that he didn't have to involve others in his lie, Hamish continued speaking, bringing his story back to an approximation of the truth. "Like the other three, Virgil was trapped in the furnace room after the earthquake. A major aftershock after you'd all been airlifted out brought more of the building down…" Those listening were shocked to see their boss pale. "A roofing beam fell on him."

There was an audible gasp from Lisa. "No…"

"The crucible furnace was also dislodged. The combined weight of this and the beam…" Hamish decided he couldn't inflict that mental image on his team. "International Rescue are fighting to save his life, but his odds of survival are not good."

"Oh… Hamish…" Edna clutched his arm and hung on, and he was unsure if she was trying to reassure him or support herself after the shock of the news. "What does Jeff say?"

"I haven't had the chance to speak to him," her husband admitted. "I assume that the phones are working here?" There was a sea of nodding heads. "I'll phone him in a moment. Does anyone have any questions?"

"How were you injured, Mr M.?" Burt asked.

"Stupidity," his boss responded. "I went back into my office to rescue some confidential files and fell over."

"Are you badly hurt?" Alaina queried.

"I just pulled a muscle in my shoulder and got a scratch. Any further questions? No? Good." Hamish Mickelson stepping down off his platform before "Everyone" could think of more questions, winced as he jarred his shoulder. "Will someone make sure that Olivia and these three gentlemen get medical assistance?"

"Four gentlemen," Alaina Hardy amended. "We can all see you're hurt, Mr Mickelson."

He responded with a tight smile. "I've got to call Jeff Tracy first."

"Then would you let me put your arm back in the sling?" she asked. "It'll help reduce the pain."

Hamish considered saying that he didn't need such an accruement, but seeing his wife's pale face made him realise that she needed reassurance that he was looking after himself. With a: "Thank you," he sat on the seat that he'd been standing on and let Alaina do her work.

The first aider was quick and efficient and reinstalled the sling without further comment, although she did share a glance with her boss's wife when they saw the bandaged wound on his hand.

He was still submitting to this treatment when Greg and Mavis Harrison approached them. "Have you called Jeff yet?" Greg asked.

"No." Hamish managed a wry smile. "I'm being fussed over too much."

"She's not fussing," Edna scolded. "She is being more sensible than you are, Hamish Mickelson."

"The medical staff are too busy, and it'll be ages before they have the time to see me. This," Hamish indicated his hand and arm, "is only minor."

Alaina tucked the ends of the sling out of the way and then stood back to examine her handiwork. "How does that feel? Comfortable?"

"Much more comfortable," he admitted. "Thank you, Ms Hardy."

"I'll make sure he sees a doctor," Edna promised the first aider. "As soon as he's made his phone call."

"Good." Feeling there was more that she should do or say and at a loss as to what that could be, Alaina Hardy hurried away.

"When you do make that call, Hamish," Greg began, "will you tell Jeff we're thinking of him and his family too?"

Hamish nodded. "Of course, I will."

"Thanks." Greg made as if he was going to walk away but stopped. "Virgil… Is it as bad as you said?"

Hamish ran his good arm over his forehead. "Probably worse."

"Oh…" Greg said awkwardly. "Shame. He's a good kid." He turned and, arm and arm with his wife, returned to the hall.

Hamish Mickelson took his phone out of his pocket, but didn't immediately dial.

"Hamish…?" Seeing his slumped, almost defeated, posture, Edna sat next to him and took his arm. "Are you all right?"

He indicated his phone with its cracked casing. "It's broken."

"Does it still work? You can borrow mine."

He pushed a button on the phone and the screen came to life. "Looks like it's only cosmetic." But still he didn't dial.

Edna rubbed his arm. "You have to phone Jeff. It's better that he learns from you than some stranger."

"Really?" he asked, and then sighed. "I don't know what words to use. I keep wondering what I'd want someone to say to me if it was Jorja who was in trouble."

"Talking of Jorja, you should phone her. She's been worried sick about you."

This was one call that Hamish felt strong enough to make and he willingly pressed the speed dial on his mobile. "Jorja…? It's Dad, Honey… Whoa, whoa! I'm fine…" He glanced at Edna who glared at him for lying to their daughter. "Yes, I know… Yes, your mother's fine too. We're together at Bearston… The factory collapsed, and we had to call out International Rescue… Look, can I tell you all about it later? I have to call Jeff Tracy… I promise you I'll call you back once I've finished talking to him. There are some things I need to tell him before he hears from other sources… Don't cry, Honey. I'm fine, and your mother's fine, and I promise I'll call you shortly and tell you everything… Give my love to the kids… Talk to you soon… Bye…" He hung up the phone.

But he didn't push another button.

Edna put her hand on his. "Do you want me to call him?"

Hamish shook his head. "No. This is something I have to do." He got up and moved away, turning his back on his wife and the hall and lowering the speaker volume so there was no chance that anyone other than him and the occupants on Tracy Island could hear Jeff's side of the conversation.

Then he pushed the speed dial button. He heard the phone ring twice before Jeff Tracy answered it. _"Hamish?"_

Hamish Mickelson could hear the tension in his friend's voice and didn't know if he was about to add to it. "Uh… Jeff… I'm calling from Bearston… I don't know how to tell you this, but there's been an accident at ACE as a result of the earthquake."

"_An accident?"_ Jeff sounded confused. If there'd been an accident why hadn't Alan reported it from Thunderbird Five?

"Y-You know how excited Virgil was to be starting work back at ACE today…"

The replying _"Hamish? What are you…"_ was filled with concern and, and Hamish wasn't quite sure if he'd heard it, Jeff's fear for his friend.

Ignoring the question, Hamish continued. "We managed to do everything as he wanted. He was able to s-sneak on site without anyone seeing and he w-waited at the furnace building until Bruce Sanders, Butch Crump and Max Watts arrived. I'm sure Bruce and Butch got a surprise seeing him in his full PPE gear ready for work. Max, of course, already k-knew our plans…"

"_What…?"_

"…as we'd discussed them after last Friday's meeting. I know you know about the earthquake, and the fact that all access to the furnace building was blocked by the state of the land afterwards, but… A subsequent aftershock caused the building to collapse even further… Jeff… I wish I didn't have to say this… Virgil's been injured… Seriously injured."

"_Are you feeling all right?"_

"He was still conscious when we left, and International Rescue are working to save him, but, I'm sorry, Jeff, they say that his chances aren't good. I've told International Rescue Virgil's history, and that he only started back at ACE today, and that you're his father, and they'll tell the relevant authorities when they take him to a hospital. But…" Hamish looked skyward as if he were asking for assistance. "He's suffering from a major crush injury across the lower half of his body. International Rescue say that just releasing him from under the roofing beam could be enough to… to… Could be…"

Unable to stand back and watch him struggle with the phone call any longer, Edna moved forward and put her arm around her husband.

Her touch seemed to give him the necessary strength. "I'm sorry, Jeff. I wish I could do more, but International Rescue decided to transport Olivia, Max, Bruce, Butch and myself to Bearston so that we were out of the way. I can't give you any more information; such as which hospital they'll transport him to. You'll have to wait until they contact you… I know this isn't the way any of us envisaged V-Virgil spending his first day back at ACE…"

"_Are you with anyone?"_

"I'm here with Edna and everyone who was uninjured after the original 'quake. They, especially Greg, all send you and your family their best wishes. They were all shocked to learn that Virgil was injured on his f-first day back at ACE."

"_You sound like you're in shock yourself…_"

Unsure if his message was getting through, Hamish started to waffle. "Was he excited? I don't know if he was excited. I can't even say if he was excited. I didn't get to see him. You'll have to ask Bruce and Butch. They got to talk to him for longer than I did. Bruce did all he could to help him, but he wishes he could have done more."

The length of time that it had taken Jeff to come to the realisation of what his friend was really telling him was a sign of how much stress he was under. Finally, Hamish heard him try to formulate a suitable answer. _"I've got the message, Hamish, and thank you for calling me. I'll wait to hear from the hospital to see which city we've got to fly out to."_

"Can I do anything else for you?"

"_You've done enough. You need to stop worrying about Virgil now."_ There was some of the old authority in Jeff's tones. _"Look after yourself, Edna, and our staff, and leave me to worry about Virgil and my family."_

"If you hear anything you'll let me know? I'll do the same."

"_I know, Hamish. And thank you_…" There was a pause. _"For everything."_

It was time to finish the call, but Hamish wasn't sure how he should do that. He uttered a weak, "Bye, Jeff," and hung up the phone.

"How was he?"

"Shocked."

"I imagine he would be." Edna Mickelson held him tighter. "You're shaking, Hamish…" She locked onto her husband's eyes. "What haven't you told me?"

He frowned. "What haven't I told you about what?"

"I don't know, but there's something."

Using his good arm, he pulled her closer; partly for his own comfort and partly so he could whisper into her ear without anyone hearing. "Please don't ask me now. I promise you that some time when things have settled down and we're well away from all of this and there's no chance that anyone will overhear; I promise that I'll tell you then."

And Edna Mickelson accepted his promise.

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14

When on duty in Thunderbird Five and his brothers were on duty at a rescue hot spot, Alan always did his best to keep abreast of what was happening down on Earth. He'd found that this was easier to do with some rescues, such as this one, than others. This time communications over the fire-suit's radio links were necessary to ensure instructions were clear and not muffled by the suits' visors, and as a result it was easy for him to listen in. He didn't like to think of it as eavesdropping; more of keeping tabs on what was going on in case he needed to make an urgent report to base.

This time he had an even greater reason to be glued to the communications console, waiting for news.

He'd sat numb, wishing that this was a bad TV programme, as he'd watched Scott give Brains a tour of Virgil's prison. He'd listened as Scott had explained to Virgil what was going to happen, and when John said that he was going to set up a video console so that Thunderbird Five could keep Virgil company, had come up with an idea of his own.

Trusting that John was keeping Virgil's mind off what was likely to happen, Alan had set about finding tracks of his brother's favourite music. Then, searching the Internet, he'd found several photos of well-known artworks and merged the two together into a slideshow, ready to be broadcast through a video down on Earth. It was obvious that there would be some point when no one would be able to be at Virgil's side, and he didn't want his injured brother to be left alone to brood.

He'd just finished his self-appointed task when John had called him up and asked him to keep Virgil company. He'd heard the catch in his brother's voice as the request was made and wondered what had been said between them.

Deciding that it would be better if he didn't know, he smiled at the features that were barely visible behind the reflections on the visor. "How're you feeling, Virgil?"

The bright hues of the furnace's colours on the beams and the white clouds scudding across the blue sky responded. "Been better. How're things up in space?"

"Oh, you know what it's like. All quiet on the geostationary front."

"I admire you, Alan."

This was the last thing that Alan expected to hear, and it took a moment for the four words to sink in. "Huh?"

"I admire you. I don't know that I could spends weeks at a time alone in space, waiting for something to happen, and then listening to us at work and knowing that I couldn't do anything practical to help."

"Yeah… Well…" Alan wasn't sure how to respond. "You get used to it. Besides you've done it before."

"But not for as long as you do, or as often."

"I'm always glad for an excuse to get away from my big brothers." Alan managed a dry, unconvincing, chuckle. "It's a place where I can be my own man."

Virgil's response was without humour or levity. "You are your own man, Alan. You've proved that many times. I've seen it in the way you conduct yourself in International Rescue and away from it. You've earned everyone's respect… Including mine."

"What?!"

Virgil continued as if he hadn't heard the exclamation. "When I hear someone like Butch say how much they admire you and how you're their hero, I want to agree with them and tell them that you're my hero too and that I'm proud that you're my brother."

"Erm…"

"But it's not something brothers do, is it? So, I don't."

"Erm…" Uncomfortable with the personal tone of their one-sided conversation, Alan wondered if he could turn it in another direction. "Virgil…" He glanced at his brother's stats, which were all stable.

But Virgil didn't want to think about himself and the predicament that he was in. And if not thinking about that meant embarrassing his youngest brother, he didn't care. He had something to say and he was determined to say it. "And I'm not the only one who thinks like that. We're all proud of you."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"Oh…" Alan could think of only one thing to say in response. "Thanks." He cringed at how lame he was sounding and promptly changed the conversation. "Lady Penelope's at home."

He was relieved that Virgil seemed willing to follow his new train of thought. "We were supposed to be having a debriefing, weren't we?"

"Yeah. I guess that'll be on hold for a while."

"When you have it, you'll tell them that I've got no regrets, won't you, Alan?"

"I…" Alan hesitated; torn between the reality of agreement and remaining optimistic. He nodded. "If that's what you want, Virg. I'll make sure they know until you get the chance to tell them yourself."

He fancied that behind the ever-changing colours of the visor he saw his brother's pitying expression and, desperate to keep the mood positive, changed the subject again. He made several attempts to start an intelligent conversation, but every new topic he thought of seemed to relate to the future and…

And he seriously doubted that his brother had one.

"Alan?"

"Yes, Virg?"

"Can you do me a favour?"

Alan could see how weak Virgil was. That made him all the more determined to appear upbeat and attentive. "Anything. What?"

"Can you patch me through to base?"

"Sure. Tracy Island coming up…"

-F-A-B-

Things were subdued in the lounge on Tracy Island. Time seemed to be crawling, yet those waiting there for news knew that it was passing too fast. They didn't want to hurry things along, yet they needed for something to happen and happen soon. Knitting lay discarded, magazines unread, cups of tea and coffee lay cold and un-drunk.

And they waited.

Finally, Lady Penelope decided that it was time for some action. "Brains, dear boy."

The young man looked up from his tablet PC. "Yes, ah, Lady Penelope?"

"When Virgil is freed, where will you advise his brothers to take him for medical treatment?"

"Oh…" Brains looked back down at his computer as if he was asking it to confirm his decision. "Bearston."

Jeff looked up sharply. "Bearston!? But that hospital is already overloaded, and the city's airports are full to capacity. There isn't an available airstrip for miles around."

This wasn't news to anyone as he'd spent the time since Hamish Mickelson had "let him know" about Virgil's injuries, trying to find an airfield close to the danger zone capable of receiving his jet. It seemed that the airstrips, without exception, were closed to all aircraft except those bringing vital support to the nearby earthquake-hit city.

"B-Bearston's hospital is overloaded because their staff are the most, er, experienced at treating crush injuries," Brains explained. "Weighing up the need to get Virgil to urgent medical attention against the time it would take even Thunderbird Two to reach a hospital with equal expertise and a greater capability… There is no contest. Especially as many of the medical experts in crush injuries in surrounding areas are already flying to Bearston to assist."

Lady Penelope nodded her understanding. "Then Parker and I shall fly to the United States now. We shall collect FAB1 and find ourselves accommodation close to Bearston. When you receive official word that Virgil has been transported to hospital, you can make the journey to the closest airfield. You will let us know your destination and Parker and I will meet you there and transport you all to the hospital in FAB1. This will be quicker and more comfortable than any other means of transportation."

Jeff was about to respond when the eyes in the middle portrait on the wall to his left started flashing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother reach out to the photo and the others rise to their feet. Telling himself to remain strong, fatherly, and in control, he spoke. "Go ahead, Virgil."

The face that appeared in the screen was barely visible behind the reflective visor. "I thought it was time I reported in."

_How are you? _seemed to be such a ridiculous question to ask, so Jeff didn't. "How are you holding up, Son?"

"The guys… My brothers have been great…"

"That's good."

"You should be proud of them, Father."

"I am proud of them, Virgil." _Don't look at anyone else, Tracy,_ Jeff ordered himself. _Look at anyone else and you'll lose it._ "I'm proud of you all."

"Things will be happening soon, so I wanted to…" Virgil hesitated, and Jeff had to wait to see what his son wanted to say, "I needed to tell you that I've got no regrets."

_Keep strong…_ _Keep strong_. "No regrets?"

"I've always been proud to work for International Rescue. Thank you for letting me be a part of it."

_Hold it together. Now is not the time to break down. _"If it wasn't for you and your skills, Virgil, there wouldn't have been an International Rescue. Thank you for agreeing to be a part of it."

"Don't give up."

"We'll never give up. That's always been this family's motto." _Tell him what you need to say…_

There was an awkward silence.

_If I tell him what I need to say he'll think I've given up hope and I haven't…_

…_Haven't I?_

"Virgil…?"

"Yes?

"Remember that day that you flew out to the Willis Institute to help Gordon take his first steps in the water?"

"Yes?"

"I saw you to your plane afterwards."

"Yes."

"Do you remember what I said to you then?"

Jeff fancied that he saw a small smile on the screen behind that ever-changing face-camouflaging visor. "Yes."

"That's never been truer than it is now."

Virgil's response was strong and sure. "Same here."

"Do you want to talk to your grandmother?"

"Yes, please."

Later Jeff would think of all the things he should have said, but now, unwilling to miss what could be his son's final moments, he sat and listened. He heard the words that his family and friends spoke…

…And knew that no one was willing to say what they all wanted to say, or voice what they were all thinking.

It wasn't until Virgil signed off with a goodbye that was more final than it had ever been that Jeff escaped to his study…

-F-A-B-

Alan smiled through the video camera at his brother. "Can I do anything else for you?"

Virgil said nothing. He needed a moment to pull himself together. He was as aware of the unspoken subtext to what was said as his family had been.

Alan was equally aware and determined that he wasn't going to dwell on it. "Did Gordon tell you about the prank he had planned against Lady Penelope?"

Surprised, Virgil gave Alan a wary look. "He was going to play a prank…? Against Lady Penelope…?! Has he got a… death wish?"

"It's not a big messy one this time. He's rigged up some kind of system which'll make her toiletries disappear. He hasn't given me the lowdown on how he's going to achieve it."

"I wish… he had. It sounds… intriguing. Is he… using mechanical means… or…"

Virgil's stilted speech rang alarm bells and, worried, Alan checked his brother's vital signs.

Some had deteriorated. "How are you feeling, Virgil?"

"Breathing… … little… … restricted."

Alan tried to appear calm and unruffled. "I'll get Scott to check you out," he offered. Then he switched the video feed over to his slide show and slammed his hand down on the button that would connect his video-link with that of the Rescue Coordinator.

The picture, when he made contact, was jumping about so much that he figured that his eldest brother was already racing to the rescue. "Scott! He can't breathe!"

The backdrop of the shadowy underside of Thunderbird Two's nose suddenly brightened to show blue sky and Scott's panting silhouette flashed into view; underexposed for the briefest of seconds before the sky behind was washed out. "'Stood!"

"We were talking, and he seemed to lose breath." Alan explained as the face disappeared off screen and reappeared briefly. "He said his breathing felt restricted."

"On my way."

"I'll let him know." Alan plastered a relaxed expression on his face and shut down the slideshow. "Hey, Virg…"

There was no response.

"Virgil?" Once again Alan checked the vital signs.

They were weaker than they'd ever been.

"Virgil!" Desperate to do something practical, Alan spoke louder. "Virgil! Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Virgil!" Both hands on the bezel, wishing he could climb through to give aid, Alan leant into the video screen. "Answer me, Virgil! ... Please…"

There was a flurry of movement on the screen.

"Help him, Scott!"

With quick efficient movements Scott pulled back his brother's hood and placed an oxygen mask over his face. "Can you hear me, Virgil?" He reached for the unresponsive throat, searching for a pulse. "Come on…"

Alan was about to tell him that Thunderbird Five was still reading signs of life, when another voice stopped him.

Gordon.

"What's the situation, Alan?"

"Virgil said he was having trouble breathing. Then he lost consciousness."

"Does Scott need any help?"

"I don't know. He's giving him oxygen and it seems to be helping. His stats are improving."

"Understood. I'm flying the rest of ACE out in Thunderbird One now. I'll be back ASAP."

"I'll check in with Scott and let you know how he's doing." Alan heard the "F-A-B," in reply from his brother and shut down the link. He took a moment to take a deep breath and regain his equilibrium before he reconnected with the video console in the furnace room. "How is he, Scott?"

"Improving, although he hasn't regained consciousness."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. It could be that his diaphragm's restricted by the weight, or he's got a build-up of fluid in his chest, or anything. We'll have to see what the professionals say…" Scott's attention was diverted away from the video screen and Alan watched as he bent closer to the silver-suited figure on the ground. "Virgil! Can you hear me, Virgil?"

Alan waited, as breathless as Virgil had been, for news.

"Sco'?"

Alan felt relief flood his system.

"Hey, Virg," he heard Scott say. "Stop going AWOL like that."

Alan was about to make his own comment when he was interrupted by the radio. "Thunderbird One calling Thunderbird Five."

Alan kept his response calm and professional. "Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"Am lifting off for Bearston with five on board. Will you radio ahead and warn them? And tell them to keep clear, I want to be on the ground minimal time."

"F-A-B," Alan responded. "Anything in particular I should pass on?"

"Negative. You know their conditions. Although you might add that the General Manager of ACE has sustained a cut to his hand and a wrenched shoulder. Nothing major, but he should get it checked out."

"Understood. Contact me when you're back in the air."

"F-A-B."

Changing radio frequency Alan called up Bearston. The radio operator had almost got over the shock that he was talking to someone from International Rescue, and gave his acknowledgement of the information and instructions received without the awestruck tones that had characterised earlier communications. Alan was grateful that the unknown man didn't ask for further information about those remaining at ACE.

It was only when Bearston had signed off that Alan permitted himself to slump into his chair and take a moment to gather himself together. There weren't many times when he hated this job, but this was definitely one of them.

"Scott to Thunderbird Five."

Pulling himself together, Alan picked up the microphone. "Receiving you, Scott."

"What's Gordon's ETA?"

"He's only just left ACE…"

"Only just left!?"

"Uncle Hamish injured himself somehow and he had to fix him up first. He won't be long."

"Tell him to get back STAT."

"He knows. Remember he's in Thunderbird One. There's nothing that will move him any quicker."

Alan fancied that he heard Scott take a steadying breath.

"Don't worry. If it's at all possible he'll be getting more speed out of her than you've ever done."

"Would be… somethin'… to see."

"Virgil?" Alan managed a smile at hearing the voice.

"Yeah."

"Don't go giving me a scare like that again, okay? I'm going to check up on John, Scott. Call me if you need me."

John, when Alan made contact, was framed against a backdrop of Thunderbird Two's pod storage area. "Receiving you, Alan."

"Giving you a heads up. Virgil just gave us a scare."

John frowned into his wristwatch telecom. "A scare? How? What happened?"

"He complained that he was having trouble breathing, so I said I'd let Scott know. I was only off line for five seconds max, telling Scott to bring the oxygen, but by the time I came back he wasn't responding."

"Not responding!" John's frowning eyebrows had lifted skywards in alarm. "He was unconscious?"

"Yes. He was so still, John. I was begging him to wake up and he didn't. I thought we'd lost him! I thought I'd never see him again…!" Alan, aware that his voice's pitch was raising, told himself to calm down.

He was relieved when John didn't comment on his approaching hysteria. "How is he now?"

"Better. The oxygen seemed to revive him."

John let out an audible sigh of relief. "Good."

"I'm _hating_ this, John."

Alan's brother frowned again. "Aren't we all?"

"I don't only mean that I'm hating the fact that Virgil's been injured. Which I am… I mean I'm hating being stuck on Thunderbird Five. I feel so helpless. I want to _do_ something! I _need _to do something!"

"But you did do something. You got Virgil the oxygen he needed."

"All I could do was pass on the message. And then I had to wait until Scott got there. Wait, and watch, and hope."

"_That_, I'm afraid," John said grimly, "is what being on Thunderbird Five is all about."

"I was scared. I don't remember ever being so scared before."

"I…" Then John hesitated. "There are times when even _I understand_, doesn't cut it. None of us want to have to deal with this…"

"Especially Virgil."

"Especially Virgil. But we've got no choice other than to deal with it the best way we can. And, at the moment, Alan, you're dealing with it admirably. I'm not sure that I could do any better. Remember our motto."

"Never give up…"

"Yes. I know it's easier said than done, but we've got no choice this time."

Alan didn't immediately respond.

"Alan?"

"Did he say goodbye to you?"

His brother's video image twitched. "Not in so many words… But…"

"Yeah… Me too." Alan sighed. "I'd better go and check up on Gordon. He's on his way back from Bearston."

"Good. The sooner he's back, the sooner we can get Virgil out of there."

-F-A-B-

"How are you feeling, Virgil?" his youngest brother had asked.

What Virgil was feeling was tired. Tired of the situation he was in, and tired of feeling sore and hot, and tired of causing his family so much worry. Tired of gasping for air. "Breathing… … little… … restricted."

Through his visor and the video screen he saw Alan's calm face give him a reassuring smile. "I'll get Scott to check you out." And then he was presented with the face of the Mona Lisa to the accompaniment of _Brother 'o Mine_.

He didn't have the time to appreciate the slide show before his tiredness overtook him. The light that illuminated that famous face seemed to darken and the music faded…

"…Virgil! Can you hear me, Virgil?"

Another face, even more reassuringly familiar, swam into view. The music had ceased.

"Sco'?" He inhaled cool, refreshing air.

"Hey, Virg." Scott Tracy was sounding strong and in control, but Virgil could detect an undercurrent of deep-seated worry. "Stop going AWOL like that."

Virgil wished he could have something to drink. He licked his lips, feeling no benefit. Something was pressing down on the bridge of his nose, and he tried to push it away.

"Don't…" Scott guided his good hand away from his face. "You'll dislodge the mask."

"Mas'?"

"Oxygen mask."

Oxygen mask? When had that been applied?

"We'll get you out of there soon," Scott was saying.

"How?" Virgil's mask fogged up as he spoke.

Scott fixed him with an earnest stare. "We're going to cut those beams," he pointed to the concrete supports suspended above their heads, "and lift them clear with Thunderbird Two. Then we'll use her to remove the crucible furnace and that beam." He indicated the one that was pinning Virgil to the ground. "She should be able to do that smoothly enough."

Virgil nodded. He had no doubts on that score. Even if he wasn't going to be the one doing the piloting.

"Because the roofing beams are what keeps the structure upright, we are concerned about the walls of the building once they're gone," Scott continued. "So, we're going to apply a gentle pressure to them so that if they do give way, they'll fall outwards."

Virgil appreciated the information. At least he could pretend that he was learning this as a member of International Rescue. Not as someone whose very survival depended on International Rescue getting this right. "How?"

"The Super-Jack will apply pressure to that wall." Scott indicated to Virgil's right. "The Giraffe will do the same job to the back wall. And the Firefly's blade will apply traction to that wall." He indicated the one behind Virgil's head.

"What about tha' one?" Gingerly, Virgil pointed across his body.

"We're going to trust that the old creek bed is unstable enough that the wall will fall outwards if it collapses. We're going to put blast-blankets around you for protection."

"Why don' you use th' other Super-Jack?"

A pained expression flashed across Scott's face. "It's broken… Remember?"

"The casing's munted an' the remo' control's shot, but the unit still works."

Now Scott looked surprised. "It does?"

"I used the crane to pull i' into Thunderbird Two an' repaired i' while I couldn' do 'ything else. We had the spare par's on board an' it was an easy fix."

Scott opened a radio link. "I'll get John to haul it out."

"Hey!" Gordon bounded down the steps from the Firefly in time to hear the instructions. "Did'ya miss me?"

"I'm getting the other Super-Jack," Scott told him. "You stay with Virgil."

"Right." As Scott hurried away, Gordon plonked himself onto the ground at his brother's side in a carefree manner, but Virgil noted that he cast a worried eye over the screen that was monitoring his condition. "I thought the other Super-Jack was toast."

"I fix' it."

Gordon beamed at him. "You can't keep a good engineer down."

"How' ACE?"

"I left some very happy people at Bearston. I've never seen Uncle Hamish and Auntie Edna be so affectionate. They got into a clinch that would have embarrassed most newlyweds on honeymoon! And as for Lisa and Butch, they'll probably need a crowbar to pry them apart."

"An' Bruce?"

Gordon's eyes twinkled. "I'm not entirely sure that he and Olivia were hanging onto each other for the sole purpose of keeping him upright. I think they are going to have a lot of explaining to do to their co-workers."

"Mr Watts?"

"He's still pretty weak, but now that he can get proper medical help I think he's going to be okay."

"Hope 'is family's at Bearston. He was worried abou' them."

"There were hundreds of people who came out to see Thunderbird One arrive, so I think the odds are good that he'll be related to at least one of them…"

Virgil tried not to think that there were probably thousands, if not millions, displaced from the broken city.

"Just so you know, Uncle Hamish is telling everyone that you started back at ACE today."

"Wha'? Why?"

"So everyone will think you were an injured employee of ACE who got International Rescue to rescue you. Not that you're an employee of International Rescue who got injured rescuing ACE."

Virgil frowned, trying to make sense of the tale that was being spun. "But I wasn' there for the morning briefin'."

"They've got that worked out too. Because you're the spoiled son of Jeff Tracy you were able to convince the General Manager to keep your re-employment secret. Then you were able to jump out with a _Ta-da!_ and surprise Bruce and Butch. Mr Watts knew all about your plans."

Virgil wasn't sure that he understood, but decided that he didn't have the energy to analyse what he was being told. "You'll be flyin' Thunderbird Two when you lift tha?" He pointed at the furnace.

"Scott hasn't said so, but as your 2IC I guess I am…"

"Good."

Gordon had been about to say something flippant, but his mind went blank when he heard that solitary word. "Good?"

"I want you to do i'."

"You want _me_ to do it? Scott's a better pilot than me. I'm an aquanaut."

"You're the best pilo' for Thunderbird Two. You know her bet'er than he does. If you're in charge of 'er I know she' in good hands."

"I know I've travelled in her more often than Scott, but…" Gordon looked at his brother sideways. "You're just trying to boost my confidence, aren't you?"

"No, Gordon. I mean i'." Virgil grabbed his brother's hand. "There' no one I trust more to fly Two than you. You fly 'er as good as I' fly 'er myself."

Gordon looked down at the gloved hand hanging weakly onto his. "I… er…"

"All I ask is that you look af'er 'er."

Gordon was silent as he mulled over what Virgil had just said. When he next spoke, it was with complete sincerity. "Virgil… I promise that I'll treat Thunderbird Two like the lady she is. I'll treat her as if she were Thunderbird Four." He managed a forced grin. "Apart from taking her for a swim."

"Than'…"

A low rumble filtered up from the ground before the walls vibrated and quaked. Liquefaction liquefied, bubbled, and erupted out of cracks in the building's floor. The ground shuddered as the furnace creaked on its pivots and the molten metal that hadn't cooled lapped at the crucible's sides.

Aftershock.

Gordon, his ears assaulted with a bloodcurdling scream, threw himself over his brother to try to protect him as dust coated them like a shroud and debris pelted them.

The scream ceased.

Then, just as suddenly, the aftershock did the same.

All was quiet.

Waiting to see if another quake was going to hit, Gordon didn't move from his role as protective shield. As he took stock he realised that the figure beneath him felt ominously still. Slowly he sat up; dust sliding off his shoulders and back and settling on the mud solidifying about his legs. "Virgil?"

There was no answer.

Gordon felt ill. "Virgil?!" Ignoring Thunderbird Five's urgent queries though the radio in his ears he feverishly he pushed the liquefaction clear of his brother. "Can you hear me? Say something! Do something! Anything!" Fumbling with his gloves, he tried to pull the protective cloth at Virgil's throat clear. "Virgil!"

"Gordon…"

"Alan!"

"He's still with us, Gordon. Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking, I'm…"

As consciousness returned, Virgil found himself staring up into his brother's white face.

"You're awake." Gordon looked more relieved than Virgil felt.

And what Virgil felt was terrible. If he thought he felt weak before, it was nothing compared to how he was feeling after that last aftershock had nearly ground the life out of him. He felt washed out, disconnected from his surroundings, and in pain…

Lots of pain.

Some words forced their way through the wall of red hot agony. "Do you need more pain relief?"

Somehow the question resolved itself into something able to be understood by Virgil's earthquake-addled brain and he managed a small nod.

"Okay. I won't give you too much…" Gordon made the necessary change to the IV. "Erm…" He looked unsure of what to do next. "Do you need anything else?"

What Virgil needed was to be well away from his prison.

"Can I get you anything?"

Freedom.

Gordon glanced over towards the Firefly. "What's holding up those guys?" He looked back down at his brother. "I'm going to see if I can help them hurry up… Alan."

Alan's face was already on screen and Gordon could see that he was itching to ask a million questions. He'd seen the seismograph dance about on the monitor and needed to know as much as Gordon did that it hadn't made a bad situation worse.

But the younger man kept his greeting professional. "Receiving you, Gordon."

"I'm going to light a fire under Scott and John. Will you keep an eye on Virgil?"

"I can do that."

"Are you getting his stats?"

"I'm reading them."

"He…" Gordon hesitated. He had nothing he could tell Alan that he didn't already know and that would make the situation any better. Trying to keep the mood positive, he grinned. "I'll be back, Virgil." He patted the trapped man on the arm. "So, don't go anywhere."

Later Gordon was to wonder why he'd farewelled his brother with a flippant joke rather than with something more meaningful. But now his plan was to escape through the Firefly and out to fresh air. A plan that was thwarted when his body's more immediate need to expel the memories of what he'd just experienced overtook him.

-F-A-B-

In Thunderbird Two's equipment bay, Scott and John were working together to extract the broken Super-Jack from its locker without causing more damage. Their efforts were almost in vain when the force of the 'quake caused them to lose their grip and it dropped back into its bay.

John watched, alarmed, as his sibling turned the colour of Alan's sash. He never got the chance to ask what was wrong before Scott was once again running for the exit.

Normally John's longer legs and athletic stride would have been an easy match for his brother, but this time it was Scott who was the first to their destination. Gasping for air after their sprint, they ran into the Firefly in time to see Gordon grab a suitable receptacle and regurgitate his long-forgotten lunch.

Ignoring his brothers, Scott leapt into the building. John followed him to the door, but stopped, seeing a similar scene to that he'd left what seemed to be hours ago. He relaxed a micron when he saw Scott say something to the figure on the ground and that figure's hand move.

At the sound of retching, John turned back, collecting a cloth and dampening it. He held it against his brother's forehead as Gordon retched again. "Take it easy," he soothed. "What brought this on?" Hearing Scott return to the cabin, he looked over his shoulder. "How is he?"

Scott pushed his hood off his head. "Alive." He cuffed sweat from his brow.

"Alive?" Gordon pushed the cloth clear and flopped onto a nearby seat. "Can you call that alive?"

John reached into the locker, withdrew the last bottle of rejuvenating liquid, and twisted the lid off. "What happened?"

"An aftershock happened; _that's_ what happened. I hope I never _ever _hear _anyone_ scream like that again." Gordon ran his fingers through his hair and accepted the bottle. "We've got to get him out of there. There's no way he's going to survive another 'quake."

John moistened the cloth again and held it out to his brother. "He was in pain?"

"Pain?" Gordon looked like he was going to be sick again. "That wasn't pain. You couldn't even classify that as agony. That was…" He wiped his face on the cloth. "The only thing worse than his screaming was when he went quiet. That's when I really freaked out." He took a swig of the bottle, swirled the liquid around in his mouth and spat it out. "As soon as I knew he was alive, and awake, and had put him through to Alan, I ran."

"At least he's awake."

"Only just. He wasn't really responding to me… Except when I asked if he wanted more pain relief."

"And?" John checked.

"He did."

The three Tracys looked at each other. None of them liked painkillers unless absolutely necessary. For Virgil to have asked for more… It must have been necessary.

Gordon took a proper drink at his bottle "I needed to get out of there before he saw how much he'd scared me." He looked embarrassed. "I didn't get as far as I'd planned."

John had reached into another locker and withdrew an energy bar. "Did he lose consciousness for long?"

"It seemed like forever, but it was probably only a couple of minutes." Gordon accepted the snack. "I thought we'd lost him. I thought I'd just watched him die without being able to do anything to make it easier for him. I couldn't think straight. By the time I'd worked out how to pull my glove off and fight my way through his fire-suit to find a pulse, he'd woken up." He downed more of his drink and ripped the cover off the bar. "I can't believe that he survived." He took a bite, chewing slowly.

"You know Virgil lives by our motto," John tried to sound upbeat and confident, but didn't quite succeed. "_Never give up…_"

Gordon stared at him. "But at what cost?"

Scott was frowning down on Gordon. "Are you up to flying Thunderbird Two?"

Gordon stood and squared his shoulders. "I can do anything that will stop him going through that pain again."

"Good. Start bringing the equipment inside…"

_To be continued..._


	15. Chapter 15

The figure; tall, muscular and brooding; lurked in the shadows. He moved and a beam of light lit up the tattoo almost concealed beneath his torn shirt. He watched as the young children, innocent survivors of the earthquake, played and laughed oblivious to his presence.

He felt someone nudge him. "Go on."

"No," he hissed in reply. "I'm not ready."

His companion understood… And waited.

It was another minute before he stepped out of his hiding place and into full view of the children. They continued playing, still unaware that they were being watched, until one of them spied him…

"Daddy!"

The staff and helpers of Sunbeam Preschool looked up, smiling at the reunion, as Ginny Crump ran to her father and Butch swept her up into his arms. "'Ow's m' li'le cupcake?"

Ginny almost throttled him as, with her arms about his throat, she clung to him in a tight embrace. "Missed you."

"An' I missed ya," Butch echoed as he felt Lisa slide her arm about his waist. "Both o' ya."

"We're going outside," Lisa told the head teacher.

Ginny, secure in her father's arms, began to talk as they exited to sunshine. "The ground jumded up and down."

"I know," said Butch, taking a seat under a hopefully strong, secure, and unwilling to jump up and down tree.

"Didn't like the ground jumding," Ginny elaborated, as he made her comfortable on his knee and her mother sat at their side.

"No," Butch agreed. "Me neither."

"Ground not supposed to jump."

"Ya're righ'."

"Scareded me." And then Ginny was off, telling her parents all that had happened. She spoke quickly and knowing that her limited vocabulary couldn't express her thoughts. Her timeline became disjointed as she jumped about from event to event as much as the ground had so many hours earlier.

Frustrated, scared, and tired, she finally burst into tears.

"Shhhh…" Butch soothed. "I'm 'ere an' Mama's 'ere." He rocked his daughter gently.

"Yes, Honey…" Lisa wrapped her arms about them both, stroking her daughter's hair. "I'm here, and Daddy's here, and you're here, and we're all safe."

They sat there, the three of them holding each other close, and drew strength from the fact that they were all together, they were all unharmed, and the ground wasn't "jumding".

A passing press photographer saw their little group and snapped a shot. A photograph that was to become one of the iconic images of this disaster: the family that had been brought together by International Rescue.

What the press didn't know was that International Rescue was being ripped apart.

-F-A-B-

John and Gordon had finally managed to release the damaged Super-Jack from its locker and had deposited it, along with the rest of the equipment that Scott had decreed they'd need, alongside the Firefly.

John's watch started beeping. "Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"How much longer are you guys going to be? Virgil's barely responding. That last 'quake almost squeezed the life out of him."

Gordon gave an obvious shiver. "Tell me about it."

"I ask Scott how much longer," Alan continued, "but all he says is: We'll begin when we're ready."

"That's someone else who isn't responding," John noted. "This isn't the time to discuss the weather, but he's not saying anything other than to give us directions."

Gordon nodded. "I've noticed that. It's like he's shut down all systems except for those we need to free Virgil."

"And how long before you do that…?" Alan's attention was side-tracked. "He's calling me now. Talk later."

"F-A-B."

The two brothers collected armloads of blast-blankets and carried them into the Firefly. There they were intercepted by their Rescue Coordinator sibling.

"This is the plan," Scott began. "Gordon you're…"

"Piloting Thunderbird Two."

Surprised by the interruption, even though that was what he was about to say, Scott stared at his brother.

"Virgil wants me to."

Making no comment, Scott turned to the other team member. "John. I want you operating the Firefly."

"Okay."

"Do you think you'll be able to handle that?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"If there's any chance that you'll collapse or become ill..."

That was the point where John, surprising everyone including himself, snapped. "I'm all right, Scott! I haven't had any issues since you closeted me under Thunderbird One! I've let you mother me and treat me like I should be wrapped up in cotton wool. I've stood back, and I've quietly done what you've told me to do when I've wanted, no I've _needed_ to get in there and help Virgil, and now all you're doing is wasting time checking up on me!"

"John…" Alarmed, Gordon placed his hand on his brother's arm. "Calm down."

Scott said nothing.

This only angered John more. "It may have escaped your notice, Scott Tracy," he pulled himself up to his full height, an inch above his target, "but Virgil's my brother too!"

"John," Gordon repeated. "We're aware of that."

"Is he?"

"John, I..." Scott hesitated. "I'm trying to look at this situation dispassionately. I'm trying to convince myself that this is just another rescue and that it's not Virgil trapped under there. I'm telling myself that I'm not freaking out over this ESP thing and that I'm not scared that I'll feel it or that a part of me will vanish if he…" He took a deep breath, and for the first time they saw how he was struggling to keep his emotions under control. "I'm telling myself that I've got no emotional attachment to this situation; that all we have to do is get the victim out of here, to hospital, and then we can leave..." He gave another shuddering breath. "And I'm not doing a very good job of it," he admitted.

Shocked by his speech after such a long period of near silence, his brothers stared at him.

"Oh, heck..." John felt the guilt brought about by his outburst. "I'm sorry. This situation's getting to all of us, and I had to vent my frustrations and you were in the firing line. Forget what I just said. I know that you're doing the best you can. We all are…" He reached out to offer a consoling hand.

Scott took a step backwards, away from John's grasp. He needed to keep focussed and he needed to forget that it was family involved. He switched to Air Force mode. "Everyone know what they're doing?"

John gave a chastened nod. "Just so you know, it wasn't my head injury talking," he mumbled.

"Good. If that thing spills," Scott pointed in the direction of the crucible, "I want you close by and unharmed to get us out."

"F-A-B."

Gordon, who'd been feeling much the same as John, was desperate to clear the air. "There isn't time for the full story, but Uncle Hamish is telling everyone that Virgil's an employee of ACE."

John stared at him. "What?"

Gordon patted his pocket. "He even gave me the signed paperwork as proof."

"But Virgil hasn't worked here for years."

"It's so that when we finally pull Virgil out of there and take him to the hospital no one will think that he's an International Rescue operative."

"Gordon…" It was John's turn to place a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder. "You do realise that, when you… I mean… when Thunderbird Two lifts that beam… chances are… that he's going t…"

"I know." Gordon pushed the hand clear. "I _know_! But _you_ didn't have to watch him battle against the pain and know there was nothing you could do to help him. Even _that's_ got to be better than letting him suffer through another earthquake…"

"Gordon…"

"I'm all right!" Gordon took a deep breath and told himself off for letting his emotions show. "I'm all right… At the moment Virgil's still alive, and I keep telling myself that where there's life there's hope? Right?" He fixed his brothers with a pleading expression. "Right?"

"Right," John reassured him. "We're all living by the International Rescue motto, aren't we? Virgil hasn't given up on us and we're not going to give up on him. Agreed?" He looked at his eldest brother.

Scott had shut down again.

Unexpectedly all three of their watches starting beeping in unison.

John's frustrations surfaced again. "Surely he can't want a conference call _now!_" Suppressing his anger, he fired up the Firefly's communication module so they could utilise the larger screen. "Go ahead, Dad."

The Tracy sons couldn't remember their father looking so grey, stressed, and lined before, but his voice was strong. "I saw that Alan was talking to Virgil so I'm going to take the opportunity to talk to you three in private. I know this isn't an easy rescue, but I thought you needed to know that we're all behind you one hundred percent. Whatever decisions you make; whatever the outcome; we know that you did the best you could for your brother."

John nodded, and Gordon muttered a "thanks, Dad."

"I'm not going to hold you up any longer, but I'm going to instruct Alan to patch all your communications through to Tracy Island, so that we can hear what's happening."

John nodded, and Gordon muttered an "understood."

Jeff hesitated a split second. "Good luck, Boys."

And he was gone.

"Just as well Alan hadn't started relaying communications." Gordon cuffed his forehead on his arm in relief. "What would he make of what we've all just said?"

John agreed. "What's said in the Firefly stays in the Firefly."

"F-A-B to that."

They both looked at Scott…

Who said nothing.

Gordon gathered up an armload of blast-blankets. "Let's get these installed."

The three of them worked solidly and with little conversation as they installed four walls of blast-blankets around their brother and the crucible furnace.

Then they retreated to the Firefly to discuss their next plan of action. "We'll back the Firefly out of the way so that we can create a bridge across the rift and drive the Giraffe and Super-Jacks into the building," Scott explained. "Then we'll position the Firefly so its blade is inside the building, holding that wall up. Once that's set, and we've used the last of the blast-blankets to create a roof over him, we can start removing those roofing beams."

They had nearly finished those preparations and were about to install the blast-blankets when Gordon made an announcement. "I'm going to get Thunderbird Two into the air." He started walking towards the great, green transporter.

John frowned. "Already?"

"Virgil should have the opportunity to say good…" Gordon swallowed. "I mean… Thunderbird Two should have the opportunity to wish him good luck."

"Gor…"

But Gordon didn't give his brothers the chance to express their approval or otherwise before he was running for his brother's aeroplane.

John and Scott made no comment about his actions or motivations. Instead they continued to prepare for the rescue, collecting the last of the blast-blankets. They had no sooner entered the building with their armloads of shrapnel-resistant material when they heard the VTOL jets roar. A second later the sky above them darkened as Thunderbird Two blocked out the sun.

Strobe lighting ran up and down her underside.

Virgil, with nowhere to look but upwards, saw them and managed a smile. "Thank', Gord'n."

His view was blocked by the blankets.

-F-A-B-

Half a world away in his study, Jeff Tracy sagged in his seat and buried his face in his hands. It had taken a lot of effort to appear emotionally strong and he doubted that he could do it again anytime soon. He knew that whatever the outcome he'd need that strength later, but now he let his true feelings overcome him.

"Jeff?"

Jeff hadn't heard the door to his study open and he sprang out of his seat and to the window, so his visitor couldn't see his face. "Yes, Mother?"

"Lady Penelope's leaving now. I thought you might want to say goodbye."

"No…" Jeff's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "No. We'll be seeing her soon enough. When we go to the hospital."

"Yes."

He could hear that his mother was standing at his shoulder now, but Jeff refused to face her. He watched as the pink aeroplane built up speed down the runway and launched itself into the air. "She's a good friend."

"She is, and an understanding one." A hand touched his shoulder.

He turned away. "I've got work to do."

"Nothing that can't wait until this is all over…"

"It's important."

"Not as important as what's happening at ACE."

Jeff grunted.

"There's no shame in being frightened for your son."

Jeff tried to pretend to be unconcerned. "Virgil's a fighter. He'll be all right. He won't give up."

"And neither will the rest of the boys."

"No. They're strong."

"Jeff..." Mrs Tracy succeeded in turning her son to face her. "You can't hide from me, Jeff. I know when you're upset. Remember I'm the woman who dried your tears when you were a little boy. I'm the woman who comforted you when you awoke after a nightmare, or fell over and scraped your knee. I'm the woman who told you that Bea Hartley wasn't worth it when she dumped you."

"You were right." Jeff gritted his teeth. "I found someone better."

"Yes, you did. And she gave you five wonderful sons."

"Five…" He screwed up his eyes against his emotions and she watched as his fight against them took their toll. "I'm frightened, Ma."

Grandma took both his hands in hers. "I know."

"I don't want to lose Virgil."

"You may not."

"But if he survives… His injuries…"

"Don't think of that now…" Grandma pulled him into an embrace and felt him shaking in her arms. "It's all right, Jeff…"

A sob escaped.

"I'm here for you…"

There was another.

"You are not alone…"

His battle lost, Jeff Tracy finally allowed his mother to comfort him in a way he hadn't needed for decades.

She hadn't intended it to happen, she'd been determined that she would remain the family rock that she'd always been, but it wasn't many minutes before their roles were reversed. Grandma, feeling her son's strong arms about her, couldn't stop herself from releasing the emotions that she'd been suppressing for those last stressful hours. And Jeff, having permitted himself to experience that same release, felt strong enough to repay the woman who'd supported him throughout his life.

After five minutes a console on Jeff's desk beeped.

Jeff stepped away from his mother and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"They're setting things up," Alan announced. "It won't be long now."

"Good." Once again Jeff was the in-control leader of International Rescue. "I'm heading back to the lounge, Alan, and I want you to direct all communications lines through to there. I want to hear every word."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

Scott knelt by the injured man's side.

If he thought of the silver-suited figure any other way he didn't think he'd be able to carry on. "John's moving the Firefly into position." He heard the sound of machinery. Then he heard a weak query.

"Are m' legs still 'ttached?"

Scott hesitated. He knew that his brother… The casualty… was asking for a psychic rather than physical check. What he wasn't sure was that Virgil… The victim... would like the answer. The almost reassuring pins and needles in his lower extremities that had dogged him since this rescue had gone pear-shaped had disappeared soon after the last earthquake. Telling himself that this was because the increased amount of painkilling drugs that had been administered to his brother… The patient… were blocking the signal, he nodded. "Of course, they are."

"T'ank'."

John slipped between the protective blankets. "I've got the Firefly in place. We can install the Giraffe and Super-Jacks."

Scott gave a curt nod. "F-A-B… Scott to Thunderbird Five."

Alan appeared on the video screen. "Thunderbird Five."

"John and I are setting up. Keep an eye on things."

"F-A-B."

It took as much time to wedge the broken Super-Jack into place as it did to install the intact one and the Giraffe combined. The latter two were able to be operated remotely, but they had to rig up a cable from the broken one to the blast-blankets.

Finally, all was in position. It was time to proceed with the rescue.

It was John's turn to kneel by his brother. "I've been banished to the Firefly," he joked.

Virgil grasped his hand. "You won' forge' y'r promi'e?"

John glanced at Scott who seemed to be more interested in checking that the connection to the Super-Jack was operational. "I won't forget. You have my word."

"T'ank', John. T'ank' for 'vrythin'."

John grinned. "See you on the other side."

He stood and, without looking back, exited the blast-blankets.

Scott took his place. "Ready?"

"Sco'," Virgil extended his free hand to his brother. "I…" For the first time fear could be seen in his eyes. "I…"

Scott squeezed Virgil's hand tightly. "It's okay, Virg. I know… We all do."

"It'…" Virgil swallowed and made an effort to enunciate clearly. "It's been great…" He licked his parched lips. "Hasn't it?"

"It has, Virgil." Scott tried to sound positive despite wondering if it would ever be great again.

Back on Tracy Island, metres away in the Firefly, flying above them in Thunderbird Two, and in geostationary orbit on Thunderbird Five, the reluctant audience waited for the next act to begin. They heard Virgil's final words.

"I… 'm… sorry… I put… you through…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Virg."

"You… You keep strong… for both of us."

"I'll do my best. Now… How about I give you something to make this easier for both of us?"

"'Kay."

…

"Virg… I can't do it unless you let go of my hand."

Later Scott would wonder how he managed to keep it together as his brother had released the death grip and he'd injected the liquid that extinguished the light of consciousness from those brown eyes that were such an important part of his life.

Scott felt numb…

Drained…

Dead!

Suddenly alarmed, he checked Virgil's vital signs monitor.

"_Scott…"_

Pulse rate steady…

"_Scott?"_

Blood pressure unchanged.

"_Scott?"_

Breathing still laboured, but oxygen intake unaltered.

Scott felt a touch on his arm. "Scott?"

Scott looked up into a pair of visor-framed concerned blue eyes.

"Are you okay?" John asked. "You're taking forever."

Scott pulled himself together. "I'm fine." He gave a shaky chuckle. "That was the problem."

"Problem?"

"I felt…" Scott tried to think of the proper word and couldn't. "Normal."

"Normal?" John frowned. Then the frown cleared, and he crouched down so that he could check on Virgil himself. "You only feel something when he's conscious?"

This was the last thing that Scott needed to discuss now. "Get back to the Firefly, John. We'd better get started."

"F-A-B." And everyone heard John's quiet voice as he looked down on the still figure one last time. "I feel as if I'm writing his death warrant."

"And I'm signing it." Scott showed no hesitation. "Let's get started…"

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16

_Acknowledging those trapped in the Forsyth Barr Building during the Canterbury Earthquakes of 2011._

It was time. Time to remove that weight that was pinning Virgil to the ground. Time to make that move that could mark the end of his life. Time to…

"Scott…"

Scott started, not expecting to hear the plaintive voice. "Yes, Alan?"

"He will be all right, won't he?"

Alan sounded very alone, very scared, and very, very young, and Scott cursed the fact that he'd had to listen into what had been in effect a final goodbye. But there was no use in pretending that the situation was any better than it was. Alan had enough medical and rescue knowledge to see through any lie. "I don't know, but you know that we're going to do everything we can to get him out of there alive."

"I know… Can I help?"

Scott felt his heart go out to the young man. Both were aware that with the distance that separated them there was little that Alan could do, but Scott recognised that his little brother needed to be more than a helpless spectator.

He didn't know how Alan was managing to keep it together. The few times that he'd been on duty on Thunderbird Five had been torture. It hadn't been too bad when things were quiet, but when he'd been stuck alone in space, listening to his brothers attend a rescue while he'd been helpless… And Scott had never been in that situation where he'd had to deal with one of his brothers being in mortal danger. And for it to be Virgil who was in trouble… How would he have coped when his body was sending him all sorts of strange signals…? "You can let me know if there are any changes to his vital signs. If he deteriorates even a little bit I need you to tell me right away, so I can pump more fluids into his system."

"F-A-B."

Scott took a deep breath. He could prevaricate no longer. "Activating Super-Jacks and Giraffe. John: apply traction."

"F-A-B."

Scott pushed two buttons and twin green lights showed that the Super-Jack and Giraffe were applying their gentle pressure. Then he picked up the unit at the end of the long cable and flicked a switch. Another green light glowed, and he rotated a knob two clicks and hoped that enough pressure was being applied to cause the wall to lean outwards, but not so much that a collapse was inevitable. "Ready, Firefly?"

"Holding steady, Scott."

Prepare for lift, Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B."

From Thunderbird Two's belly a series of grabs snaked down. Each separated into two and clamped onto either end of a roofing beam. Then a laser fired into life, searing through the reinforcing material on the outer margins until only the grabs kept the concrete slabs aloft. The first beam was lifted free, moved forward until it was clear of the building, and then was deposited on the ground. Its grabs snapped together again, travelled along a conveyor belt to the rear of the group, and grasped the next beam, waiting for its turn to repeat the procedure.

The entire roof structure was gone in ten minutes.

"Retracting beam grabs," Gordon announced. "Preparing to release furnace."

The first stage had gone so well that everyone was caught by surprise when the creek-bed wall collapsed…

-F-A-B-

The crowd in the hall at Bearston hadn't thinned noticeably, even though many of the original refugees had departed to stay with friends and relatives, or to seek out local accommodation. Some of ACE's staff had met up with loved ones and left to find lodgings for the night with a request that they be notified should anyone receive any important news. But the remainder stayed behind, waiting to see a familiar face or to learn the fate of those who remained at home and at ACE.

Hamish Mickelson, who'd undergone the briefest of examinations, had his arm rebound in another tight sling, and had been instructed to see a doctor at the first opportunity – even as the medical examiner had turned to someone with a greater need – sat on the floor with the rest of his staff and tried not to think about what was happening at his factory. Edna had wanted them to find a place where they could have a wash and a rest well away from the hubbub, a need he shared, but he knew that his place was with his team. And so, he sat on the floor with the rest of them, and ached… and waited.

"Winston!"

Winston Patterson's head snapped around upon hearing his name. "Rex?"

"Winston!"

Winston scrambled to his feet as quickly as his bruised ribs would allow and scanned the room, not seeing the man he needed to see more than any other. His workmates, almost as keen to enjoy the reunion of another of their number, peered through the crowd themselves.

"Winston!" A small man, colourless in his clothing and style, but with his face red from exertion and excitement, pushed through his fellow refugees. "Winston!"

"Rex!" Shoving several people out of the way in his haste to reach his partner, Winston ran towards the accountant. When they met he wrapped the other man up in a reciprocated embrace that left nobody in any doubt as to the manner or extent of their relationship. Strangers looked on with an indulgent smile (and one or two with disapproving frowns), as Winston's workmates cheered, and one little old lady smirked.

Finally, the two men released each other. "Are you all right, Rexy?" Winston gabbled. "I've been worried about you. I've been imagining all sorts of _horrendous_ things happening!"

"And I've been worried about you. When I heard International Rescue had been called out to ACE I thought that something terrible had happened."

"Something terrible has happened," Winston admitted. "But not to me." Overcome with relief he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his partner up in another embrace. "I've been _so_ worried about you."

Somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder, a throat was cleared.

"Oh…" Rex took a step back. "Auntie Alicia. I, erm, forgot about you."

The little old lady smirked again. "I think you did."

"I… ah…" Rex didn't know what to do. Not everyone in his family was aware of his sexual orientation and, believing that they wouldn't approve of his relationship with the gregarious Winston, the couple had done their best to keep it secret from them. It appeared that it wasn't a secret from his Auntie Alicia any longer.

Winston, having survived the perils of an earthquake and knowing that a life could be lost at any moment, didn't feel inclined to keep his feelings for his partner secret anymore. "Mrs Morton," he announced. "I am proud to tell you that Rex is my lover. He has brought me ten years of great happiness." He lifted his chin in defiance. "And I hope that he and I will enjoy at least ten, twenty, _thirty_ years more!"

"Good," Auntie Alicia said.

Rex, who hadn't known whether to hide or brazen it out, stared at her.

Even Winston seemed a little nonplussed. "I beg your pardon. What did you say?"

"I said _good_," Auntie Alicia repeated. "It's about time that Rex admitted what we've always known."

"What…" Rex was having trouble getting his head around today's events. "You've always known?!"

"Oh, Rex," she sighed. "I'm old, not stupid, and there's nothing wrong with my sight or hearing. It's always been obvious that you two care for each other as more than roommates… Winston," she cocked an amused eyebrow in the draftsman's direction, "never made it a secret about who he was, and I had hoped that eventually you would be honest about who you were too."

"I… erm…" Rex did his best to pull himself together. "Thank you, Auntie," he said giving her a chaste kiss. "So, you don't mind?"

"So long as you're happy I don't mind in the slightest," she told him, and her eyes twinkled. "How about a kiss for Auntie Alicia, Winston?"

"Mon petite," Winston gushed. "I don't mind if I do." And he gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "And just for being such a sweetie, I'll bring you back a trinket from our holiday."

"Holiday!" Rex grabbed his partner by his arm, swinging him around so that they were facing each other. "Let's not go to Paris for a holiday!"

Winston, who'd been looking forward to the trip since Rex had suggested it, felt his face fall. "Why?"

"Let's not make it a holiday. Let's make it our honeymoon! Marry me, Winston!"

Winston, who for once in his life had been rendered speechless, was saved from having to make a suitable response when his workmates, who'd been eavesdropping while trying to pretend that they weren't, let out a cheer that was loud enough to make every head in the hall turn in their direction.

"Say yes, Winston."

"You can't resist a proposal like that, Winston."

"Who'll give you away, Winston?"

Auntie Alicia was smirking again. "You've been asked a question, Winston. Don't you think you should make my nephew a happy man?"

Winston found his tongue. "Yes, Rex. Nothing would make me happier."

Hamish Mickelson, glad that there was one bright spot in this otherwise miserable day, was one of the first to acknowledge the newly engaged couple. Extending his un-bandaged hand for a congratulatory handshake, and with a broad, genuine, smile, he said: "On behalf of Aeronautical Component Engineering, I'd like to wish both of you a long and happy life together."

Winston's smile was even bigger. "Thank you, Mr M!"

Across the room Greg Harrison saw Lisa, Butch and Ginny re-enter the hall. "Come here!" he yelled, indicating that they should hurry closer with an excited sweep of his arm. "We've got good news!"

Butch's face lit up. "Good news? 'bou' Virgil?"

"Virgil?" Rex frowned. "Virgil who?"

"Don't worry about that," Mickelson interrupted, not wanting to spoil the moment. "Tell them your news."

Winston attempted to retrieve the _joie de vivre _that he'd lost at the mention of his workmate's name. "Rexy has…" he hesitated. "Tell them Rex," he teased.

"No, you tell them. They're your colleagues."

Winston regained his impish twinkle. "I don't think they'll be interested."

The Crumps were astonished to realise that Rex, whose usual appearance was as dry and brown as his occupation, looked pink, excited and appeared as willing to play as his partner. "Oh, well. In that case…" He mimed locking his lips shut.

"Will ya both stop teasin'!" Butch demanded. "Whatsya news?"

"Please," Lisa agreed. "We need to hear some good news. There hasn't been much today."

Winston put his arm about Rex and pulled him close. "Rexy asked me to marry him."

There was a split second as his words sunk in. Then, with a "that's wonderful!" Lisa wrapped Winston in a big hug.

"Congrachalashuns," Butch enthused, the bones in Rex's hand creaking as he pumped it up and down, nearly breaking the other man's arm. "That's primo news!" He gave Winston a friendly thump on the shoulder that sent the draftsman staggering backwards and aggravated already existing bruises. "I 'ope ya'll be as 'appy as Lisa an' I been."

Winston beamed. "I'm sure we shall be." He grabbed a nearby chair and, holding it out for Rex's Auntie Alicia, suggested that she sit down. Then he reclaimed his seat on the floor, Rex noting that he did so with some care.

The accountant took his fiancé's hand. "What happened to you?"

Winston tried to remain upbeat as he gave a dramatic recitation of the morning's events. "So, Olivia and I were pulled from the collapsing building by one of those heavenly men of International Rescue. They're nearly as sexy in their uniform as Alan Tracy in his racing gear."

His comment was received with varying degrees of hilarity. Hamish, although he joined in, was sure that his laugh sounded forced, while Butch started to talk loudly about the weather outside.

"I suppose International Rescue have left to rescue some other poor soul?" Rex asked.

All hilarity ceased. People's smiles disappeared as quickly as they'd arrived.

"Rex…" Winston lost his good humour. "They're still at ACE."

"Still at ACE?" Rex looked around, trying to take a mental roll call of those present. "Why?"

"They had to rescue Butch, Bruce, Mr Watts…" Winston saddened. "…and Virgil."

"'M gonna get a coffee." Butch lumbered to his feet. "Anyone want one?"

Most of the group were caffeinated out and declined his offer.

"Virgil?" Rex asked, having placed an order for something unsweetened for himself and with milk and two sugars for Auntie Alicia. "You can't be talking about Virgil Tracy, can you? I thought he hadn't worked for ACE for years."

"He started back at ACE this morning," Winston explained.

"International Rescue must have got Butch out all right." Rex looked across to where the big man was waiting in a long queue. "But," he made another roll call realising some faces were missing. "What about the others?"

"Bruce and Mr Watts are getting further medical treatment," Winston explained, "but they're going to be okay."

"And Virgil…?"

There was a cocoon of silence in the midst of the bedlam of a hall full of refugees.

-F-A-B-

Scott, thinking that they'd been hit by another earthquake as the roar assaulted his ears, threw his body over Virgil to protect him as best he could. The blast-blankets billowed inwards against them as the first concussive blast was followed by another, and then another, in a domino reaction which sent each wall crashing down and dust and debris flying.

He heard shouts through the speakers in his hood. "Scott… Scott! Are you all right?"

He sat back up, his first concern for the figure who'd been beneath him. "How's Virgil, Thunderbird Five?" He searched for a physically reassuring pulse.

"There was a slight fluctuation to some of his readings," Alan responded, "but otherwise no deterioration. What happened?"

"Gravity." It was John who responded. "The walls have collapsed."

They heard the alarm in Alan's response. "Which way did they fall?"

"The way we wanted. Scott's plan worked."

Scott had found the pulse at his brother's throat. "Virgil must have heard the noise when the walls collapsed."

"He heard it?!"

"Yes. I'm going to have to send him deeper."

"Deeper?" Gordon echoed. "But he's unconscious. How could he hear it?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure I felt him flinch when the first wall went. I don't want to give him too much, so let me know if there are any changes to his stats, Thunderbird Five."

Alan glued his eyes to the screen. "F-A-B."

"Do you want me to come in there and give you a hand?"

"No, Firefly. Keep clear."

Jeff Tracy listened to his sons' conversation with mixed feelings. That was one threat that had been dealt with, but there were, he knew, many more that they'd need to face before this ordeal was over.

"Move in, Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B."

Once again grabs snaked down from beneath the great, green aeroplane; this time grasping hold of the pivot points that supported the furnace. Another two wrapped themselves around the body of the crucible, welding themselves to the metal surface.

"Ready to lift clear."

Scott stood by, waiting to pump more liquids into the almost lifeless body, although he doubted that, with the weight of the roofing beam still crushing the victim, they'd be needed at this stage. "Lift away, Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B."

The cables supporting the grabs took up the slack.

"Lifting clear."

The crucible furnace started to move.

During the intervening hours since the last big 'quake the crucible had been resting at an angle, with the liquid metal cooling against the anterior surface. It was therefore off balance when Gordon and Thunderbird Two finally lifted the furnace clear. It swung forward…

Straight towards two unprotected Tracys.

This time self-preservation overrode fraternal protection and Scott dove to the side, hoping that some body part wouldn't connect with the slowly swinging hot metal ball.

There was a roar by his head and something metallic flashed in front of his startled eyes before all was quiet and still.

"Are you all right, Scott!?"

"Yeah…" Cautiously Scott levered himself up onto his arms so he could look around. The Firefly's blade was inches above his nose with the crucible furnace caught in its scoop. He swallowed in an effort to keep his voice steady. "How's Virgil?"

"No change," Alan responded.

Scott couldn't quite believe it… or his brother's quick actions. "Thanks, John."

"Nothin' wrong with my head," was the smug reply. "Lift away, Gordon. I'm supporting the furnace and I'll keep it out of harm's way until it's clear."

"F-A-B."

At Thunderbird Two's controls, Gordon retracted the cables that were lifting the crucible furnace. He'd got a heck of a fright when the furnace had moved laterally, and he had nearly overcompensated for the change to Two's centre of balance. It was only years of practise in the simulator and Thunderbird Two's own computers that had prevented a bad situation from being much worse. This was something he'd have to admit when they had their debriefing after this was all over, but for now…

The Firefly's blade continued to support the uneven weight until it was clear of where the roof used to be, and the full load had been transferred to International Rescue's transporter aeroplane. Gordon pulled back on the control yoke, Thunderbird Two gained height, and the metal ball that had reminded Virgil of Medusa, the goddess who killed men with just one look, was removed from its compound and laid to rest in a rift, where it sat like a harmless bowl of steaming soup.

The air in what remained of the building was noticeably cooler.

Scott took advantage of the reduction in temperature to flip off his hood and take a breath of fresh air. Then he did the same to the unconscious victim lying on the ground.

Virgil's face was grey… almost colourless.

Scott felt down his brother's… the victim's sides to try and clarify the extent of his injuries. That there was a massive amount of compression to the lower torso there was no doubt, but…

He adjusted the angle of the microphone so that his voice could be heard by the rest of the team. "I think something's supporting the beam…"

"Supporting the beam?" He heard John's voice. "What?"

"I don't know. I just know the full weight's not on him. There _might_ still be some circulation in his lower extremities."

"Brains?" Grandma turned to the scientist. "What will that mean?"

"It means that things might not be as, ah, bad as we fear, Mrs Tracy." Brains saw hope in her eyes. "But there are still many unknown variables. Without all the facts I am u-unwilling to give a prognosis."

"Okay, Team," those in the lounge on Tracy Island heard Scott say. "This is it. Lower the grabs, Thunderbird Two."

"Lowering away…"

This time Scott assisted in the placement of the grabs, checking and double-checking that each one had fired in a securing bolt and that there was absolutely no chance that any could slip.

"Want me to act as a guide again?" John asked.

"I'm leaving nothing to chance," he was told. "Move in, Firefly."

John inched the mighty caterpillar tracks forward and lowered the blade until it was barely millimetres above Virgil's torso and was lightly resting against the concrete beam. "In position."

"Ready, Thunderbird Two?"

"Ready, Scott."

"Administering more fluids… Let me know if there's any deterioration, Thunderbird Five."

"F-A-B."

"Lift when ready, Thunderbird Two."

"Lifting…"

As Jeff listened he marvelled at the professionalism of his sons. They all were more than aware that what they were doing could mean the death of their brother, yet they were proceeding calmly, coolly, and with no hesitations or doubts.

He waited…

They all waited…

Waited for word…

When word came, it came in the form of two words.

Quiet words. Words said without elation, euphoria or joy. Nor did they display depression, despondency, or desolation. Those two words were said without any trace of emotion.

"He's alive."

Jeff felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders at the same time as that last obstacle. It wasn't over, not by a long way, but his son still had a slim chance, and that was all that mattered.

Back at ACE, John had grabbed a hover-stretcher and had leapt from the Firefly the instant the concrete beam was clear of the building. He'd run to where Scott was applying what medical aid he could. "Is he stable?"

"Seems to be." To try to prevent haemorrhaging from what had to be some serious wounds hidden beneath the silver material and to stabilise the injured limbs, Scott was inflating the built-in pressure packs in the lower half of the fire-suit.

"Ready to move him?"

"Almost… Send down the elevator car, Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B."

"Let Bearston know we're on the way, Thunderbird Five."

"F-A-B."

The hover-stretcher was gently placed beneath the victim. It was allowed to rise up to waist height, and was guided into the waiting elevator car…

-F-A-B-

"There's a Thunderbird coming!"

Word spread like wildfire throughout the hall at Bearston. People surged for the doors in an effort to see one of International Rescue's fantastic aircraft. The members of ACE forgot their manners and pushed through the crowd, desperate to know if their friend and co-worker had survived.

A giant green aeroplane landed in a playing field over the road. A waiting ambulance drove closer and stopped. A door opened in the Thunderbird's fuselage and two silver-clad men pushed a stretcher surrounded by various pieces of equipment outside. A third joined them at the stretcher and handed across some papers as the stretcher's occupant was passed over to the care of the ambulance crew. The ambulance was loaded with the patient and his new carers and drove the short distance to the hospital.

Hamish Mickelson watched the proceedings in silence… Wondering if he should make a call…

-F-A-B-

Knowing there was nothing more they could do, the three men of International Rescue watched as the ambulance drove away. It disappeared around the side of the hospital. Taking the victim… their brother… away out of sight.

And still they didn't move.

Finally, Scott spoke up. "Let's get out of here."

No one said anything until they were on Thunderbird Two's flight deck.

Gordon pushed the hood of his fire-suit out of the way and stared at the empty pilot's seat. "I hope he makes it."

"We did our best." John tried to sound reassuring and failed. "At least no one's going to think he's a member of International Rescue."

"And the hospital's got the information Uncle Hamish gave me."

"I wonder when they'll contact Dad. Do you think he'll wait for us before he flies out?"

Scott strode over to the communications console. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five…" Alan's voice sounded flat.

"Are our services needed anywhere else?"

Gordon and John looked at each other.

"Huh…? Ah… Yeah. There's a 23-storey building on the other side of town." Alan's surprise had reverted to professionalism. "The elevators are out of action and the stairwell's collapsed. There's a group of about 25 people trapped on the 13th floor. Most of the rescue services are busy elsewhere and those that did respond can't get close enough to help. There are concerns that, if there's a major aftershock, the building's not going to hold."

"Okay, Thunderbird Five," Scott responded. "Tell them we're on the way."

"F-A-B."

"And you'd better let base know."

"F-A-B."

With no comment and wishing that her regular pilot was there to take control, Gordon slipped into Thunderbird Two's pilot's seat and ignited the engines.

-F-A-B-

"…they're going to rescue them."

The occupants of the lounge of the Tracy Island villa listened to Alan's recitation.

"Thank you, Alan," his father responded. "Ah… Did they say anything about Virgil's condition?"

"Negative. You know as much as I do."

"All right. If you hear anything let us know and we'll do the same."

"F-A-B. Thunderbird Five out."

Alan's static photograph looked sombrely down on them.

"You should go and get him, Jeff."

Jeff looked up from where he was contemplating his desk. "Go and get who?"

"Alan of course. You can co-ordinate things just as well from Thunderbird Three and we can redirect any calls about Virgil to you. With any luck by the time you've returned from Thunderbird Five, the rest of the boys will be back here and then we can all fly out together."

Jeff took a moment to consider what she'd said. Then he nodded. "Right. Are you coming with me, Brains?"

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

-F-A-B-

The surgeon bent over his patient as he had been for hours. His gown, the swabs and instruments on the nearby tray, the bag draining into and those draining out of the patient, and the patient himself, would have conspired to send Butch Crump into a long-term coma.

The surgeon sucked in air through his surgical mask and past his teeth. "A nasty injury," he muttered, and felt down by the patient's ankle. "No Tibialis posterior," his hand shifted, "or Dorsalis pedis pulse…" He frowned. "The leg's dead." He looked up at his assistants. "We'll have to amputate."

His theatre staff, well trained in such situations, had the necessary equipment ready for him in seconds.

"This young man's going to have to make a few adjustments in his life," one of the staff commented. "So will his family."

The surgeon had already noted how his patient's musculature showed that this was someone with an active lifestyle. "At least he's alive. He'll just have to learn how to live without his leg," he noted, suturing what remained of the aforementioned limb. "Time, and his attitude to the loss, will tell what he will and won't be able to do." Then he straightened, stretched, and looked across the table. "Finish for me, Glass. I'm going to take a break."

Glass did as she was bid.

The surgeon took advantage of his brief break to disrobe and retire to a nearby room. A cup of coffee had been thoughtfully placed on his desk and he enjoyed its flavour for a moment before switching his brain back on.

Leaning back in his chair, he groaned. He'd been on his feet for what seemed to be hours; which it had been. He'd done his normal duties yesterday, been called in for an emergency operation on a car v lamppost victim at some ungodly hour, and then been run off his feet since the earthquake at 8:38 this morning.

He shrugged off his tiredness and turned to face the three screens of his computer. The first screen listed patients who the triage team had decreed needed surgical assistance, but were able to wait. The second consisted of patients who needed urgent help, but not immediately at death's door. As he watched, one of the names on the first screen disappeared, reappearing on the second.

The third screen was made up of an extensive list of those patients for whom the triage team had decided needed immediate help… If not sooner.

A new name appeared at the top of the list and the surgeon clicked on it so he could study the victim's details, skipping over the man's name, occupation, and next of kin. He knew this would be the most recent arrival at the hospital, but that didn't mean that this patient would jump to the head of the queue or be relegated to the bottom. It was over to him as to which of these faceless entities on the computer before him would be operated on next.

He read the file. Someone had typed _brought in by International Rescue_ across the top, as if this benediction would in some way aid the recovery of the patient.

The surgeon grunted. International Rescue or no International Rescue, the extent of this man's injuries meant that he was probably going straight to the bottom of this list. This man was the most seriously wounded to arrive at Bearston, and had probably only survived the journey thanks to International Rescue's speed. Regular medical crews wouldn't have risked transporting anyone as seriously ill all the way to the neighbouring city.

To save this victim of the earthquake so that the patient would have a good quality of life would mean many hours work, to the possible detriment of others. Wishing the promised reinforcements would arrive and take some of the heat off him and that further theatres would appear out of thin air to accommodate them, the surgeon continued reading.

This was where life and death decisions were made. Should he work on this one individual, who potentially wouldn't make it, when he could be working on two or more others who at least had a chance of survival?

Then the surgeon read further. The patient was stable. He'd been administered first aid a relatively short interval after he'd been crushed. His vital signs, while not good, weren't desperately bad. He'd suffered some dehydration, but that had been counteracted by the administration of liquids. He'd received adequate care as the weight had been lifted off his body. He had been brought to the medical facilities minutes after he'd been released…

The surgeon thought and entered a few notes into the computer demanding that this patient be maintained on a blood filtering machine, that he undergo a full range of x-rays and scans, and that all be done to sustain life until after the next operation was completed. Then, and only then, would the surgeon make the decision as to whether this was a life that could be saved…

And whether the attempt to save it would be made.

As he clicked on the next name in the triage list he mused that maybe the name International Rescue had some influence after all…

-F-A-B-

Alan received notification that he would be relieved of his duties with surprise. He'd assumed that it would happen, just not when International Rescue were in the middle of a job. Not that Thunderbird Two's crew needed him. There was no information that he could feed them that would be relevant to pulling those trapped from out of the building. Nonetheless he radioed Gordon. "I'll be off air soon."

"Off air?" Gordon carefully threaded Thunderbird Two between the high-rise buildings that sprouted up from the concrete jungle below. "Why?"

"Dad's coming to get me. He's hoping that we'll arrive back at the same time as you and then we'll all be able to fly to Bearston together."

"Is Bearston airfield available?"

"Not yet, but it may be by the time we leave Tracy Island. Wherever we land, Lady Penelope's going to pick us up us in FAB1 and take us to the hospital."

"That'll be more comfortable than a cab."

John, back in his uniform, entered the flight deck. "What's more comfortable than a cab?"

"FAB1. Penny's going to pick us up from the nearest airfield and take us to Bearston."

"Are Dad and Grandma flying out now?"

It was Alan who responded to John's question. "No. Dad and Brains have just launched Thunderbird Three. We'll all be flying out together."

"Good. I think I'd prefer that."

Scott entered the flight deck. Like John, he'd changed into his uniform. "Any word from the hospital?"

Alan shook his head. "If Dad's heard anything he hasn't had the chance to let us know."

Gordon indicated the building ahead and below them. "We're here. Let us know if you hear anything, Alan."

"Will do."

"Right…" Scott nudged his newly reacquired sash back into place. "John. You and I will go down in the elevator car and cut through a window. Then I'll remain behind while you take the first load up to Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B."

"Better hope there aren't any major aftershocks," Gordon said. "Those buildings are mighty close together. I'm not going to have much leeway."

"You'll be fine, Gordon," John reassured him. "Just keep her steady"

"I'll keep her as steady as Thunderbird Four cruising on a windless day," Gordon promised.

John and Scott looked at each other. They had a feeling that the promise hadn't been directed at them.

They left the flight deck.

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Three. Prepared for launch."

Jeff Tracy heard Tin-Tin's voice in reply. "Thunderbird Three. You are cleared for launch."

Being an astronaut himself, Jeff had had a large say in the design of Thunderbird Three's control systems, and he'd often maintained his skill levels by having practise flights in the simulator, but still he had taken his time in preparing for this flight. He wasn't convinced that he was at the top of his game and he didn't want to take any chances.

He pushed forward on a lever and Thunderbird Three blasted off towards space.

-F-A-B-

They watched as the windows of the high-rise flashed by. Most of those windows, made as they were of safety materials, had held, but occasionally they passed one whose frame had been unable to withstand the forces the 'quakes had inflicted on it.

John watched his brother from out of the corner of his eye. He was desperate to know if Scott had any inkling of Virgil's condition, but he decided that that question could, and should, wait until this rescue was over and he could enquire in his role of worried brother… Not that of a worried member of International Rescue.

Equally worried faces slid up into view and Scott threw the lever that slowed and then stopped the elevator, adhering it to the external wall of the building. "Step away from the window!" he shouted, making the appropriate gesture in case those trapped couldn't hear him.

The brothers saw those inside the building, talking amongst themselves, step back.

"You're bottom right, up, and left," Scott instructed, clipping a cable to the framework of the elevator car and applying what appeared to be a suction cup to the pane of glass. "I'm top left, down and right."

"Understood," John acknowledged. He unslung his glass-cutter from his shoulder, pointed it at the bottom right corner of the window frame, sparked it into life, and started moving it upwards.

The glass melted, leaving a vertical glowing line as he moved his cutter upwards; Scott's making a similar mark downwards on the other side of the pane. He reached the top and started cutting horizontally to the left, Scott already moving in the other direction.

They finished their cuts where the other had started. Pulling on the cable, and using the handle on the suction cup, they removed the pane and placed it out of harm's way on the back wall of the car. Then they repeated the process on the interior pane, removing this one by pushing it into the room. It landed flat on the carpet with a solid bang and a small dust storm.

Eager to leave, the crowd inside surged forward.

"Stay where you are," Scott instructed as, with John's assistance, he affixed a gate to the opening they'd just created. Then he unclipped his safety harness, opened the gate, and stepped into the building. "Right," he announced. "We're going to have to make two trips."

There was a nervous laugh from the back of the group. "Women and children first?"

"It's as good a selection process as any," Scott agreed noting the roughly 50/50 gender split. "Any children here?"

He wasn't surprised that there weren't any, so he indicated that the woman closest to the window should board. She did this with obvious relief, as John held the gate open for her and then closed it again as he waited for the next evacuee to arrive.

"Can Simon go in the first group?" one of the ladies asked. "He has a heart condition. I'll wait."

"That won't be necessary." Scott had done a headcount and had decided that the slight gender imbalance meant that the first trip wouldn't be a ladies only affair. He stood aside and let the man board the elevator car.

Ten minutes later and the car was full. John closed the gate for the last time, slid a similar barrier across the front of the elevator car, and unconnected it from the wall. "Lift away, Thunderbird Two."

"_F-A-B."_

Scott turned back to the waiting men. "Thank you for your patience."

One of them managed a grin. "With the phones out, we thought no one knew we were here until one of the cops painted _helps coming _on the road down below. We never dreamed it was going to be International Rescue who would save us…"

Once again, the earth decided to lurch into life.

The elevator car, at the level of the 21st floor, had to deal with shockwaves rising from the earth below and an oscillating building almost crashing into it. The building swayed back millimetres before it smashed into the car, released its pent-up energy and rebounded with more force, knocking the suspended capsule and sending its occupants crashing to the floor.

John, expecting the fallout from the quake, grabbed the handrail and maintained his footing. The rest of his passengers screamed and yelled as they fell to the floor and on top of one another. Simon, the man with the heart condition, paled and grabbed his chest as the elevator car gave another lurch and seemed to cannon back into the swaying building's wall.

John grabbed the microphone. "Get us out of here, Thunderbird Two!"

Thunderbird Two was trying, Gordon was tempted to say, but he was dealing with what appeared to be a large, heavy pendulum that had suddenly come to life beneath him and was destabilising Two's balance and aerodynamics. He watched as the gyro swayed back the other way and Two's port wing dipped. "Virgil! If you can hear me in any way, shape, or form, I could do with your help here!" The port wing flew skywards, and Two's nose dropped before her tail sank and the port wing dropped again.

Gordon decided that if Virgil had heard him in any way, shape, or form, he wasn't responding.

Inside the building the amount of sway wasn't as bad for those on the 13th floor as it was up at the 21st, but there was still enough force in the quake to knock the room's occupants off their feet. Scott, closest to the gaping hole that he and John had cut only moments earlier, found himself thrown toward that 13 storey drop. He was saved when he hit the gate, which ricocheted him back into the room. He had reached out to grab a desk to save himself from the building's second murderous assault when something fell…

There was a roar from the stairwell when the steps from the higher floors disintegrated and collapsed down into the hole vacated by the initial earthquake. On the floor above, non-load bearing walls disengaged from their foundations and hit the floor, sending dust and flakes of walling and plaster falling onto the men vainly trying to protect themselves from being slammed by anything loose or tossed out of the hole.

And then it was quiet.

Thunderbird Two was the first to recover as her computers analysed the oscillations of the elevator car below and compensated for the sway.

As things settled down Gordon let out a breath. He'd had little to do with the development of the aerial Thunderbirds, (aside from assisting with Thunderbird Two where it related to Thunderbird Four), but something at the back of his mind told him that the complex calculations that were going on in Two's brain, those that were stopping her impersonation of her sister submarine, were, if not his brother's work, then at least his brother's idea.

"Thanks, Virg."

"_Elevator car to Thunderbird Two."_

"Thunderbird Two. Receiving."

"_Need immediate medical assistance. Possible heart attack victim."_

"Understood. Retrieving elevator car." Gordon leant on the lever again and the pendulum below, barely swaying now, rose upward until it disappeared inside the Thunderbird.

On the 13th floor everyone took their time to reassure themselves that they were unhurt, and to regain their footing.

"Hey!" Alarmed one of the office workers leant over a man who was still sitting on the floor.

Scott gritted his teeth. He didn't think that today could get much worse, but it had. Maybe not to the extent of their earlier troubles, but enough to make him think that some malicious god was punishing him for some unknown past misdeed. He held his left hand, which bore the imprint of a hefty sticky tape dispenser that had been jiggled out of a drawer that had slipped open at the moment that he'd grabbed for the desk's leg.

Surely today couldn't get any worse?

He wriggled his fingers, glad to see that nothing was broken.

"Let me get some ice for that," the man suggested, hurrying over to a small fridge that had departed from its alcove under a bench top and had died halfway across the room. Despite the lack of power, the icepack that the man retrieved was cold enough to offer a barrier against the bruising that was already forming.

"Thanks," Scott said, and got to his feet, reflecting that his solar plexus felt like it had been kicked with a steel toe-capped boot and that his legs were going to be as colourful as his hand – all courtesy of International Rescue's lifesaving gate. He didn't know whether to thank it or repay it in kind.

Instead he found his microphone. "Calling Thunderbird Two."

"_Thunderbird Two,"_ Gordon told him. _"Receiving."_

"Did everyone survive that quake?"

"_Most are shaken, but unharmed."_ Gordon's voice was impassive._ "We've got one suspected heart attack."_

Scott frowned as he heard gasps, murmurings, and the probable victim's name muttered around him. Okay, so this day could get worse. "Do you need to evacuate the victim immediately?"

There was a moment's silence as Gordon conferred with John. _"Sorry. I've just received an update. Victim has had a suspected angina attack. Medication has been administered and he appears stable."_

"Good. Get him settled and send the elevator car down again. We don't want to be here for the next aftershock and we need to get him to treatment."

"F-A-B."

John, requesting and receiving immediate obedience from the first load of evacuees, had them sitting, strapped into their seats, in the passenger hold. He'd sent the elevator car back down unattended and then escorted Simon to Thunderbird Two's sickbay.

The second evacuation proceeded without incident and he was joined by International Rescue's Rescue Coordinator.

Scott was holding something against the back of his hand. "Got an icepack?"

"What happened?" John noted the site of the injury and got his brother a cooling glove.

"Mother Nature happened," Scott growled as he allowed the glove to be slipped over his left hand. He sat down and winced.

That, and the stiff manner that Scott had been walking, suggested to John that he'd received more than just a bruised hand. "Any other injuries?"

"Just a whole heap more bruises," he was told. "Nothing major."

Holding out several more icepacks, John made no comment.

"_Thunderbird Two to passenger hold and sickbay,"_ the intercom blared. _"Preparing to land. Please return to your seats and strap yourselves in."_

Scott, cooling packs against his abdomen and thighs, and John did as they were told and Thunderbird Two landed in a city far away from Bearston and earthquakes.

_To be continued…_

_At this point I'm going to ask you all to accept my apologies, as I won't be able to upload any more chapters until Sunday next week at the earliest. I hope you find some consolation in the fact that I could have left you hanging from a higher cliff than I have. ;-)_

_FAB_

:-) _Purupuss_


	17. Chapter 17

Thunderbird One's pilot, unaffected by the bruising to the back of his left hand or his lower torso, even if they meant he felt every movement he made, was the first to arrive back at Tracy Island.

He was met by his grandmother. "Scott…"

Her eldest grandson barely acknowledged her as he pushed past and retreated to his room.

She was about to follow when the videophone on Jeff's desk chimed a chord. Checking the screen, she read the name of the caller. _Hamish Mickelson._

She pushed a button and the name disappeared to be replaced by the words _Sound only selected_, making her think he was on his mobile. "Hello, Hamish."

For once he didn't indulge in the usual pleasantries. "Is Jeff there?"

"No, he's…" Grandma hesitated, wondering how much she should say. "He's gone to get Alan. I can transfer you if you like?"

"No, better leave him. Have you heard anything?"

"Nothing official." She could hear chattering noises in the background and assumed that he was unable to speak freely.

"Ah… I'm only assuming that it was Virgil, but International Rescue brought someone on a stretcher to Bearston an hour ago. I would have called right away, but I thought it would be better if someone official contacted you to confirm that it was him."

Grandma resisted confirming that it was her grandson's broken body who'd been handed over to the medical establishment.

"I had assumed that you would have heard from someone by now."

"I suppose that the authorities are too busy to call relatives."

"Seeing the pandemonium that's going on here, you're probably right," he agreed. "That's why I thought I'd ring; in case no one had contacted you, so that you could fly out."

"We will as soon as Jeff, Alan, John, and Gordon arrive."

"Scott's at home?"

Grandma glanced towards the door her grandson had stalked through. "Yes."

"Well," Hamish Mickelson had the air of someone who wanted to be able to do more but wasn't sure what that could be. "If I can be of service, please, let me know."

"We will, Hamish. And thank you. I'll ask Jeff to contact you when he has news."

"Thank you… Ah… Give my best to everyone."

Mrs Tracy disconnected the call and decided that she needed to check on her eldest grandson. A plan that was thwarted when the videophone rang again.

This time there was nothing to identify the caller.

A chill running down her spine, she answered the call.

"Ah… Is that the home of…" the caller hesitated as if she were refreshing her memory, "Jefferson Tracy?"

The chill did another lap of Grandma's backbone. "It is."

"Would it be possible to speak with him?"

"Who is this?" If Grandma sounded rude, she didn't care. If this person had any news about Virgil's condition she was going to transfer them to her son straight away. If it wasn't she intended to clear the line so that it was free for that anticipated call.

"Erm… My name is Kae Wellington. I work with the surgical team at…"

"This is about Virgil, isn't it." Grandma's interruption was a statement, not a question.

"Ah… Yes… Yes, it is."

"I'll put you through to Jeff."

Grandma punched the necessary buttons and then collapsed into the chair that was the hub of International Rescue.

She was still sitting there when Thunderbird Two arrived home.

-F-A-B-

Figuring that; aside from the fact that this was his Thunderbird and controlling Thunderbird Three would give Alan something do, rather than mull over unanswered questions; Jeff had relinquished control to his son as soon as the spaceship had docked with Thunderbird Five. The downside to this act of generosity was that this left Jeff with more thinking time than he wanted.

He'd wondered how his youngest would react when they arrived. He was therefore somewhat surprised and more than a little relieved when, after a greeting that seemed as normal as if his father collected him from the space station every day, Alan had entered the code that transferred control of Thunderbird Five to Tracy Island, picked up his bag, said "let's go," and left.

Brains had kept himself to himself.

Since then things had been quiet on board Thunderbird Three. That was until they received a signal that Jeff was receiving an incoming call on his mobile phone.

Wanting somewhere well away from the hubbub and potential unmasking of International Rescue, he escaped to the passenger lift, aware that two pairs of eyes were watching him as the doors closed behind him. "Jeff Tracy speaking."

The door's pinged open on the crews' quarters as he heard the response. "Mr Tracy? My name is Kae Wellington. I, ah… I'm afraid that I have some bad news…"

Jeff interrupted her speech. "It's about Virgil, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

"I've spoken to the General Manager of where he worked, and he's told me about Virgil's accident." Jeff took a breath. "How bad is it?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Tracy, but I don't have any details. I was requested to ring you and let you know that Virgil has been admitted to Bearston General Hospital. You probably have more information than I do, Mr Tracy."

Jeff took a breath. "But he's still alive? Virgil's alive?"

"That is the information I have, Mr Tracy."

Jeff let the breath out. "Thank you. I'm waiting for three of my sons to return from work and then my family will fly out to Bearston together."

"The airport is closed to non-essential commercial and private traffic, Mr Tracy." Jeff wished Ms Wellington would stop wearing out his name and then chided himself for feeling uncharitable towards someone who had an unenviable task. He wouldn't want her job; ringing strangers to give them bad news and little else.

"In that case we'll make other arrangements," he assured her. "Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"No, Mr Tracy."

"Thank you, Ms Wellington. I appreciate your call."

"I wish I could offer you more, Mr Tracy. Goodbye, Mr Tracy."

Jeff heard the relief in her voice. "Goodbye, Ms Wellington."

Unaware that she'd been talking to a spacecraft approaching planet Earth, Ms Wellington rung off.

Jeff stared at his phone for a moment; then he pulled himself together.

It was Alan who spoke first when he reached the flight deck. "Well?"

"Well, I've just been given official notification that Virgil's been admitted and nothing else. But at least we can fly out to the States without raising suspicion once the boys return to base."

"We've just received word," Alan indicated the radio. "Thunderbirds One and Two are home."

"Good. Is Scott prepping the jet?"

"Ah, no…" Alan looked troubled. "Tin-Tin's already done it and John and Gordon are double-checking it just for something to do. Grandma says Scott arrived home and walked past her as if she wasn't there."

"Where is he?"

"She says she thinks he's in his room."

"Has he had anything to eat?"

"It didn't sound like it…" Alan checked his console. "Buckle up. We're approaching re-entry."

-F-A-B-

In fact, it was only John who'd intended to make the checks, and that was after he'd got changed into something more suitable for visiting a public facility and had a word to his grandmother. "Have we heard from the hospital yet?"

"I think so. I've just put the call through to your father…" Mrs Tracy looked downcast. "This is just like Gordon all over again, isn't it?"

"No, it's not." John put his arms about his grandmother and held her protectively. "This time we were involved."

"Oh, John…"

But John didn't want any sympathy. "Cheer up. Virgil's made it this far. He's not going to give up without a fight. We've got to remember that and keep positive." He remembered a promise. "Where's Scott?"

"I think he's in his room, but I'm not sure. He walked straight past me without a word."

"He didn't stop off to get something to eat?"

"No."

John bit his lip and looked towards the door that led to the family's private living space, not sure if he had any idea what to say to his elder brother. He decided that Virgil wouldn't expect him to keep his promise so soon. "I think I'll leave him alone for a bit and go and help Gordon." He gave Grandma a kiss on the cheek. "Let me know when you hear from Dad."

Scott had made a detour, but it wasn't to the expected kitchen to pilfer a snack. His detour had been to Virgil's quarters, where he'd stood for a moment wondering why he was there. Then he'd picked up Virgil's pillow, collected something from his brother's desk, and had made the journey to his own bedroom.

Now he lay on his bed, hugging the pillow, with no idea what he hoped to achieve by doing so, and staring at the ceiling. He'd already got changed; dressing in the clothes that his grandmother had laid out for him for want of something constructive to do while she had waited for news.

And now that was all any of them could do: wait.

Scott rubbed his bruised abdomen before pulling the pillow close again, burying his sore hand in its downy cushioning.

John found Gordon in Thunderbird Two's hangar, methodically and ponderously going through the checklist of things that had to be done after each flight. "Do you want me to do that while you go and get changed?"

"No." Gordon looked haunted. "I've got to do this."

John understood. "How about if I continue while you get changed? If I've finished when you can come back, you can pick up where you left off, and double-check that I've done everything correctly. That way if Thunderbird Three arrives back and we head for the States before you've finished here, you can leave her," he patted Thunderbird Two, "with a clear conscience."

Gordon didn't hand over the checklist.

John tried again. "While you're getting changed, you might like to think about what you want to take with you to do," he recommended. "Prior experience tells me that we'll probably have aeons of waiting ahead of us."

"Prior experience being waiting for me to wake up out of a coma?"

"Yes."

Gordon considered the suggestions but didn't leave. "Scott's hurt his hand…" He looked at his brother. "His left one."

John felt a chill. "I know."

"Something crushed it."

"I know."

"And other bruises… It's as if he's trying to feel what Virgil's feeling."

"I don't think that's his intention."

"But that's what's happened every other time, isn't it?" Gordon looked down. "Scott breaks his arm and Virgil gets an infection in the same spot. Virgil burns his hands and Scott gets friction burns. And now…" He gave an obvious shiver. "It gives me the creeps."

"Me too. I hate to think what it's like for Scott and Virgil."

Gordon handed John the checklist and, without another word, retired to his room.

It wasn't long after that that Thunderbird Three announced its intention to land back on Earth.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was a quiet and sombre group who made their way to the family jet in preparation for their trip to the States. Scott was the first to board, but rather than heading to the cockpit in the expectation that he'd be piloting, he'd chosen a single seat at the back. He wanted to be alone and he didn't want anyone asking questions that he didn't have the answers to.

The others filed on board.

"Jeff…" Grandma pulled him to one side. "I'm worried about Scott."

He put his arm about her, pulled her close, and kissed her on the temple. "Me too."

"I've just been in Virgil's room…" Seeing her son's surprised look, Grandma continued. "I don't know why. I just thought that maybe he'd need something important to him. Something that he could focus on to inspire him to get better."

"Like Gordon and his medal? What did you have in mind?"

"I didn't have anything in mind, but I thought being in his room might give me some inspiration."

"Did you find anything?"

"No… I'd been in earlier. I thought he might need some things, so I packed a bag for him…" She paused. "I suppose that was silly."

"Let's say premature rather than silly. And…?"

"His bed was made. But when I went in there just now his pillow was gone."

Jeff was surprised. "His pillow?"

Grandma nodded. "So, I peeked into Scott's room and it was there at the foot of his bed."

"How do you know it was Virgil's?"

"It had his smell. You know: engine oil and linseed oil. Scott's room smells of aviation fuel."

Jeff made no comment.

"And I think there was something missing from Virgil's desk. I don't know what, but there was a gap in the detritus."

Normally her description of the clutter that Jeff knew covered his son's workspace would have had Jeff chuckling, but now he creased his forehead in a thoughtful frown. "I don't know what we can do about Scott. It's not as if we can ask anyone for advice."

"No."

"We're going to have to play it by ear and try to help him if he needs it." Jeff went to climb into the plane.

"Jeff…" Grandma held him back. "What if we all need it?"

Jeff Tracy had no answer to that one.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

No one had the answers when they flew into a city 100 kilometres out of Bearston. Jeff had radioed ahead and been told that Bearston's various airfields were still unavailable to non-essential aircraft and so he'd asked Alan, in the co-pilot's seat, to call Lady Penelope and arrange the rendezvous.

That was two hours earlier and now they were walking up the steps to the hospital…

"Mr Tracy!"

Jeff stopped, looking at the figure that had just exited the doors. "Bruce?"

Bruce Sanders, looking fitter than the last time Gordon had seen him, although still pale, and with Olivia keeping a watchful eye on him, hurried over. "If you're here," he looked hopeful, "I guess that means that International Rescue," his eyes flicked over the younger men in the group, "got Virgil out alive?"

Jeff nodded. "But we haven't had any updates on his condition."

"Oh…" Bruce looked like he wanted to say more, but wasn't sure what… or how.

Jeff filled the gap. "I'm glad to see that you're all right, Bruce…" He turned to the young lady almost hiding behind her boyfriend. "Ms Annan."

Olivia turned pink. She wanted to apologise to the people of International Rescue, especially their boss, but now, with people milling around, it didn't seem to be the right time.

Grandma filled in the awkward silence. "How is Cyril?"

"Cy…?" It took a moment for Bruce to switch on his brain. "Oh, Butch! He's fine. Happy now that he's been reunited with Lisa and Ginny. And we've just heard that Mr Watts is going to be okay too. They've transferred him to a private hospital since it's so busy here. Mr Mickelson arranged it. It's only overnight and as a precaution."

They were arrangements that Jeff would have gladly made, and he was pleased that his friend had given assistance to their loyal employee.

"And Rex asked Winston to marry him," Olivia offered, feeling that this group was in need good news. "Winston's accepted and they're going to have their honeymoon in Paris."

Jeff smiled, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Tell them that we all send our congratulations." There were subdued nods of agreement from his family.

"We will… Ah… Give V… I mean…" Bruce stammered. "We hope… That is everyone at ACE hopes…"

Jeff nodded his understanding. "What's your phone number? We'll let you know when we have news."

"I don't have my phone with me." Bruce managed a weak grin. "Company rules."

"I've got mine," Olivia offered. "You've got my number… And Mr Mickelson's. He's still at the hall," she pointed in the direction of the building. "He's making sure ACE is okay. We're heading over there now."

Jeff nodded again. "Thank you, Ms Annan," and was surprised when she rushed forward and gave him a quick embrace.

"Give him our best," she said, and stepped back. "You, ah…" she indicated the front door of the hospital, "you'll be in a hurry to get inside."

Fearing what they were going to discover in there, no one was in a hurry, but they all moved forward, gaining strength in that whatever they were going to face, they were going to face it together.

The reception was packed with people milling around waiting for news or for their pre-planned appointments. By mutual agreement most of the Tracys found a vacant corner where they could stand together; all the seats having been already taken.

Jeff strode up to the reception counter and waited until the receptionist was free to greet him. "My name is Jeff Tracy. My son's been brought here."

She gave him the smile she'd given all the other family members of patients who'd been admitted this fateful day. "Of course. Your son's name is?"

"Virgil… Virgil Tracy… He… I understand he was brought here by International Rescue."

At the name of that fabled organisation her face lit up. "Yes, I saw it! Thunderbird Two!" She pushed a button on her telephone console. A light glowed on the connected headpiece. "The father of the man brought in by International Rescue is here," she told an unknown recipient. She listened and then disconnected the call. "Someone will be along shortly."

Jeff waited.

"Shortly" turned out to be about twenty minutes and he was giving serious consideration to re-joining the family instead of standing at the desk being pushed further and further to one side as more anxious relatives arrived.

Finally, a young woman, wearing nothing to give him any reason to think that she was part of the hospital's staff, approached the desk. The receptionist looked away from someone who was bemoaning the fact that their appointment had been cancelled and that they hadn't been told, long enough to nod in Jeff's direction.

The woman approached him. "Are you Virgil Tracy's father?"

Jeff confirmed her assumption.

"Will you follow me?"

Glad to leave the tortuous environment of the reception with its helpless, worried families, Jeff did he was told.

It was like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

He'd been expecting to walk through a hospital like every other hospital he'd been in; quiet, orderly, with little evidence in the main corridors of the people the building was built to accommodate.

This time he was walking through a hallway of controlled mayhem. Beds, gurneys, stretchers, even comfortable chairs lined both walls and each of these contained someone who needed medical help. The patients, and the equipment that supplied their needs, so filled the corridor that Jeff had to follow behind his guide and all opportunities to ask after Virgil's condition were lost. Different sounds came from everywhere. That of machinery, and the moans and cries of patients. The smells were recognisable and indefinable; from the expected odour of antiseptic, through other less pleasant body smells, to the overall hint of iron.

A man with a mop was disinfecting the floor. Even though the water in his bucket was an ominous pink, he looked cheerful, as if he was trying to say: Don't worry, everything will be all right.

Finally, after several twists and turns, they came to a room behind a closed door. "He's in here," Jeff's guide told him, and left.

Jeff stared at those two blank doors, steeled himself, and pushed them open.

He'd assured himself that no matter how crowded it was in the corridors, these same conditions couldn't apply to the rooms.

He was wrong.

Eight beds lined the walls of a room that gave the appearance of having been built for four. There was barely enough space for the solitary nurse to squeeze between each cot to administer to her patient.

"I'll be with you in a moment," she said, without looking over her shoulder as she checked an IV line.

Jeff wasn't sure if he should respond or not. His eyes scanned the beds looking for that one familiar face, hearing the pump, whistle, beat, and whine of various bits of equipment.

Eventually the nurse stepped back and, taking care not to disrupt anything important, edged her way towards him. "Are you Virgil Tracy's father?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid you won't be able to stay very long." She gave a wry grimace and indicated their cramped surroundings. "There's barely enough room for me in here."

Jeff nodded. "I understand."

The nurse yawned. "Sorry. I'd just come off night duty when they called me back… He's down here." She led the way to a bed pressed up against the wall at the end of the room.

Jeff stared. He wasn't sure what had been worse. The sight of Gordon lying pale and motionless in a bed with a gaping hole in his abdomen where the swelling of his internal organs had prevented closure of a surgical stoma…

Or this.

Virgil lay just as motionless in the bed. At least Jeff assumed it was Virgil. The nurse could have directed him to any of the patients in this room, aside from what was obviously a woman in the bed opposite, and he would have believed her when she said it was his son. There was so much equipment, so many bandages, so many IVs, so many drains, that it was almost impossible to believe that there was a living human being under it all.

And it was only the fogging of the oxygen mask on the scalded red face, and the sight of blood draining out of the body, working its way through a machine, before being returned that told him there was a living human being there at all.

Jeff wanted to reach out and touch that body, just to reassure himself that there was a living human being there and that that human being was his son, but there was nowhere he could do it without potentially causing further damage or pain. He'd seen the state of Virgil's legs before rescue, so touching him on the foot was out of the question and besides, the lower extremities were protected from contact by a frame covered by a sheet. Virgil's left hand was heavily bandaged and his right, the one that had remained uninjured, was connected to a multitude of IVs and pressed up against the wall out of reach. Also out of reach, thanks to the equipment that was keeping him and the man (was it a man?) in the bed next to him alive, was Virgil's upper body.

The nurse was checking on another patient.

Jeff found his voice. "What's his status?"

"Critical, but stable."

"His prognosis?"

"That will depend on what the surgeon says if he operates."

It took a moment for what she said to fully sink in. "_IF_ he operates?! Hasn't he been operated on yet?"

"No."

"Why…?" And then Jeff took in the number of beds in this room, remembered the state of the corridor, theorised the rest of the hospital was in a similar state, and knew the answer to the question.

He cleared his throat. "Has the surgeon said when he's going to make the decision?"

The nurse wanted to be sympathetic, Jeff could hear that, but she was also a realist. "It will depend on whether anyone else has a more urgent need."

Jeff Tracy was a successful businessman. He'd got that way by knowing when to take a gamble and when he should play it safe. He knew that sometimes it was better to forgo the big prize, the one that would mean that he was just as likely to lose big as win big, and instead accept two or more smaller deals with guaranteed safe returns. "Or if two lives can be saved when there is a chance that he may not be able to save Virgil's?"

She was looking at him now, a little surprised by his astuteness. "Yes."

Jeff gazed back down on the figure on the bed.

"Replacement surgeons should have arrived by now," the nurse said, not willing to let him lose all hope. "Once our surgeons have had a chance to have a rest and are feeling fresher, they've been on duty since yesterday, they may decide that Virgil is a good candidate for surgery."

Surgeons had been on duty since yesterday? What was the quality of their work after all this time? And if Bearston had some of the best crush injury surgeons in the area, were these replacement surgeons as competent? "Will you have enough theatres to operate? And enough auxiliary staff?"

The nurse didn't have an answer. "I'm sorry. I don't have anything to do with the administration or surgical side of the hospital." One of the other beds squealed an alarm and she hurried over to see what needed to be done to quell it.

Taking care not to hit or nudge anything, Jeff took the opportunity to squeeze between the two beds. "Hang in there, Virgil," he requested, keeping his voice low. "We're all here and we're going to do all we can to help you… Just like we did for Gordon..." Needing to make contact, he stretched out towards the top of the bed and, frightened that even touching a shoulder could cause pain, just managed to caress the stubble on the underside of his son's jaw with his fingertips. "Don't give up, Virgil. We all need you and… and I love you."

As much as Jeff wanted to stay at his son's side, he knew it was time to go. He would only be in the way and he didn't want anything, not even his own selfish needs, to diminish Virgil's chances of survival.

A slight movement caught his attention.

Had he imagined it?

He must have done.

He looked away, trying to work out how he could safely negotiate his way out from between the beds…

A sibilant sound, only just heard over the noise of all the machinery, made him stop. "Ffff…"

Jeff listened.

He heard the sound again.

Jeff turned back. Was the oxygen mask misty like that before?

"Da'…" The voice was weak, almost inaudible, but instantly recognisable.

"Virgil?!" Trying to get closer without touching anything, Jeff leant on the headboard with his right hand; his left braced against the wall on the other side of the bed. He looked down onto his son's face, trying to ignore the scar that ran along the bottom lip, and was rewarded by the sight of two very conscious brown eyes.

"I…"

Jeff hoped that Virgil hadn't heard the conversation that he and the nurse had been having.

"I… 'm…"

Jeff leant closer, so he could hear what his son was trying to say. "You're…?"

"I… … I…'m… … I… a…live?"

Virgil sounded surprised and Jeff had to admit that he was just as shocked. "Yes, Virgil, you're alive. I guess the press are right when they say that International Rescue are miracle workers."

Those brown eyes regarded him. "I…Is…"

"You don't need to worry about anyone else," Jeff told him, desperate to calm any concerns his son might have and to help him conserve his strength. "Bruce, Butch and Max Watts are all going to be okay. And all four of your brothers and your grandmother are in the hospital foyer, waiting for news about you." He hoped that statement was unambiguous enough to ease Virgil's mind. "Tin-Tin, and Kyrano, and Brains, and Lady Penelope, and Parker will visit when they can. You don't need to worry about anyone else. You're to concentrate on getting better… Oh! And Bruce and Olivia told me to give you their best, and Winston and Rex are getting married!"

"Can…"

His right shoulder, the one propping him up on the headboard, protesting, Jeff leant closer. "What?"

"Can'… move."

The words were chilling, but Jeff did his best to remain calm and comforting. "Don't worry about that. That'll be the painkillers blocking signals to your body."

Virgil grimaced and attempted to say something else. The lip's scar started bleeding and Jeff wished he dare do something to stop it.

"Virgil?"

Virgil tried again. "'n…"

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand you."

"P… P…"

Jeff adjusted his grip of the headboard, so his ear was almost level with the oxygen mask.

With one whispered word, Virgil finally was able to make himself understood. "'urts."

"What hurts?" Concerned that he might be touching something he shouldn't, Jeff looked down to check that he was maintaining the safety margin between himself and the crushed arm. It was then that he saw Virgil's other hand. It was clenched into a fist: the knuckles white. As he watched the hand relaxed long enough to drag the sheet further into its tortured grasp.

Alarmed Jeff looked back towards the brown eyes. "You're in pain?"

But Virgil's eyes were as screwed up as the sheet. His breathing was short and sharp.

"Virgil?"

A single tear rolled down the side of an unhealthily red face.

Jeff found this just as distressing as he would have if his son had been screaming in agony. "I'll see if I can get you help… Nurse…" He tried to regain his balance, so he could stand, but with the machine at his back, discovered that he didn't have the leverage. "Nurse!"

The nurse found a spare moment in her duties to come to his aid; grabbing him by his shoulders and pulling him upright.

Jeff's right arm was aching, but that was nothing compared to what his son was dealing with, so he ignored it. "He says he's in pain. Can you give him more painkillers?"

She seemed unsurprised that her patient was awake and communicating. "I'm sorry, but I can't. Not without a doctor's authorisation and when we've received more stocks." She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Which shouldn't be long."

"But…"

"We're giving him enough to take the edge off. I know it's hard, but too much pain relief of the wrong sort could have a detrimental effect when the patient goes into surgery, especially as we don't know what International Rescue gave him."

Jeff only just managed to stop himself from telling her.

"Since we don't yet know what surgery he'll require; we have to be cautious."

Since there seemed to be some doubt that Virgil would ever be going into surgery, Jeff wondered why she was so reticent. "Not even a little bit?"

"It seems cruel, I know, but, if it's any conciliation, the drugs he's receiving now will mean that he won't remember any of this."

In Jeff's opinion that was no conciliation at all. "Can't we do something?!"

"I'm sorry…" Another machine squealed, and the nurse scurried away to someone who needed more immediate help.

Helpless, Jeff looked back into those pain-filled brown eyes that were watching him from beneath their lids. "I'm sorry, Virgil. If I could do more, you know I would."

He fancied that he saw a small smile behind the misted mask. And a tiny nod of acknowledgement.

"I should get back to the family and tell them how you are," Jeff admitted. "If I could stay I would, but there isn't the room and I'm in the way."

He thought he saw that minute nod again.

"Don't give up, Virgil."

Angry and frustrated, and after a sideways shuffle to escape the beds, a thank you to the nurse who was too busy to acknowledge him, and with one last look at his middle son, Jeff Tracy left the room. He stopped in the corridor to get his bearings, before looking back at the doors to remind himself which room he needed to find should he get the opportunity to return. It was then that he saw the hastily scrawled sign.

_Triage four_

Not triage one, two, or even three! There were at least four rooms where people waited until someone, someone who'd probably been working for hours and was exhausted and not thinking clearly, decided that it was their time to regain their life. How many more triage rooms were there? How many people in these corridors? How many patients were losing their chance for a normal life? How many patients were losing their chance at life…?

Someone nearby whimpered in pain, galvanising Jeff in action. He stalked through the wards until he was back at reception. Ignoring his family's nudges of each other and their querying looks, he strode up to the reception counter, barging in front of the person standing there. "I want to see the hospital's manager."

"I'm sorry, Sir," the receptionist had forgotten his name. "But Mr Eden is unavailable." She turned back to the person she'd been talking to.

"I need to see the manager!" Jeff told her, his volume rising. 'If not Mr Eden then whoever is doing his duties while he is not in the building!"

"I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated. "But that's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, and I _demand_," Jeff slammed his fist down on the counter and several people, including the receptionist, jumped, "to see the manager _immediately_!"

People stared at him.

Startled by his uncharacteristic outburst, so did his family. His mother took a step forward…

"I'm sorry, _Sir_," the receptionist began, with enough emphasis on the honorific to show that she doubted it was deserved, "but…"

Jeff had had enough. Glancing around, he saw a sign. He started walking.

He took no notice of the loud speaker which blared: "Security to reception… Ah… Administration, please. Security to administration."

Racing against security, Jeff quickened his steps. He was going to find the manager's office, and no one was going to stop him.

He struck it lucky. He found a sign that said: _Colin Eden_ _– manager_. Without knocking, he opened it and hurried inside, shutting the door behind him. "I need to speak to the manager of this hospital." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Surprised by the unexpected intrusion, the man behind the desk, Jeff supposed it was Eden, got to his feet. "Who are you?"

Jeff pulled his business card from out of his wallet. He had several types of cards in there; one plain and simple with the basic information that such a card required; one a little more ornate that proclaimed him to be the owner of several prominent companies; and one high-powered and clearly expensive card that made it obvious that he was a man of importance.

It was this, rarely used, card that he handed over to the manager. "My name is Jefferson Tracy. My son was rescued by International Rescue from the earthquake and was brought here for treatment. I take it that you are the manager?"

As Eden's left hand accepted the business card, his right hand stole across to the emergency button on the intercom.

"I wouldn't push that if I were you," Jeff warned. "You don't want to bring Bearston General into disrepute. My public relations people can bring you and your hospital down."

Troubled by the threat, Eden finally looked the card in his hand. The name Tracy didn't hold as much mystic in Bearston as it did in other centres where various Tracy Industries subsidiaries were based, but he could see that this man was someone who was used to getting what he wanted and had the ability to make life awkward if he didn't. "How can I help you, Mr Tracy?"

"My son isn't getting the treatment he deserves," Jeff stated. Ignoring the other man's indignant expression at the implied insinuation that Bearston General was anything less than competent, he continued. "He's in a crowded room, he's in agony, and he's being looked after by one nurse without the authority to give him the pain relief he needs. And I'm going to do something about it."

Eden spread his hands in an appeasing gesture. "Let me assure you that my staff are working to the best of their abilities. This is a trying time for not only Bearston General, but all other hospitals in the area."

"I'm aware of that." Jeff snapped.

"What was your son's name?"

"My son's name IS Virgil Tracy."

Eden sat down and typed into the computer and Jeff wondered if he was doing what he would have done under the circumstances; summoning help to remove the interloper from his office. "Tracy…" He glanced at the card. "No E… V… Ah. Here he is… He's in triage."

"I'm aware of that! I've just come from there!"

"Then you are aware of how many people we are trying to treat. Believe me when I say that we are doing all we can to treat your son properly. But you must realise that the earthquake has caused a disaster of unprecedented proportions and injured hundreds of people. It's not only Bearston that is struggling. So is every medical establishment for hundreds of miles around. I'm sorry, Mr Tracy, but as much as we wish we could do more, we only have limited resources."

"And that is why I'm here! To put the full resources of Tracy Industries in your hands. We can supply prefabricated buildings for operating rooms and wards. We can supply medical equipment and medication. We can fly in medical teams from around the world."

Eden's eyes widened.

"I'm not to be involved," Jeff stated. "My focus is on Virgil. But I will assign one of my team to liaise with whoever you choose in your team. May I use your phone?" And before Eden had the opportunity to agree or otherwise, he'd spun the unit around and dialled a number.

His P.A. appeared on the phone. "Good afternoon, Mr Tracy."

Behind him, Jeff heard the door slide open. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eden make a gesture to hold the newcomer back.

"There's nothing good about it," Jeff growled. "I'm at Bearston and because of the earthquake there aren't enough medical facilities here or in other cities to cope."

"We've been following the news," the P.A. admitted. "And it sounds like a major disaster. I would have contacted Hamish Mickelson, but I don't want to add to the phone networks' congestion. What do you want Tracy Industries to do?"

Eden noted that the P.A. had automatically assumed that her boss was going to help.

"Has anyone requested Operation Brunel-Crimea?"

"No, Sir."

"Right…" Jeff thought for a moment, "Get Hannah to be the liaison with Bearston General. I'm with their manager Colin Eden and he'll get someone to liaise with her. Tell her to get them anything they need."

The P.A. seemed unfazed by the request. "Yes, Mr Tracy. I'm getting Hannah on a conference call now."

The videophone's screen split into two as another face appeared. "Hello, Jeff."

"I'm calling from Bearston. There's been a major earthquake."

Hannah sounded grim. "I know. I've been following the news."

"The hospitals are swamped and can't cope. They need Tracy Industries' help. Forget everything else you're doing; you're in charge of Operation Brunel-Crimea. I want you to liaise with Bearston General or whoever they recommend. You need to bring in prefabricated operating rooms, staff, and equipment to wherever they're needed. Cut through whatever red tape you can, and if need be, act without official permission. We can worry about the fallout later. The usual story. Keep my name out of the media." Then Jeff added those words that he'd maybe only said a handful of times in his life, and then either in jest or when his sons needed his help: "Money is no object."

Hannah seemed just as unfazed as the P.A. "Yes, Jeff."

"All donations are to be made anonymously."

"I understand." Hannah looked down. "What number should I contact Bearston General on?"

"This one?" Jeff looked at Eden for clarification and received a dumb nod. "This one."

"Fine. I'll set the wheels in motion and call this number back shortly."

"Good." Jeff took a steadying breath. "Now I'm going to tell you both something, but I don't want it to go any further. Virgil was working at ACE. He was crushed by the crucible furnace. He's in a critical condition here at Bearston."

"Virgil?!" To Eden's ears the P.A. sounded genuinely horrified and not just acting to appease her boss. "Your son Virgil?! Is there anything _I_ can do for you? Do you want me to let your family know what's happened?"

"No, they're all here at the hospital waiting for news. Obviously, I'm going to be out of action for a while, but I know you can carry on without me."

"Have the doctors said anything about his prospects?" Hannah asked.

"The doctors might not be able to save him," Jeff saw and heard both women gasp, "but we might give others a chance to make a full recovery."

"I'll get onto it right away," Hannah promised, and disappeared from the video screen.

Leaving only the P.A. "Have you spoken to anyone at ACE?"

"I've spoken to Hamish. Most of the staff got out safely, but some have been injured."

"Oh, dear. Shall I contact Mr Mickelson and see if we can assist?"

"Do that. He's at a shelter in Bearston."

"I'll call him now. Keep positive, Mr Tracy. And please tell your mother and your sons I'm thinking of you all."

Jeff managed a grim smile. "Thank you."

The phone went blank and Jeff swivelled it around to its original position.

"Ar…" Eden cleared his throat. "Are you really going to supply all that?" He looked at his visitor sideways. "Or is this a joke?"

"I wish it was." Jeff shook his head. "I am not joking. My son was injured, and I want to help him. If by helping him, or even if I can't help him, but I can save someone else while trying, then… Then I know it's what Virgil would want. I've got to at least try."

"Oh." Eden sat back. "Thank you."

"The only thing I ask for in return is that all information about Virgil, and I don't care how insignificant it might seem, is uploaded to this web site." Taking one of his plain vanilla business cards out of his wallet, Jeff wrote down an address. "And that nothing is released to anyone unconnected with his care: especially the media."

Taking the card, Eden nodded. "I understand." He looked up at Jeff. "Can we do anything else for you?"

"Yes. You can get my mother a chair."

-F-A-B-

Out in the foyer the Tracys looked up as their patriarch, escorted by a big, burly man in a security uniform, left the administration area and headed towards them.

"Jeff?" Grandma stepped towards her son. "Is everything all right?"

"I'll tell you everything in a minute," he promised. "They've given us somewhere where we'll all have a seat and we can have some privacy."

Picking up their bags and coats, everyone dutifully followed the security guard back through the administration area and into a small, windowless room.

Alan looked around at the shelves that lined the walls that were loaded with various items. "Isn't this a storeroom? Where are the chairs?" He looked sideways at his father. "They haven't locked us in here to stop you from barging through the hospital again, have they?"

"It's the only room that wasn't large enough to hold a patient," Jeff explained. "But it's big enough for us…"

The door opened and an orderly, wheeling a trolley that supported four chairs entered. He offloaded the chairs without comment and retreated, returning a short while later with another stack of four. The top two chairs he placed onto the floor of the room next to his original load, before he left with his remaining cargo.

The Tracys did their best to make themselves comfortable.

Jeff leant forward in preparation to speak. "What…"

"Hold on, Dad," John interrupted. He pulled a device from out of his bag and switched it on, placing it on the floor in the middle of the group. "Now we can talk about anything and no eavesdroppers will be able to hear us. And recording devices will be wiped."

"Thank you." Jeff nodded his approval. "Now…" He took a breath. "I'm not going to white-wash or sugar-coat anything. You'll want to know, and you deserve to know the facts…" He took his mother's hand. "So be prepared."

Everyone tried to be as prepared as they could, while not being sure what they were preparing themselves for.

"I saw Virgil," Jeff admitted. "He was conscious and communicating with me."

This was better than they were expecting and at once everyone relaxed. All except for Scott who still looked troubled.

As was Jeff. "This hospital is over-burdened with victims and under-staffed. The surgical teams are already over-worked, many having been called back straight after nightshifts. There are so many patients here that they've got them lining the corridors. Virgil wasn't one of those, but he is with seven others in a room designed for four. There is one nurse on duty looking after those eight patients and she's been working for the last sixteen-plus hours. All she can do is monitor them. She can't give them any medication other than what was prescribed by the doctors and, from what I understand, those doctors, including the surgeons, have been on duty for as long as she has."

"What do the surgeons say about Virgil?" Grandma asked.

"I don't know if they've even had the chance to examine him. I know they haven't operated yet."

She frowned. "But surely…"

"Virgil's only one patient out of hundreds," her son interrupted. "The room he's in is labelled triage four and I don't know how many more rooms there are; and that's without all the people lining the corridors. The medical staff must prioritise. And that prioritisation is based on which patients are most likely to survive."

"And they're saying that he isn't likely to survive?" Grandma's eyes were round behind her spectacles.

"I don't think they've had the chance to form an opinion yet. But the one thing that we can all agree on is that Virgil's surgery isn't going to be a quick fix. He's going to be in the operating room for hours and if they were to operate on him now it could be at the expense of several others who have a better chance of survival. That's why he's in triage. So, they can evaluate his condition and decide if, and when, they're going to operate."

"But if he's conscious, surely that's got to be in his favour?" Alan asked. "Basic first aid is that someone who's unconscious needs more immediate attention than someone who's awake and screaming."

"Which'll mean he's a lower priority," Gordon reminded him.

"Yeah, but at least he's strong enough to be awake. He's not in a coma or something. That's got to be a positive."

Jeff couldn't see anything positive in the situation. "He told me he can't move, but that could be because the medical team may have immobilised him, so he can't hurt himself any more. Except…" He stopped, remembering the white knuckles and the screwed-up sheet.

"Except?" Gordon prompted.

"He's in pain. So much pain that he's nearly pulled his sheet off his body."

"He's in pain?! Why doesn't the nurse give him more pain relief?"

"She can't. Not unless the doctors prescribe him some."

"But why?" Alan asked.

"They don't want that medication interfering with any medication they'll need to use if they operate. And," Jeff Tracy paused at the irony of the situation, "because they're not sure what medication International Rescue gave him."

"But we told them that," John protested. "We gave them that information when we handed him over!"

Jeff raised his hands helplessly. "The nurse I was talking to didn't know anything about it."

"But if, as you said, they're not going to operate…" John paused. "Why let him go through all that pain?"

"You're asking the very question I was asking myself," Jeff admitted. "And I haven't been given a real answer, aside from that they're waiting for more medication to arrive."

"Are you saying," Grandma began, "that there's nothing we can do except accept that he's going to die an agonising death?" She frowned. "Because I'm not prepared to do that."

"That's not what we're going to do," Jeff stated. "We're Tracys and we never give up. I've instructed Hannah Lowry to bring Operation Brunel-Crimea on stream."

"What's that?" Gordon asked.

"Tracy Industries have prefabricated theatres, medical staff, and equipment on standby to be despatched around the world whenever there's a disaster too big for the local authorities to handle. We normally wait until our assistance is requested by organisations such as the Red Cross, but this time I'm not waiting."

"And it's called Brunel-Crimea because the English engineer Isembard Kingdom Brunel invented prefabricated hospital wards to send out to the Crimea during the 1800s?" John guessed.

"Yes."

"You said Virgil was communicating with you," Grandma began. "What did he say?"

"Not a lot. I had to get close to hear him, and with all the extra beds and equipment in there even that was a struggle. He was surprised that he was alive, asked after everyone else at ACE, and then told me he couldn't move and that he was in pain."

"Can't we can do something about that?" Gordon asked. "There must be something that someone can give him to help."

Scott, who'd been sitting quietly and not participating in the discussion, reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out two objects. These he gave to his father.

Surprised, Jeff accepted them, noting that both objects had Virgil's name written on them. Long experience had taught his sons that their brothers weren't always that respectful of each other's possessions, and to keep any discussions over ownership to a minimum, all five usually labelled new acquisitions as soon as they received them.

The first object was yellow and spherical, and Jeff recognised it as a barely used stress-ball, designed to be squeezed when needed. The second was a small container, which, upon opening, he discovered held a pair of earbud-sized music players.

The inference was clear. A stress-ball to absorb the pain, and music to take Virgil's mind off it.

Jeff held out the earbuds. "How do these work?"

Since Scott seemed to have retreated back into his own world, it was Gordon who grabbed the earbuds, but John stopped him before he could turn them on. "Let me turn this off first," the elder advised, extinguishing the lights on box that prevented eavesdropping. "We don't want to wipe what he's got on there."

Once Gordon had finished his demonstration, Jeff stood. "I'll go and give him these now."

He found his way back to the ward and then found the room labelled triage four. He pushed the door open.

The room seemed emptier. At least one of the beds had gone.

Busy at the side of one of the remaining beds, the nurse glanced over at him. "You are Virgil's father, right?"

"Yes. I've got a couple of things that I hope will make it easier for him." Jeff held up the ball and the container. "That's if he's allowed them?"

"That shouldn't be a problem. We've rearranged things…" The nurse pointed back down to where Virgil had been last time. "You'll be able to get closer without my help this time."

Virgil's bed had been pulled away from the wall meaning that, after he'd squeezed his way down the gap, his father was able to touch him on his uninjured hand. "Virgil?"

Virgil, his eyes closed as he tried to block out the world, had been lying in a cocoon of pain, barely aware of anything going on around him. Occasionally the cocoon would be invaded by someone who'd speak to him or do things to him, but as soon as they'd gone he'd forget they'd been there.

He couldn't even remember talking to his father earlier.

Pleased that a familiar face was reaching out to him, he tried to reach back.

Jeff saw the hand lift off the bedclothes and grasped it, trying not to be shocked at how weak the grip was. A few weeks ago, he and his sons had somehow wound up having a friendly arm wrestle and he'd been beaten by the younger men's greater muscle strength. Now it felt like he was holding a fragile flower. "I can't stay for long, Son." He saw a minute frown that told him his words had been understood. "But I've brought you something that I hope will make this easier for you." He held up the stress-ball so it was within Virgil's line of sight. "It might stop you from showing more than you mean to."

He doubted that Virgil understood the joke, but he pressed the ball into the good hand and watched its first weak squeeze.

Then he held up the earbuds. "Do you want these too?"

Virgil's eyes lit up when he saw the container and he gave a minute nod.

Jeff began removing them from their box. "Gordon showed me how to use them," he explained, "so if I get it wrong, blame him."

Already having something that he could focus his pain into was making Virgil feel, if not better, then at least in more control. Either that or knowing that his father was with him, and that he wasn't alone, was helping.

Then, as soothing music filled his ears, some of the pain seemed to leave him. "Thank you," he attempted to say, followed by a single word.

Jeff leant closer, so he could hear it.

"Sco'?"

"Yes, Virgil, they were Scott's idea."

"Than' 'im."

"I'll tell him that you said thank you." Jeff paused. "I'd better go and do it now."

Leaving this time seemed easier and Jeff was unaware that, even as he pushed the doors to triage four open, Virgil had already forgotten that he'd been there. All the younger man was aware of was the music that helped drown out the pain that had filled his world.

Jeff returned to the family's room. "He's happier now," he said and rested his hand on Scott's shoulder. "He said to say thank you."

He reclaimed his seat and settled in for a long wait.

_To be continued…_


	18. Chapter 18

Back on Tracy Island, Brains was like everyone else: waiting. Except that he had given himself a task to help while away the time.

He might not have had access to all of Virgil's medical records relating to the events at ACE, but he had enough data from International Rescue's files and the medical knowledge to make intelligent guesses to know what was needed to be done to ensure his friend's survival. What was needed to bring his life back to normality was another matter.

His videophone chimed, and a familiar name appeared on the screen. _Jeff Tracy._

He answered the phone. "Any news, M-Mr Tracy?"

"Not really. They let me visit him and he's awake and communicating, but they haven't had the time and resources to examine him properly and decide on their course of treatment. The hospital's overloaded with patients."

"Oh." There wasn't a lot else that Brains could say. This one statement held both good and bad news.

"I've told them to upload every scrap of information about his case to the web site. I thought you might be a clearheaded second opinion. Most of the staff here are into their second shift and I hate to think how long they will have been on duty when they finally get around to examining him."

It was an added burden of responsibility, but Brains was glad of it. It meant he had something constructive to do. "Did he, ah, did he say anything that might offer any clues as to his condition?"

"Only that he couldn't move. But he has movement in his right hand."

Brains nodded, but passed no comment. "H-Have they given any, ah, indication of his prognosis?"

"From what I can gather he's only been given the once over by a very junior doctor and they're doing the bare minimum to keep him alive. They've given him enough pain relief to reduce it from agonising to extremely painful. They've only got limited stocks of medications, they don't want to take the chance that something given now will interfere with whatever treatment he'll need during surgery, and…" Brains heard the irony in Jeff's voice. "They were concerned that they didn't know what drugs International Rescue had given him."

"Didn't…?"

"Yes, they did. But it must have been lost in all the bedlam that's going on. The hospital's seriously overloaded and there are patients packed into wherever they can find space for them, including the corridors."

Treating this like a consultation, Brains continued asking questions that the promised uploads wouldn't tell him. "H-How is he coping with the pain?"

"Gritting it out is the best way to describe it. I gave him his music player that Scott had brought from home. He seemed to relax a little once he could listen to that."

Brains nodded thoughtfully. "Th-That would make sense. Pain has been proven to be caused in part by anxiety, rather than any ph-physical stimulation. Before the discovery of anaesthetics, surgeons realised that by placing a patient in a calming hypnotic trance before surgery, they could perform operations as traumatic as, ah, amputating a leg, with minimal pain." He wondered if he'd just made a verbal faux pas, but carried on. "Being able to listen to music is undoubtedly soothing to Virgil and would give the side-effect of reducing his awareness of any pain he's feeling."

"A kind of natural pain relief?" Jeff seemed surprised. "Well, it seems to be working."

"I'm glad… Ah… H-How is everyone else?"

"Holding up," Jeff admitted. "The worst part is that there's nothing we can do except sit here. I've instructed Hannah Lowry to initiate Operation Brunel-Crimea to help alleviate some of the pressures on all the hospitals around, not just Bearston, but even that's going to take time." He paused. "Brains…?"

Brains had a feeling that he knew what was coming and wasn't sure how to respond. "Y-Yes, Mr T-Tracy?"

"How bad is he? Will he survive?"

"I-I wish I could give you an answer, but I don't have all the information yet. The fact that he was conscious is a good sign. But any recovery will be a long one and there will be many, er, hurdles he'll have to negotiate before we can say it's over."

"I know I'm putting you on the spot," Jeff began, "but will they have to amputate?"

"Without all the data I can't make an informed diagnosis, Mr Tracy," Brains warned. "But…"

"Yes?"

Brains hesitated.

"We need to know, Brains. And if you don't tell us now, we'll find out after surgery."

Brains chose his words carefully. "Remember that I have limited information."

"We know."

"In light of information I have on Virgil's crush injury… and because of the length of time that he was crushed… and the pressure and the lack of time and resources that the hospital is operating under…"

Jeff heard the hesitation. "You're saying yes, aren't you?"

"That might be what is needed to save his life."

"One or both legs?"

Brains felt as if he was being interrogated. "Both."

"And his hand?"

"H-Has a better chance of survival, especially since the injury wasn't so bad that the boys had to use the Surgi-laser… But…"

"But?"

"Saving his hand might not mean that he'll regain full use of it."

Jeff nodded as he considered what he had been told. Then he looked back up at his friend. "Thank you for being honest with us."

"As I learn more I may be able to give more definitive answers…" There was a chime from Brains' computer. "The first report is coming through now. If you'll excuse me…"

"Of course…" Jeff looked grateful. "I'm glad you're there, Brains."

"I may not be able to do much, Mr Tracy, but I will do all I can. You'll call me if you have any news?"

"Of course."

Brains signed off with a sense of foreboding. There was a lot he hadn't covered. Internal injuries, toxic shock, the body deciding that it had simply had enough abuse and shutting down… He could have mentioned all that, and Jeff would have listened stoically and without comment, but Brains had wanted to protect his friends for as long as he could.

He turned to his computer. He had a feeling that he was about to learn things that none of them, including him, wanted to know…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"I've got a real sense of déjà vu," John announced.

The family had been sitting there in silence, thinking of all the things that they'd wished they'd had the courage to say earlier and wondering if they'd ever get the chance to rectify that mistake.

"Huh?" Alan, shocked out of his reverie like most of the rest of the group, looked at him. "What are you talking about? You're not the one who's supposed to have ESP. That's…" He realised what he was saying and censored himself with a sideways look at his eldest brother.

Scott, as he'd been throughout the last seven hours since Thunderbird One had arrived home, seemed wrapped up in his own world.

"Déjà vu?" Gordon stared at his brother. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it's like I've been here before."

"You've been in here before?" Gordon looked about him, not seeing anything familiar. "This isn't even like the storerooms at home."

"No, not this storeroom, this situation. I was sitting next to Grandma, and she was next to Dad, and he was next to Alan, and he was next to Scott, and we were all sitting here doing nothing and waiting. The only difference is that Virgil was sitting where you are."

Gordon, so worried about Virgil, hadn't given any thought as to how having to live through this situation again was affecting his family. "Oh…" He sat back. "Sorry."

"What for?"

"Putting you all through this the first time."

"It wasn't your fault, just like this isn't Virgil's."

There was a knock on the door and everyone, including Scott, stood up to welcome the caller.

It was a very junior member of staff. "Are you the Tracys?"

"Yes," Jeff responded, wondering how many other families had been given the use of a storeroom to wait out their vigil.

"I've been told to give you a message."

"Yes?"

"I've been asked to tell you that he's been moved to another room," she announced.

"Which room?"

"I don't know. I've just been told to tell you that he's been moved and that if you want to see him, you should ask at reception."

After the receptionist's last experience with Jeff Tracy, he doubted that she'd welcome any approach.

"Any word on his condition?"

"No, I haven't been told anything about him other than that."

The Tracys doubted that she even knew "him's" name.

Jeff managed a smile. "Thank you for letting us know."

With a "Bye!" the staff member left.

"So much for déjà vu," John groaned and when Gordon gave him a querying look expanded. "After you'd finished in surgery, the first person we saw was the surgeon and he gave us a full rundown on your condition. This time…" He gave a helpless shrug.

Gordon could see the difference.

And he hated it.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Brains rubbed his eyes. It wasn't that he wasn't used to working for long periods; it wasn't even that he'd been working for a long time; it wasn't even that he had a lot to read! It was just that what he was reading was depressing and gave him little hope.

The door opened and Kyrano entered. "Mister Brains?"

"Kyrano." Brains sighed.

"You have news?"

Brains turned off the computer's screen, hiding what was on there. "N-No, nothing."

"It is late. It is time you slept."

"I'm not tired."

Kyrano watched as Brains yawned. "Sleep, Mister Brains, and perhaps the solution you seek will come to you if you permit your brain to rest."

Brains looked at him. "I'm not sure that I can come up with a solution. Perhaps if I could have examined Virgil myself I may have spotted something that the attending physicians missed, but I'm operating remotely. Everything I've read makes me think that, if he survives until they find the time to operate … His life will never be the same."

"Perhaps you should offer to perform the operation yourself to aid his survival? Then they would be free to assist others."

Brains responded with a morose: "Perhaps."

"But you would need to be awake to perform such an operation," Kyrano reminded him. "Sleep now, and when you have refreshed your mind and body, fly to the States and assist Mister Virgil."

This seemed as sensible as any suggestion that he'd come up with, so Brains nodded. "I think I'll do that, Kyrano."

There was a chattering noise off to one side of the room, startling the Malaysian. "What is that?"

"The computer has been printing out a prototype component for a new type of jet unit," Brains admitted, but there's something wrong with the, ah, print mechanism. I've been meaning to fix it, but…" He stopped, staring at the machine, the intelligent glint in his eyes magnified by his spectacles.

"Mister Brains?" Kyrano queried.

"I have an idea!" Brains yelped. "Where's Tin-Tin?!"

"She is asleep."

"Then go and…" Brains stopped himself. "No. I'm being premature. I've got a lot I'll have to do before I know if it's possible. Let her sleep. I may need her to fly me to the… the…" His mind already two steps ahead of his tongue, he lost track of what he was saying.

"The United States?" Kyrano prompted.

"That's it! She can fly me to the States when I've got everything arranged." Brains rushed to the computer and turned the screen on.

Kyrano caught a glimpse of a skeletal x-ray and turned away.

"Now…" Brains muttered. "Where did I see that article…?"

"Please call if you need my assistance," Kyrano requested, but it was clear that Brains, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he accessed a search engine, didn't hear him.

-F-A-B-

In Bearston it was early in the morning, but no one had retired to bed for the night – even if their body clocks were saying that they should have been asleep hours earlier. They all sat in a semi-somnolent state; waiting…

The ringing of Jeff's phone to the accompanying flashing lights of John's masking device seemed to wake everyone out of their stupor.

John entered something into his device and nodded at his father.

Jeff put the phone on speakerphone. "Brains?"

"Mr Tracy!" Brains sounded excited. "I think I may have discovered something that will enable Virgil to make a full recovery!"

Upon hearing this, everyone leant closer.

"There is a joint Australia-New Zealand research team looking into the feasibility of recreating skeletal, circulatory, nerve and muscle tissue using 3D printers."

"You mean it creates prosthetics?" Alan sounded doubtful at Brains' description of _full recovery_.

"No, no, no. The machine prints out a framework, a kind of latticework made from the same polymers as spiderwebs, that forms the, ah, scaffolding inside the body, into which the patient's own cells are implanted. The framework induces the cells to grow and multiply until they fill the holes in the latticework, which then breaks down, allowing the genuine cells to take its place. It is not an overnight solution, but tests show that in time the patient regenerates their own bones and tissues. There is no chance of rejection and no residue left after the recovery is complete."

John frowned. "Spiderwebs?"

Jeff ignored him. "How successful have these tests been?"

"As of the research team's last publication two months ago; very successful."

"And how often has it been used in a real-world situation?"

It was at this point that Brains lost some of his enthusiasm. "Ah… Never."

"Never?"

"It's been highly successful in computer simulations and tissue cultivars."

"But not in a living human body?"

"Ah… No."

Jeff sat back.

"What's your take on this, Brains?" Gordon asked.

"All the research has been peer reviewed and positively received. They just need, erm, approval to test the process in a live subject."

"And you want Virgil to be their guinea pig?"

"I believe that it is Virgil's only chance for a full recovery. We've already discussed what the best-case scenario will be if we don't take this option."

"And if you were the one who had to make this decision, what option would you take?"

"I'd contact the heads of research and ask them if they were willing to use their process on Virgil. If they agreed, I would give them the go ahead."

"Then that's good enough for me." Gordon sat back.

"Me too," Alan agreed. "Give Dad their phone number, Brains."

"Hold on. Hold on!" Jeff held up his hand. "What equipment would they need?"

Brains had the information to hand. "Their 3D printer and the various polymers that form the, ah, scaffolding… And a robot."

"A robot!?"

"The work is an exacting process at a microscopic level. A human could do it for a limited time, but with the amount of work that Virgil will need, a robot will be faster and more efficient."

Jeff nodded his understanding. "And the research team already has this equipment?"

"Yes."

"Could the operation be held in a standard operating theatre?"

"So long as it's free of dust and contaminants, yes."

Everyone thought that was enough for Jeff to give his assent, but he held off. "Do you all agree that it's worth trying?"

"I vote yes," Gordon stated.

"Me too," Alan echoed.

"And me," John added.

"Mother?"

"Knowing Virgil, it's better than the alternative, even if it only saves his hand. I think we should give the go ahead."

Jeff looked across at his eldest son. "Scott?"

He nodded.

Relieved that at last something was going to be done, everyone waited for the order to proceed.

But, despite the universal approval of the plan, Jeff still seemed unwilling to make the call.

"Don't you think we should, Dad?" Alan couldn't quite keep the astonishment from out of his voice.

"I'm not sure that it's my place to make that decision…" Jeff admitted. "It's not my life on the line. What do you think Virgil would want?"

Gordon was as prompt with his response as he had been during the first round of voting. "He'd be all for it."

Alan nodded, "Gordon's right."

John agreed. "I think so."

"Of course, he would," Grandma stated. "You know that, Jefferson."

Once again Jeff turned to his eldest, feeling that, despite the family's optimism, this was the closest they'd get to learning what his middle son actually thought about the situation. "Scott?"

"If we give the go ahead for them to try it out on Virgil and it works, then they might able to use it to save other lives. He'd think it was no different to the first time we used oxyhydnite out of the lab. Neither of us knew if it would knock us out during the rescue and if we'd die when the Thompson Tower collapsed, but he didn't hesitate to use it, because he knew that if it worked we'd save that family. He'd reason that this situation was no different and agree to the operation."

This was Scott's first statement in hours and everyone stared at him, slightly surprised and a little relieved by what he'd said.

Then the family switched their attention back to the Tracy patriarch and waited to hear the verdict…

Jeff nodded. "Very well, Brains. Do you want to make the call?"

Brains looked at his watch. "It's night time in both countries and they're probably all asleep…" He saw his employer's expression. "I'll call them right away."

"Thank you, Brains."

-F-A-B-

"Timoti…" Timoti Bailey's wife hit him with her pillow. "Timoti!"

Her husband's voice sounded muffled from the depths of his pillow. "What…?"

"The phone's ringing!"

"Then answer it."

"It won't be for me!"

Finally awake and accepting that it was his spousal duty as a loving husband to answer it, Timoti swung his feet out of bed. "What makes you think it'll be for me?" he asked as he pulled his dressing gown off a chair and stumbled into the hall. "Yes?" he asked the phone.

The video setting was broken, and his wife had been at him for weeks to repair or replace it. His response had always been that impoverished New Zealand research scientists didn't have money to spare for such fripperies.

He therefore couldn't see the face belonging to the American voice that answered. "I-I'm looking for, ah, Tim-o-tie Bailey."

Still half asleep Timoti responded with a curt: "who wants to know?"

"I-I, ah, I'm sorry I had to awaken you, but there's been a major earthquake in the United States of America. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people have been crushed in the disaster."

The announcement woke Timoti up. "It sounds bad."

"We believe that your research may be able to help some of th-those injured."

"But our research hasn't been approved by the FDA," Timoti told the, as yet, unknown caller.

"I'm aware of this, but I believe that my boss can circumvent that issue. His name is Jeff Tracy."

"Who?"

"Jeff T-Tracy. The industrialist?"

Convinced that someone was playing an unfunny joke on him at an unfunny hour, and getting annoyed by the fact, Timoti snapped, "Who is this!?"

"S-Sorry. My name is, ah, Hiram K. Hackenbacker. I'm a researcher for Mr Tracy."

"Hackenbacker…" Jeff's name had meant nothing, but Brains' alias had bells ringing in the back of Timoti's mind. "Hackenbacker… Didn't you develop the Indiser Circulatory Realignment System?"

"Th… That is correct."

"That's an amazing piece of work." Timoti decided that if this man was who he said he was; he was at least someone worth listening to. "What can I do for you, Mr Hackenbacker?"

"As I said there has been a major earthquake with a high number of casualties. One of those casualties is Mr Tracy's son. He, that is we all, want to do all we can to help Virgil and we, that is I, believe that your system has the best chance of offering him a full recovery."

"What are his injuries?"

"Major crush injury to the pelvic and upper femoral area…" Brains listed the known issues.

Timoti pursed his lips. This case would be the ultimate test for their system. But there was one problem. "Do you know how much this operation would cost?"

"Money will be no object."

"We've got to get our gear to the States…"

"Money will be no object."

"…buy the ingredients for the polymer, if enough silk can be found, and there will be multiple varieties needed for the different tissues and nerves and bone."

"Money will be no object," Brains repeated for a third time. Although he was sure it was true, he hoped that Jeff didn't object to him driving home the point. "Mr Tracy is an exceedingly wealthy man and he will do anything to help his son and others."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone line as Timoti allowed Brains' words to sink in. "What about FDA regulations?"

"I am sure that there are ways around them," Brains stated, having no idea what that could be. That was one of the joys of working on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There were no pesky regulations, as well meaning as they may be, to curtail his research.

"I'll have to talk to my associate in Australia," Timoti said.

"I can make this a conference call," Brains offered, and had done so before Timoti could offer up any argument.

On the other side of the Tasman Sea, Bryce Dower had a similar conversation with his partner as Timoti had had with his wife. He answered his phone with an unfriendly "What!?"

"It's me, Timoti," Timoti offered, and Brains noted that he pronounced his name the same as the English variant, Timothy, but with a hard T instead of a softer Th at the end.

"Oh. Haven't you got your phone fixed yet?"

"No…"

"What are you doing ringing at this time of the night?"

"Ah, Bryce, let me introduce you to Hiram K. Hackenbacker. He may have found our guin…, I mean, test subject."

"What!?" Bryce switched on his phone's video capabilities and saw that while the bottom section was a mess of grey static, the top section was filled with a high-foreheaded, blue-horn-rimmed, clean-shaven man. "Mr Hackenbacker!?"

"Yes," Brains acknowledged.

"I read your paper on the Karoveous effect," the Australian admitted. "Impressive."

"Thank you," Brains responded. "But not as impressive as what I've read of your work."

"What's this about a test subject?"

"There's been a massive earthquake in the States, Bryce," Timoti explained. "Mr Hackenbacker's employer's son was seriously injured in it. Mr Hackenbacker believes that our system can help him."

"What are the injuries?"

Brains detailed them again. "Those are all that I-I know, but I wouldn't be surprised if there may be others. The hospital hasn't had the time and resources to do a full examination."

Bryce Dower was looking thoughtful. Timoti Bailey's expression was unreadable behind a curtain of static.

Finally, it was Bryce who spoke. "Would you mind if my colleague and I spoke together, Mr Hackenbacker? We'll call you back in five minutes."

Brains felt that such a suggestion was perfectly understandable. "O-Of course. If you want to access Virgil's notes, you can get them on this w-web site."

"Thank you."

"I'll, ah, I'll await your call."

-F-A-B-

There was a knock on the door of the storeroom. Alan, needing an excuse to stretch his legs, got up and admitted their visitor.

It was Colin Eden, the manager of Bearston General Hospital. "I hope you're all comfortable?"

None of the Tracys were, but recognising that they had to make the best of their situation, they made reassuring noises.

Jeff wasn't about to skip the social niceties. "These are my sons." He made the introductions quickly, and in the four Tracy boys Eden saw some of the strength and vitality that must have been in his patient.

He also saw an extremely worried family.

"I thought I should let you know that your equipment has started arriving." Eden looked impressed. "Including an operating theatre. Your people tell me that another's on the way and that the first of the replacement medical team are probably touching down as we speak."

"Good." Jeff leant forward. "I know we're imposing on you, but I have a request. Don't use one of the theatres."

Eden frowned. "Why?"

"Because we are hopeful that we have found someone who has the skills to treat Virgil's injuries and we want it to be ready as soon as they get here."

"Mr Tracy," Eden protested. "Bearston General Hospital have the finest crush injury specialists in the United States, if not the world! I will ensure that our best surgeon operates on Virgil."

"No. Let him concentrate on other patients who need his help as much as Virgil does… I'm assuming that you've read Virgil's file and you know how seriously injured he is." Jeff saw the manager colour slightly. "With standard treatment he is unlikely to make a complete recovery, no matter how skilled your surgeons are. We've found a team who, although their procedures are untested in real world situations, can at least offer him the chance to make a full, complete, and intact recovery. If they are willing, we intend to take that chance…"

-F-A-B-

It was a nervous wait and the clock ticked closer to five and a half minutes, before Brains was invited to re-join the conference call.

Bryce looked apologetic… and disappointed. "We'd like to thank you for the opportunity to further our research, it sounds like a dream case that can prove our theories, but we must decline."

Brains felt his stomach drop. "Oh."

"It's the extent of your boss's son's injuries that is the problem," Timoti explained.

Brains felt sick. "Oh," he repeated.

"Our research so far has focussed on known variables. For instance, when it's a thigh bone that needs repairing, we've used the other leg's bone as a guide, for length, thickness, size of the femoral head etc. Obviously, there are known proportions relating to individual's height and biomass, but in this case the time that we would need to recreate each system is too great. From what you've shown us, I honestly doubt that we could do it in the time he has left to him."

"I know we're being blunt about this," Bryce continued, "but I'm sure you understand that even if he was still alive by the time we'd finished our preparations, he'd be that weak that the shock of surgery would probably kill him."

Brains was beginning to feel a glimmer of hope. "Is that your only objection? That you will have to design the replacement… ah…" he decided that "units" was suitably impersonal enough to enable him to remain objective about the whole thing, "before you can create them?"

Timoti said, "That's correct," as Bryce nodded.

"What if you were able to copy directly from scans of the subject?"

"Scans?" Bryce queried.

"I've got Virgil's full body scans in 3D," Brains gabbled. "Skeletal, nervous system, musculature, circulatory system, lymphatic system, digestive system, skin…"

Bryce was staring at him open mouthed, and Brains had a feeling that Timoti was probably the same. "Why?"

Brains decided to be as honest as he dared. "I live and work with the Tracy family on their private island." He supposed that it sounded a bit odd to two men who didn't know their full circumstances, but at that moment he didn't care. "I've taken full body scans of all the Tracys, so that I can continue my research. Virgil's entire system is recorded on my computer." Recorded so that he could produce the best equipment tailor-made for each International Rescue operative, and so that he could help them if they were ever injured.

Like now.

"All of it?" Timoti squeaked.

Brains nodded. "All of it… Will you reconsider?" he pleaded. "He's not only my boss's son, he's also my friend. The Tracys are as close to being my family as I've got, and I'd like to help them if I can. But I can't without your assistance."

"And your Mr Tracy will pay for everything and take care of the FDA?" Bryce checked.

Brains nodded again. "Yes. He's desperate to save his son. But even if we can't help Virgil, Mr Tracy will continue to support your research so that you can help others."

Bryce looked at the screen of static. "It sounds like the answer to our prayers."

Brains was thinking that this pair would be the answer to the Tracys'.

"It does. But I'm still concerned about government regulations. Won't we need visas to go to America? It's the middle of the night!"

"Never mind visas. We've got to book seats for the plane _and_ find a freight company capable of carrying our equipment safely halfway around the world! How can you do that in the wee small hours of the morning?"

"I can take care of that," Brains said eagerly. "I am, ah, a pilot and so is my associate. How big is the robot and the printer?" He made a few notes as they gave him the dimensions. "We have a plane that can handle that. Where is the equipment?"

Bryce explained that it was in Sydney, Australia.

"Then we'll pick you up from Auckland's airport first, Mr Bailey, and we'll travel on to Sydney. And I'll ask Mr Tracy to sort out your visas."

"And I'll go pack my bags," Timoti said. "See you in a short while, Bryce. Mr Hackenbacker."

Brains' next phone call was to the USA. "Mr Tracy!" he exclaimed, almost before Jeff had finished his greeting. "They said they can do it, Mr Tracy! I'm going to meet Timoti Bailey at Auckland and Bryce Dower in Sydney where we'll collect the printer and the rest of their equipment and fly on to the States."

Jeff allowed himself a small smile of hope. "That's good news, Brains."

"They'll need, ah, official visas to be allowed into the country."

The smile slipped a little. "That could take some time… I'll get someone onto it straight away. Anything else you need to tell us?"

"No. I've got to wake Tin-Tin up and tell her to get the plane ready. Keep positive! We'll be seeing you soon and then we'll be able to help Virgil!"

_To be continued…_


	19. Chapter 19

_Time to set up a support network?_ ;-)

* * *

Jeff Tracy's name stood for something within the corridors of power that ran the United States of America, but even the people who respected the man who'd lived the American dream and repaid the country for the success it had given him, were unable to speed up the wheels of bureaucracy.

"I haven't got my visa yet," Timoti Bailey had moaned when Brains had greeted him at the private airport in New Zealand's largest city. "They asked me almost everything about my life, including if I've got any plans for committing genocide or terrorism, and then say it'll take three weeks to check if I'm lying! Your people have suggested that we carry on to Oz and…"

"Oz?" Brains queried.

"Australia. That you and I fly on and we hope that your government has got its act together by the time we get there."

It hadn't. Bryce Dower had been just as morose when he'd greeted them at the lab in Sydney. "Nothing," he griped after Brains had introduced him to Tin-Tin. "The U.S. consulate's not even awake yet."

Tin-Tin, who hadn't been awake either when Brains had barrelled into her room and dragged her out of bed, tried a reassuring smile. "Mr Tracy's people are doing all they can to get the necessary paperwork. They said that there seems to be a holdup somewhere."

"They've probably discovered your convict ancestry," Timoti blamed Bryce, "and they're trying to prove you're not a threat to homeland security."

"That was three hundred years ago!" Bryce protested. "And he was only arrested for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family. That's hardly a terrorist offence… They're probably more worried that you'll channel your ancestors and start nibbling on someone."

"My ancestors had great mana," Timoti informed him. "I have no need to add to it by _nibbling_ as you called it."

"Whatever the r-reason behind the holdup," Brains interrupted, fearing an argument. "Time is passing. What are we going to do? Load the equipment into the plane and start flying and hope that, ah, your visas arrive at the States before we do?"

"No offence," Bryce told him, "but I don't want to become a criminal in your country. Once we've proved that our process works, we're going to need to be able to go to America to train people in how it operates."

"Instead of worrying about it, shouldn't we be at the airport loading the equipment?" Tin-Tin asked. "That way there will not be any delays when the visas are awarded."

The men reluctantly agreed that her suggestion had merit and set to work.

It was raining when they got to the airport.

"Shouldn't think about flyin' out into that," a mechanic suggested in his broad Australian accent. "There's a tropical cyclone brewin'."

"A cyclone?" Tin-Tin queried. "It is a bit early in the season, isn't it?"

Brains frowned. "Do they say what category?"

"Two. Maybe a three," he replied.

"You have no need to worry," Tin-Tin reassured him. "This plane is designed to withstand up to a category three storm."

The mechanic remained doubtful. "Sure hope so for your sake."

Bryce and Timoti were just as concerned when they heard the weather forecast. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"Perfectly," Brains reassured them. "Tin-Tin's an excellent pilot."

With that issue solved, at least in Brains' and Tin-Tin's minds, there remained the problem of the visas.

"I've got my people working in it in Washington, New Zealand and Australia," Jeff Tracy admitted. "But they're not getting very far. Apparently, the quickest visa ever issued took two weeks to process…"

And all the time the weather was deteriorating. Tin-Tin and Brains tried not to think that, as time passed, so was Virgil.

Finally, Tin-Tin turned to her associate and friend. "Why don't you and I take the equipment and fly to the States?"

"Hold on!" Bryce complained. "We've put a lot of work into that!"

"I know, but didn't you say that a robot operates it?" Tin-Tin asked, and received two nods in reply. "If Brains and I were to set up the equipment in Bearston, would it be possible for you to work it remotely from here? We know a communications expert who could probably arrange a connection that will guarantee that there will be no time lag between your commands and the robot's response."

John had been happier with her idea than the two research scientists. "Sure, Tin-Tin, that won't be a problem. I'll route it through Tracy Industries' servers." He pulled his portable computer from out of his bag. "I'll get onto it now. Will they work from their lab…?"

Satisfied that the last obstacle had been overcome, apart from the annoyance of the visas and by association Bryce and Timoti, the time had come to make the decision.

"I-It's your call," Brains told the two researchers. "We can smuggle you into the country; try to enter legally in the hope that your visas come through before we get there; or you can stay here in, ah, Australia and do the surgery remotely."

"If I'm honest," Timoti began, "it's not so much the lack of visas that worries me. One of us could go and risk being extradited; the other will still be free to enter the country legally later, but…" he turned to the window looking out into the night, through which they could see the driving rain and flailing trees lit up by the airport's lights. "…I don't fancy flying into the middle of a cyclone. I've got a family to think about."

"Me too," Bryce agreed.

Unable to blame them for their strong sense of self-preservation, Brains nodded. "Then are you willing for us to take your equipment to the States for you?"

Timoti threw the question back at him. "Are you willing to risk the journey?"

Brains and Tin-Tin assured him they were.

Bryce looked at Timoti.

Timoti looked at Bryce.

"We might never get a better chance," Bryce said.

"And if it goes wrong we're not totally to blame," Timoti added.

Brains and Tin-Tin, who were doing their best to remain calm and not scream at them to hurry up, waited for the verdict.

"Go for it," Bryce said. "And good luck with the flight."

The International Rescue members' initial thoughts were that with their skills as pilots and the strength of the aeroplane, they were in no need of luck. But as they taxied out of the hangar and into the darkness and rain and wind they began to wonder.

Tin-Tin received permission to take off from a reluctant control tower. "Do you think we can make it, Brains?"

He looked at a video monitor that showed the precious cargo stored in the bay behind them. "We've got to."

The plane took off for the skies…

"One of us should have gone with them," Timoti griped as they walked through the terminal towards the underground carpark.

"Why? Do you think our lives' work has just flown off into the middle of a cyclone never to be seen again? Are you worried that Brains will plagiarise our work?"

"No, of course not. He's got too many discoveries of his own to think of pinching ours."

"Thomas Edison was known for inventing tons of things too, most of which he stole from other inventors."

Timoti glared at his associate. "I don't think the idea of stealing our ideas would even cross Brains' mind. I think all he's concerned about his getting his friend help. _My_ concern is that they won't make it, and that if they do, neither of us are going to be physically on hand if something goes wrong during the operation…"

-F-A-B-

Brains and Tin-Tin hadn't even reached the Tropic of Capricorn before their concerns had changed from Virgil's wellbeing to their own.

"This has got to be more than a category three cyclone!" Brains complained as the aeroplane lurched to port. "This plane isn't designed to cope with anything more than a category three."

"I know…" Tin-Tin adjusted the aeroplane's bearing. "That's why we're not on a heading to America."

Shocked, Brains stared at her. "We're not? Then where are we going?"

"Tracy Island."

"Tracy Island?"

Tin-Tin nodded. "Will you let the Tracys know? We're going to have to transfer our cargo."

"But we don't have another plane capable of carrying anything as big as the printer!"

Tin-Tin managed a tight grin as she wrestled the control yoke. "Oh, yes we do. It is not only bigger, it is stronger, faster, able to fly higher, and built to survive a category five cyclone."

And then Brains understood.

-F-A-B-

"Let me get this straight," Jeff told his wristwatch. "You want to transfer the equipment to Thunderbird Two?!"

"That's right, Mr Tracy," Brains told him. "You'll have to hire a cargo helijet, so you can take it from our landing zone to the hospital. It'll be quicker than flying this plane all the way to the States, especially through this storm… Or…" he added, considering an alternative, "we could use Thunderbird Two's sickbay as the operating theatre."

"No." Jeff shook his head. "We're not moving Virgil any more than necessary. I'll only consider that as a last resort."

Brains was unperturbed by the dismissal of his alternative plan.

Gordon however was perturbed by the idea of using Thunderbird Two. "We can't do that! I didn't finish checking her over after our last flight!"

"Relax," John reassured him. "I finished checking her over and she's shipshape. I followed the checklist just as Virgil told me to. You don't need to worry about her."

Gordon looked at his brother, managed a shaky smile, and nodded.

"What range helijet were you considering, Brains?" Jeff asked.

"I thought it would be safest for International Rescue if we were to land on Barduq Island."

Jeff frowned at the mention of his private island just outside the United States' economic zone. "Barduq's miles away."

"I know, but it's outside of American airspace and we can safely make a transfer from Thunderbird Two without anyone wondering about our activities. We'll be quicker if we only have to worry about the equipment and don't have to worry about International Rescue's security."

Jeff conceded that he had a point. "All right. You two carry on as you were, and we'll see about the helijet. But don't be foolhardy. I don't want you putting your own lives at risk for our sake."

As Brains signed off, Jeff glanced over at his eldest son, wondering if this was a task that could bring him out of his reverie.

Scott already had his phone out and was scrolling through a web page. Alan, glancing not-so-surreptitiously over his shoulder, grinned and winked at their father. He knew as they all did that Scott could never resist the opportunity to check out any type of aircraft.

And Scott knew exactly what they needed. "I've found one."

"Where?" Jeff asked.

"A TA-HJ60 Amazilia. 200 kilometres due west."

Jeff fingered his watch. "I'll contact Penny." Then he stopped. "There's a branch of Tracy Construction in Hillsville that has a TA-HJ65. That's only, roughly, 180 k west."

"Even better."

Lady Penelope was more than happy to be called back into service and promised to be at the hospital within the hour, at which Scott suggested that he and his brothers start walking to meet her somewhere along her route, theorising that the traffic build-up outside would mean that their pedestrian journey would be as quick as that of a six-wheeled Rolls Royce.

"But it's night time!" Grandma protested.

"That'll make the crowded roads even more difficult to negotiate," Scott reminded her. He stood. "Come on, Fellas."

Glad to have something productive to do, his brothers stood and the four young men left the storeroom and the hospital.

Jeff started ordering the polymers that would be needed to create the building blocks of the scaffolding that would pull Virgil back together.

And Grandma got her knitting out.

-F-A-B-

The weather was getting worse. The rain outside their cabin window was almost horizontal and threatened to smash through it. The winds were coming from all points of the compass and making flying in a straight line almost impossible.

"Brains…" Tin-Tin had a frown on her delicate face, her arms tiring as they battled against the elements. "I don't think we can reach Tracy Island."

Brains had slowly been coming to that realisation himself. "Wh-What's Plan C?"

"I was hoping that you had one."

Brains scowled at the weather outside. "We're going to have to turn back, aren't we?"

Tin-Tin examined the weather radar, then she checked the night sky and sheets of falling rain, and then the weather radar again. "Yes."

Brains said something that did nothing to make either of them feel any better.

Taking care because of the ferocious winds, Tin-Tin turned the control yoke until they were on a heading back to Australia. "What do we tell the Tracys?"

"Th-The truth. Th-that we have f-f-failed."

Tin-Tin wished she could reach out to comfort him, but her hands were glued to the controls. "At least we tried, Brains."

"I still feel a failure."

"Me too."

"I-I'll call Mr Tracy," Brains offered. "You c-concentrate on flying."

As the winds bucked their aeroplane, thrust them against their safety harnesses, and tried to force them out of the sky, Tin-Tin wondered which task was the easier to perform.

Poker-faced, Jeff received the news without comment. "You're both safe?"

"We a-are, Mr Tracy," Brains reassured him. "We are flying into calmer winds."

"Good. I'm glad that you're not being reckless, and I thank you for making the attempt. Neither Virgil nor I would want your lives on our conscience."

This didn't make Brains or Tin-Tin feel any better. "Wh-What will you do, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff didn't have too many options. "Ask for Virgil to be put back on the waiting list. At least they'll be able to use the extra operating theatre instead of waiting until we've finished with it."

"I'm s-sorry, Sir, I r-really thought we could help him."

"I know. Still, we haven't lost all hope. Call me as soon as you've landed in Australia. We need to know that you've arrived safely."

After agreeing, Brains signed off.

Hearing a sigh at his side, Jeff took his mother's hand. "No one can say we didn't try."

"This will be devastating for the boys. They were so keen to do something to help."

He rubbed her hand. "I know." It was his turn to sigh. "Guess I should call them." Deciding that that a public call to a cell phone would be less suspicious than one to a watch, he dialled Scott's number.

"Father?"

"Is there anyone around? Can you put the phone onto speaker phone?"

"We can all hear you."

"Brains and Tin-Tin have had to turn back. The cyclone was too strong for them to continue…"

-F-A-B-

Twin bright beams picked out the cluster of people huddled on the footpath.

"'Ello, m'Lady. Looks like we've found 'em."

"And not walking. This is of some concern."

"H-I was thinkin' that meself." Parker gave a discreet toot of the horn and pulled in next to the group as Scott pocketed his phone.

Lady Penelope pushed the button that opened the gullwing doors. "Do get in, dear boys. It is much too late to be standing about."

"Thanks, Penny." John clambered inside and rotated a seat out of the upholstery. This meant that he was sitting with his back to the windscreen, next to Parker, but afforded him plenty of legroom. "We've just heard from Dad. Brains and Tin-Tin have had to return to Australia. The cyclone's too strong."

"And you now have no way of getting the equipment to Bearston?"

John shook his head.

"How tiresome."

"If only Kyrano could fly Thunderbird Two," Alan moaned.

"Yeah. Instead of all of International Rescue's pilots being trapped half a world away," Gordon agreed. "We have the one craft and the one machine capable of saving Virg's life, and we can't use either of them!"

There was a sullen silence inside the car.

Seeking to at least attempt to cheer them up, Lady Penelope made an enquiry. "When did you last eat?"

"Grandma brought something from home," Alan recollected, "but that was hours ago."

"In that case you must all be hungry. Perhaps we should find a quiet establishment and obtain some sustenance," she suggested. "We can purchase something for Jeff and your grandmama."

Stuck for anything else intelligent to do, and dreading returning to the hospital and the endless hours of waiting, no one declined her offer.

"Drive on, Parker."

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker checked his on-board computer, found a suitable establishment, and pulled away from the kerb.

Scott gazed out of the car as the scenery drifted by, not really focussing on anything. Shops and billboards highlighted by spotlights floated past and nothing registered in his conscious, not even the fact that he was being driven to a place that sold food; normally something that was guaranteed to have him waiting with eager expectation.

A billboard with a ridiculous picture of a family standing next to their homemade rocket and the caption: _Now you too can be out of this world like International Rescue!_ flashed past his eyes.

He frowned, redrawing the scene in his mind.

Suddenly inspired he rolled up his sleeve. "Brains! I've got an idea! Where are you?"

"Erm… Still in the plane, Scott. We're about half an hour out of Sydney."

"Can you get onto those research guys?"

"Yes."

"Ask them if they've got the plans for their equipment handy and if they think it would be possible to print them out on an industrial scale 3D printer."

"A 3D printer?" Brains looked astonished at the suggestion, and the fact that he hadn't thought of it. "Do you know where one is?"

"No. But Father's bound to have one at one of his companies. You call them, and I'll call him!"

All of a sudden the sombre feeling in the car disappeared. Hopeful, everyone watched as Scott dialled his phone and put it onto the speakerphone.

Feeling that a meal was going to be the last thing on anyone's minds, Parker slowed the Rolls Royce and parked it at the side of the road, before turning in his seat so he could listen in.

"Father, it's Scott. Where's your nearest industrial-sized 3D printer?"

Jeff had known who was calling as soon as the phone had rung, but he made no comment on his eldest's forgetfulness. "Our nearest printer? Why? You can't be thinking of printing out the, ah, scaffolding on that!"

"No. But we can print out the printer!"

"We can? Are you sure?"

"Brains is checking with those guys now, but if we can…"

"Okay, Son," there was an eagerness in Jeff's voice that betrayed his optimism, "give me a moment to think. The closest industrial 3D printer to Bearston is…" They heard him falter. "Is ACE."

"ACE?" Scott and everyone else in the car felt their stomachs fall. "You mean earthquake ACE?"

"Yes."

"You must have another somewhere!"

"That's the only one big enough to print the entire machine. Plus, because it's going to be needed in surgery, we need to produce a printer that's free of contaminants. The room at ACE is isolated from the rest of the…" Jeff's voice faded away.

"Dad?" Alan prompted. "What about it?"

"It's isolated from all external influences. Dust, dirt, vibrations…"

"So, you're saying the 'quakes may not have affected it?"

"Your brothers know better than I do how big the 'quakes were and the state of ACE. What do you think, Boys?"

The three members of International Rescue who'd been on duty at the danger zone looked at each other and shrugged.

"Where's the printer room in the complex, Dad?" Gordon asked.

"You know where the offices are housed?"

"Yes."

"Diagonally across the parking lot from Hamish's office is a separate building. It's in there. Did it look damaged?"

Gordon screwed up his eyes, trying to visualise the scene as he'd seen it from Thunderbird Two's cockpit as he'd fought the paint bay fire. "I can't remember!"

"Penny! Can I borrow your computer? Thanks." Before she'd had a chance to respond, John had fired it up. "Now…" He muttered. "If I can access Thunderbird Five… Come on, Baby… Talk to Daddy… I'm in! Now to check out Thunderbird Two's video recordings… What time were you putting out the fire, Gordon?"

"I don't know! I had other things to look at besides the clock."

It was Alan who gave the answer; his voice unemotional. "It was just after the 'quake caused the furnace to collapse."

John looked at him. "Oh… Of course." His fingers searched the video files until he came across one showing a figure writhing on the ground, the Firefly hidden beneath a roof, a hole in the factory where a truck had crashed through, and a tall column of smoke. "This feels like years ago… Let's hope you had a reason to film that side of the complex, Gordon..."

Everyone watched him as he watched the video pictures on screen.

"Bingo!" John turned the computer so his companions could see it. The image was on the edge of shot and faintly out of focus, the camera having been directed towards other things, but the blue building looked in one piece. "Is that it? Does it look damaged?" He positioned the screen so Scott's phone's camera could view it.

"That's it," Jeff confirmed.

"What about the other side?" Alan asked.

"Try Thunderbird One's footage from when I flew in," Scott suggested.

"Okay…" John started searching again. "And that was what… 10:45 local time?"

"A little before, I think."

John found the video. "There've been a couple of big earthquakes after then, but it looks okay… Assuming it wasn't damaged by a landing and launching rocket plane."

Lady Penelope leant forward. "Parker," she instructed quietly. "I think we shall return to our original plan."

"The 'elijet? Yes, m'Lady." The car started moving.

The Tracys didn't notice.

"Did you fly out the same way?" Alan was asking.

Scott frowned. "No."

"Boys…" Jeff had been trying not to get too excited. "I've just thought of something else. That part of the plant is for the manufacture of aeronautical components that must be machined to exact specifications. There is no margin for error, so no dust or contaminants of any sort are allowed in and any excess material produced as part of the process is instantly vacuumed away. The entire procedure is computer generated… and performed by a robot."

"A robot capable of doing microsurgery?" Gordon clarified.

"I would assume so. Brains will have to confirm it." Jeff looked at his watch. "It's late, but I'm going to call Hamish and let him know what we're doing. The security system probably isn't switched on, but I'd hate for him to receive a call saying that someone's breaking and entering when the property's owner has given you permission… Let me know if Brains gives you the all clear."

"F-A-B," Scott told him, and turned off his phone.

-F-A-B-

The exhausted surgeon took a moment between operations to have something to eat and recharge his batteries.

He bit into his sandwich.

Ergh! He'd asked for one without sauce, not drowning in it! He considered requesting another, but decided that that would only take time and time was something his patients didn't have.

Resolving to ignore the offending sauce as much as he could, he took another bite and started going through the on-screen lists again, noting that they seemed to have increased in number, rather than shrunk despite all his hard work and the addition of further surgeons.

Curious, he clicked on the number of the man who'd been brought in by International Rescue. He was still alive. That was always a good sign.

Taking his third bite of his sandwich and screwing up his nose at the taste despite his resolve not to, the surgeon chewed slowly as he read the words on screen. Although clearly weakening, this individual was showing a will to live that predisposed him towards surgery.

The surgeon made a note, took another bite of the sandwich, and started reading another patient's triage notes. As he read he realised that this woman had just bumped 'International Rescue man' off the head of the queue. He was displaying a strength that said he'd last the length of time that it would take to save her life. She was fading fast and couldn't afford to wait at all.

Satisfied with his decision the surgeon crammed the last of his sandwich into this mouth, decided that the sauce wasn't that bad after all, and left his office.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Its spotlight highlighting the ground, the helijet touched down in an area of flattened grass in the middle of a large empty space over the road from the factory, just managing to avoid a pile of rubble.

"Nice of someone to prepare our landing site for us," Gordon quipped, as he stepped out into one of Thunderbird Two's scorch marks. He reached back into the helijet and grabbed the carry handle of a generator. Scott taking the other side.

His torch flashing across the landscape, John surveyed the area where they'd been only hours earlier and yet it seemed a lifetime ago. "I just wish the earthquake hadn't cut up the ground so much that we could land closer."

Gordon and the generator at his side, Scott started walking in the direction of the 3D printer building. "We're just going to have to make use of the pallet trucks."

They rounded the corner and saw Patillo Park and the makeshift first aid post. "Or a forklift?" Alan suggested, and jogged over to check out the one that Lisa had converted into the ambulance. The keys were in the ignition and he fired it up. "It works!"

His brothers were staring down a square building in the corner of the carpark.

"Looks in one piece," John commented as their lights played over the almost unblemished surface. "How do we get in?"

Scott was examining the lock. "Biometrics and a combination," he grunted. "We've got the combination from Uncle Hamish, but the fingerprints are a different matter."

"And the irony is," Gordon commented, "that Virgil's the only one of us whose fingerprints are probably in the system."

A tremor rattled through the city.

"I hate that."

Gordon's brothers agreed.

There was a toot and the forklift drove up to their group, its headlights illuminating the door. "Haven't you guys broken in yet?" Alan jumped down out of the forklift's cab.

"We're still trying to work out how," John told him.

"We should have brought Parker. He'd have us in there in a jiffy."

"We need Parker to stand by in FAB1 in case those research guys make it to the States." Scott pointed his light at a long piece of metal. "Use that to jimmy the door open, Gordon."

"Why me?"

"Because you've got the most upper body strength of any of us."

Pretending to grumble, Gordon picked up the metal bar. "You just want my fingerprints on it instead of yours for when we're arrested for breaking and entering."

"_Don't move! Put your hands in the air!"_

Startled by the unexpected voice that assaulted them via a loud speaker, Gordon dropped the bar.

"I thought Dad was letting Uncle Hamish know we were doing this, so he could tell security," John said as he raised his hands.

"_Keep your hands where I can see them and turn around… Slowly!"_

Obeying the instruction, the brothers turned. They blinked against a powerful light that beamed full-on into their faces.

A young policeman was staring at them, his gun pointed in their direction.

They waited for him to address them.

"What do you think you're doing?"

As usual, his siblings let Scott do the talking. "Our father, Jefferson Tracy, owns this property. We need to use the printer that's in this building."

"Your father owns it?" In the darkness behind his torch, the cop sneered. "Then why are you breaking in."

"Because we don't have the biometric authorisation to unlock the door."

"And why, when the city's just been hit by an earthquake and electricity is non-operational, do you _need_ to use a printer?"

"Our brother was hurt in an aftershock. In the furnace building over th…" Scott went to point in the direction of the building in question, but the cop, clearly unnerved by having to face down four strong young men without backup, even if he had the advantage of firepower, swung the gun in his direction.

Scott made sure both hands were airborne and that his empty palms were facing the policeman. "Our brother was hurt, and we need to use the 3D printer to print out the machine that will save his life."

He had a feeling that the policeman didn't believe his story.

"Uncle Hamish, uh, I mean Hamish Mickelson is the General Manager of ACE, Aeronautical Component Engineering," he continued. "He's at a refugee centre in Bearston. You can call him, and he'll vouch for us. He knows what we're doing and why we're here."

The policeman considered the suggestion.

"Would it help if we showed you our IDs?"

"Okay, take them out one at a time." The gun stayed glued to Scott. "You first."

Keeping his left hand in full view of that gun, Scott slowly reached behind with his right and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He held it up in his fingertips, so the cop could see it was what he promised. "Do you want me to throw it onto the ground in front of you?"

"Do that."

Scott did so.

The gun swung onto John. "Now you. Keep it slow."

One by one the Tracys handed over their wallets and watched as, still wary and with his gun unwavering, the cop picked them up.

"Scott Tracy," he read, and compared the picture with the cool, in control face that was before him, unaware that inwardly the wallet's owner was screaming at him to let them get on with their work.

As were the owners of the other wallets.

"Look," the gun was swung in Alan's direction and he made a point of keeping his hands in full view, "we know you're trying to do your job, and we're grateful that you're keeping watch over our father's property, but our brother is dying while we're standing around waiting for you to decide what you're going to do with us. Can't you call someone and verify our story? If it'll make you happier you can handcuff us while you make the call." His brothers nodded their agreement.

The cop considered what he said. Then he got on his radio.

The radio responded. _"Go ahead."_

"I need an ID confirmation."

"_What details do you have?"_

"I'll send them through." The cop scanned each wallet's details into a tablet and pressed send. Then he pointed the camera in the Tracys' direction and pressed send again. "They say they're the owner's sons."

"_If they're Tracys they could be. Don't you know that ACE is part of Jeff Tracy's empire?"_

"I know. I just want to confirm that these guys are who they say they are and that they're doing what they say they're doing."

"_And that is?" _

"They need to use a printer to save their brother's life."

"I heard one of Tracy's sons was injured at ACE and got taken by International Rescue to Bearston," the controller confirmed. "Okay… Confirming that that is Scott Tracy and that he's Jeff Tracy's eldest son, and… They're all who they say they are."

The policeman holstered his gun and the Tracys assumed that this was an invitation to lower their arms. They waited to see what was going to happen next.

"I've got ACE's contact details," Control was saying. "I'll call their General Manager, Hamish Mickelson."

There was a moment before the Tracys heard a familiar voice. _"Hamish Mickelson."_

"Mr Mickelson," the policeman said. "I'm at Aeronautical Component Engineering and I have four men here who claim to have permission to break into one of your buildings and use your printer. Can you vouch for them?"

"_Jeff Tracy's sons? Yes. Those young men have their father's and my permission to use whatever they need to save their brother."_

The cop, who seemed to be even younger than Alan, still didn't look convinced. "Including breaking and entering?"

"_Even that. Thank you for your diligence, Officer, but I know that they are desperate to carry on with what they were doing, as unorthodox as it may seem. Will you permit them to continue?"_

"Yes, Sir. Thank you for your assistance."

"_And thank _you_ for all you're doing at this trying time."_

The policeman put away his tablet. "I suppose you have been given the all clear to carry on," he told Scott. "I'm sorry I had to detain you, but there are real concerns about looters and when I saw a helijet fly in I had to check it out."

"Don't worry about it," Scott soothed, as Gordon picked up the metal bar and rammed it into the gap next to the frame. "We've all got our jobs to do."

There was the screech of metal against metal as John and Alan added their combined weight to Gordon's and tried to jimmy the door open.

"Why don't you ram it with the forklift?" the cop suggested, and disappeared back into the night.

"I would, except I don't want to risk damaging anything inside," Scott grunted as he added his weight to the jimmy.

The door refused to budge.

"I think I saw some gear over by where the forklift was," Alan said. "Maybe there's something there we could use?"

"Okay, you and John go and see what you can find." Scott re-joined Gordon on another attack on the door.

Their brothers were back less than five minutes later, beaming, and with a gas axe and other equipment between them.

Now they were able to make some headway on the door and in a short time they were inside and connecting the generator to the electricity supply.

Electric lights brightened their world and they looked around, familiarising themselves with the tools at their disposal.

"I'm finally beginning to get a positive feeling," Gordon commented as he leant the iron bar against the wall and hauled some equipment out of a cupboard. "We might actually be beginning to get somewhere."

"Yeah." Alan investigated a storeroom. "Here are the consumables for the printer."

John fired up the computer and checked its settings. "Everything looks F-A-B. I'll tell Brains to send through the plans." He watched as a series of files were downloaded.

Scott stood back and watched his brothers work, and tried to analyse what else would be needed to succeed. As Gordon had said, things were progressing well, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind told him that it was too soon to become complacent…

In what appeared to be a simultaneous transmission, each of their watches beeped. Surprised by the synchronicity of the call they looked at each other before transferring their attention to their timepieces.

It was their father.

"Boys…" Jeff's face was expressionless; his voice flat. "Your brother isn't in pain anymore."

No one responded. They stared at him, frightened that they understood the meaning behind his words and desperate to be proven wrong.

It was John who was the first to speak. "What are you saying, Dad?"

"That… That I regret to report…" It was always a bad sign when their father went formal on them, it meant that he was keeping his emotions in check, "…that your brother… Virgil… died of his injuries a short time ago…"

_To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20

"…your brother… Virgil… died of his injuries a short time ago."

The four Tracy brothers; the four _remaining_ Tracy brothers, stared at their father's image on their watch faces.

But no one said anything. No one moved.

No one could believe it.

It couldn't be true. Being a member of International Rescue with all their high-tech equipment gave them a feeling of invincibility. Sure, they got hurt, but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed by Brains' knowhow and Grandma's tender loving care. Serious injury was impossible.

_This_ was impossible.

They heard a sob off camera.

"Take whatever time you need before you come back," their father advised. "We're not leaving until we can take him home, and that's not going to be for some time, judging by the chaos the hospital's in."

It was John who managed to find his voice first. "Ah… Right… We'll… We'll see you… Sometime."

The watches reverted to their more pedestrian dials, yet still no one moved.

That was until Gordon, suddenly angry, picked up the iron bar and hurled it away. It slammed into a wall and fell onto a workbench with a clatter before bouncing onto the floor. "It's not fair!" he stormed. "He had no right to die on us. Not after all the effort we put into getting him out! Not after all the time, and energy, and care, and… and love, and time, and effort, and care!" He ran after the jimmy, picked it up again, and swung it into the wall where it left a sizeable hole. "It's not fair!"

Concerned with the way that his brother was getting worked up and realising that their elder brothers didn't seem to be in a state to do something about it, Alan stepped forward. "Gordon…"

"It's not fair!" Gordon turned his attack onto a bench top. "I hate this place!"

Scared that Gordon might break something important, including himself, Alan grabbed the iron bar, pulling it out of his brother's hands. "Stop this!"

Gordon turned on him. "Don't try to stop me, Alan!" he raged. "I need to hit something and if you're not careful it will be you!" He snatched at the bar.

Alan tossed it out of reach and grabbed Gordon's arms firmly, pinning him to his sides. But when he spoke, his voice was quiet and soothing. "Calm down…"

"Calm down?! How can I be calm! This isn't fair!"

"I know it's not fair, but you know that life isn't fair."

"We tried so hard!"

"No one could have tried any harder or could have done any more."

"Did we do something wrong?"

"No, of course not. We got him out of there alive."

"Did _I_ do something wrong?" Gordon's voice trembled. "Is this my fault?"

"Your fault? Why?"

"Because…" Alan could feel Gordon's whole body shaking with emotion. "Because I suggested to Scott that he let Virgil do that part of the rescue. It was going to be my job and I let him do it. And now look what's happened."

"And if you'd done it, I would probably have been just as miserable, and you and I wouldn't be able to have this conversation."

"But… What if… when I lifted the furnace or that beam… What if I caused it to move in some way that it did more damage?"

Alan shook his head. "Didn't happen."

"You can't know that."

"I_ do_ know that."

"How!?"

"Because I was watching every gauge and monitor on Thunderbird Five. If either the furnace or the beam had moved so much as a millionth of a millimetre where it shouldn't, I would have been screaming at you to stop. You did nothing wrong. In fact, I'd go so far to say that Virgil couldn't have done a better job."

"You're just saying that," Gordon whispered.

"No. It's the truth. And as soon as we're home I'll show you the telemetry readings that will prove it…" Wondering if it was safe to release his grip, Alan did so, and was relieved when Gordon seemed to have lost his need to punish ACE and the rest of the world. "This isn't your fault, Gordon. We just rode our luck one too many times and Virgil got thrown off."

Gordon sagged against the edge of the desk.

John, after a mind-numbing moment when nothing seemed to make sense and he felt he had no direction, decided that he needed something to focus on. This was the moment when he had to start keeping his promise to Virgil. "Scott?" He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Scott looked bewildered rather than bereft. "I… I don't know. I don't feel any different than I did before we left the hospital." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know what I feel."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that…" Scott didn't even flinch at the sound of iron hitting plaster. "…I haven't felt any different since… Since Father went and saw Virgil the second time… When he gave him the stress ball and the music player." He looked at John. "Your theory is that I'd feel Virgil's emotions when he was frightened, right?"

"And he'd feel yours when you were out of control. Right."

"Maybe I lost contact with him when he could listen to music. Maybe the pain relief kicked in, or maybe… But…" Scott bit his lip. "I don't feel normal."

"What do you feel?"

"I can't describe it."

"Can you try?"

Scott shook his head. "No. Maybe what I'm feeling now is normal for you and everyone else 'normal'? Maybe what's been normal for me for most of my life wasn't what normal people normally felt? Is this the first time that I've felt as 'normal' as everyone else?"

John didn't have the answer to that question.

In the silence that followed, Alan looked between his elder brothers as they each dwelt on their own dark thoughts. "Hey!"

Three pairs of sad eyes looked at him.

"We aren't going to give up are we." Alan's statement wasn't a question.

"Give up?" Gordon repeated. "What choice do we have? Without Virgil, International Rescue is sunk."

"I don't believe that and I'm sure you don't either, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"I mean we can't give up here! We're still got to print the printer." Alan saw a query in his brothers' grieving faces.

"But why should we bother?" Gordon demanded. "A printer won't bring him back."

"No, but Virgil wouldn't want us to give up when we've got the opportunity to help a lot more people and the potential to save more lives. Call it his legacy." As Alan's brothers considered what he was saying he continued. "You know that Virg would love the fact that his last rescue involved the creation of a piece of machinery."

"But it's not his type of engineering," John pointed out. "He liked things that involved a lot of grease and muck and where he could get stuck in and get dirty."

"He wouldn't care," Alan persisted. "It's still a rescue and he'd still be saving lives. In fact, he's probably watching us now and saying _will you fellas stop talking and do something!_"

The brothers looked at each other.

"Right!" Scott pulled himself together. "Where's this 3D printer?"

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy stared at the box in his hands. In it he held the stress ball and music player. His son's life was so much more and yet it was almost as if Virgil had been reduced to two insignificant objects.

He remembered when Colin Eden had entered the storeroom carrying this box. He remembered the hospital manager's awkwardness and seemingly never-ending apologies as he'd given them the news. He remembered the disbelief he'd felt.

He still felt it. As had his sons when he'd told them.

"Jeff..." He felt a touch on his arm. "We've got to let people know," his mother reminded him. "We've got to tell Kyrano, and Tin-Tin, and Brains, and Lady Penelope, and Parker."

Jeff didn't want to tell anyone. Telling people might make it true. But he nodded. "I'll call Brains and Tin-Tin first. I don't want the boys ringing them and assuming that they're already aware of what's happened." He handed the box to his mother and, ignoring his watch, pulled out his phone. Chances were that Brains and Tin-Tin were still in the presence of the two researchers who had offered so much hope…

The two members of International Rescue were.

"Brains… Tin-Tin…" Jeff began. "I have news to report. And… And it's not good."

"N-N-Not good, M-Mr Tracy?" Brains stuttered.

Jeff nodded, wishing there was an easy way to do this. "He didn't make it."

Tin-Tin went white. She sank into a chair.

The phone image shook as Brains checked his computer. "D-D-Didn't make it?"

"I want to thank you… all of you… for all you were prepared to do to help him. Perhaps… Perhaps if things had been different… If we'd had more time… you would have succeeded… But… But it wasn't meant to be."

Tin-Tin swallowed. "How is your mother, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff looked off camera. "She's okay…"

"And the boys?"

"Are in shock… They'd only just made it to ACE."

The two researchers looked at each other.

"And you, Mr Tracy?" Tin-Tin asked; her voice quiet.

"I'll li… I'm fine."

Tin-Tin and Brains weren't so sure about that.

"I've got to ring your father, Tin-Tin," Jeff continued. "I'll talk to you both later."

It was Brains' turn to nod. "We'll… ah… We'll see you at home."

In the silence that filled the research lab after the phones' screens went dark, Tin-Tin got out of her seat, walked over to where Brains was sitting, and embraced him.

He let her.

The silence dragged on.

"Ah… We're sorry to hear about your friend," Bryce finally admitted.

"What will you do now?" Timoti added, and was shot an alarmed look by his fellow researcher.

Brains shrugged, as Tin-Tin took the seat next to him, her arm about his shoulders. "We'll, ah, wait and see what the Tracy boys do."

"Do?" Timoti frowned. "What do you mean 'do'?"

Tin-Tin's voice was quiet. "I believe that they will continue to print your printer."

"But… after what's happened…" Bryce cleared his throat. "They don't need it anymore."

"We don't, but others will. The Tracys will not back away from the opportunity to give others life."

Bryce and Timoti looked at each other… And wondered.

-F-A-B-

Jeff's next, painful, call was to Kyrano. "How are you, Kyrano?"

"I am well, Mr Tracy. And Mister Virgil?"

Jeff didn't know why it was so much harder to tell Kyrano than the others. Perhaps it was the fact that his friend was alone on an island whipped by a cyclone.

"Mr Tracy?"

Jeff gave a shuddering sigh. "His injuries were too great."

Kyrano bowed his head. "I shall pray for Mister Virgil." He looked back up. "And you and your family, Kawan Saya."

"Thank you." Jeff felt that there was nothing more that he could say. "I've told Tin-Tin and Brains and now I've got to call Penny and Parker."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Thank you, but no. We'll let you know when we're coming home."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

Lady Penelope accepted the news just as Jeff had expected her to. Stoically and with her customary English stiff upper lip. "Dear me, Jeff, this is dreadful news."

_Tell me about it_, was Jeff's thought, but he didn't vocalise it. "I'd like to thank both you and Parker for all you did to help."

"And we are still at your service. Please do not hesitate to call on us if there is anything more we can do."

"Thanks, Penny, but there's nothing now."

"Then we shall remain here until we receive your call. Do you wish me to let our agents know?"

'Ye… Ah… No. Wait a while," Jeff requested. "I should tell his friends first."

Lady Penelope nodded. "Very well. I shall wait until I receive your instructions."

"Thank you, Penny."

"I take it that the boys are still printing the printer?"

Jeff looked surprised. He'd been so wrapped up in his misery and the horrible job of informing people that he hadn't even thought about continuing the task that they'd set themselves. "I don't know… I didn't discuss it with them."

"It is not my place to say so, but I believe that you should continue for the benefit of others devastated by this terrible earthquake. This will give Virgil's passing some much needed meaning. I also believe that this is what Virgil would want."

"She's right, Jeff," Grandma agreed. "Virgil would want us to carry on."

"I know." Jeff minimised Lady Penelope's picture on the phone's screen and checked a GPS reading. "But even if the boys arrived now with the finished printer, we couldn't use it. The silks for the biological polymer are almost half a state away. How many lives are going to be lost before we can do any good?"

"It is not a question you should be asking, Jeff," Lady Penelope told him. "You should be focussing on how many lives will be improved because of Virgil's. Not only now, but into the future."

Somehow the idea of doing something practical in his son's memory made Jeff feel better. "You're right, Penny."

"Of course, I am." She managed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And with that thought I shall leave you with the reminder that I am here for you all."

"Thanks. I'll call you when things have settled down."

"Thank you…" As Lady Penelope closed her powder compact, she heard a trumpeting noise close by. "Parker?"

He sniffed and stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket. "H-It's me 'ayfever, m'Lady."

"Quite." Lady Penelope withdrew a delicate handkerchief of her own. "There is a definite irritant in the air." She dabbed at her eyes.

-F-A-B-

Even the smartest, most technologically advanced 3D printer takes time to print as it goes through the exacting process of laying micrometre after micrometre of powdered metal and then solidifying it with a laser. This left the Tracy boys with nothing to do, but sit and wait…

And talk.

John sighed. "I'm still having trouble believing it."

"I keep hoping it's a dream," Alan admitted. "I keep hoping that I'm asleep in a deckchair at home and that any moment I'm going to hear his piano playing. Or that Gordon's going to dump a bucket of water over me..."

"I'm not in the mood."

"...and I'll wake up hearing Virgil laughing. Or any minute he's going to wake me up and tell me it's time for dinner." Alan looked at his watch. "When did we last eat?"

John looked at his own chronometer. "Five hours ago?"

"We should have brought Grandma's basket with us."

An aftershock rumbled through the complex.

Alarmed the Tracys stared through the glass that protected the dust free environment of the 3D printer's room, and then relaxed as it continued laying layer after layer without a hiccup.

Gordon settled back into his seat. "He probably thought I'm an idiot."

Normally the joker of the family making a statement like that would have been too good an opening to miss. But his brothers knew that now was not the time to start teasing him.

Not that any of them felt like it.

"An idiot?" John asked. "Why?"

"Because the last time I spoke to him, the _very_ last time I was _ever_ going to speak to him, I left him with an inane comment."

John cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at his brother. "What did you say?"

"Something insensitive."

"Yeah, but what?"

Gordon looked uncomfortable. "I told him he wasn't to go anywhere."

John fixed his brother with a steely gaze. "Good."

"Good?!"

"Yes. When I'm at death's door, say… in about two hundred years' time, I hope the last thing you say to me is a joke."

Gordon stared at John. "You do?!"

"Of course, I do. For one thing, Virgil probably found it reassuring that you were behaving like you always do…"

Gordon slumped. "You mean like an idiot."

"No. As someone who always tries to keep our spirits up. If you'd been all maudlin and soppy he would have thought that we'd given up on him and would have given up himself. Maybe to the extent that we would never have got him to the hospital alive and given Dad the chance to see him. You, being the same as you always are, probably meant more to him than you'll ever know."

Alan nodded his agreement. "It would to me."

Scott, lost in a world of his own, said nothing.

"Oh…" Gordon thought for a moment. "Thanks."

"I remember," Alan said quietly, "that he said to me once… And this was back before we started International Rescue when I was having doubts about joining…"

Gordon stared at him. "You had doubts?"

"Yeah. It was after your accident and before we learnt that there was an operation that could help you. We were…" Alan cast his mind back. "It was when ACE's social club visited me at the track and before the flight through the storm. I told him that I wasn't sure if I wanted to join International Rescue, because I didn't want to end up like you, or…" Alan swallowed…

His brothers gave him a moment to compose himself.

Finally, he felt strong enough to carry on. "He told me that whatever I decided, whether I joined International Rescue or not, that he would support me. And then I asked him if he was worried about the dangers that he would face being part of International Rescue. He told me that if he died saving one life, he'd consider it worth it…" Alan hesitated again. "How many lives has he saved?"

"More than the rest of us," Gordon suggested.

"He never had any doubts, did he? He wanted to be part of International Rescue from day one."

John snuffled a laugh. "You mean he couldn't wait to get his hands on the Thunderbirds." It was a wry comment that garnered a small smile from his younger brothers. "I remember one time he went missing."

"Missing?" Alan frowned. "When was this?"

"He was about six or seven, I think. The whole household was in an uproar. Dad was calling around to see if anyone had seen him and no one had. I remember that everyone old enough to was searching everywhere. Then Dad got a phone call from Mr Matthews next door. He'd been working on his new farm tractor in his shed and had to dash off for some reason and had left it unattended. He came back to find Virgil admiring it. Mr Matthews said that he wasn't touching it. He was just circling it, admiring it, appreciating it… And wishing he could take it apart to see what made it tick."

Alan chuckled. "What did Dad do when he got him home?"

"I don't know. I wasn't involved with that particular part of the drama."

"You know what memory really stands out for me? In my early karting days, he and I spent hours together working on the motor trying to get an extra bit of speed out of it. We succeeded too…" Alan gave a sad smile. "I'd like to think that he enjoyed spending time with me as much as he did maintaining that engine."

"I remember the first time I saw him after my year in the bathyscaphe," Gordon recollected. "I waited until he was having afternoon tea and the rest of ACE was in the canteen at the same time. Then I walked in and pretended to be his gay lover. You should have seen his face! He didn't know whether to hug me or hit me."

John chuckled. "After the way you changed some of his voicemail messages on his phone, I should think that hitting you was a more attractive option."

"Especially since he'd already had a bit of sparring practise with the Skulz," Alan concluded. He sighed. "Home won't be the same without his piano playing."

"I once fell for a girl…" Gordon admitted.

John laughed. "Only once? For a while there it seemed as if you were pining after a new girl every week!"

"If you've got it, why not share it about?" Gordon managed a quiet grin. "This girl didn't even know that I existed, so I asked Virgil if he'd write a tune, so I could impress her."

"Did it work?" Alan asked.

"Like a charm. She said she liked older men and I could arrange a date with the composer?" Gordon's two brothers laughed. "Luckily for both of us he was at Denver at the time."

"Did you tell him what had happened?"

"No…" Gordon saddened. "I wish I had now."

"Remember when I asked him to draw a picture for the cover of my second book?" John asked. "I thought he'd do a simple painting and that would be it, but he nearly drove me demented in the process. I'd think it was perfect and that he couldn't make it any better, and then he'd ask if he could make some changes. In the end, I had to tell him that it was already at the printers to stop him from changing the design for the thousandth time."

"He wanted it to be perfect for you, Johnny," Gordon told him.

"I know…" John's voice cracked and there was silence.

"I remember…"

Shocked by the sudden intrusion into their reminiscences, the younger Tracys stared at the eldest.

"…I remember our first ever rescue; the one where we saved the Fireflash…" Seemingly in another world Scott gazed at nothing, and his brothers weren't even sure if he was aware that they were listening. "He'd just had a radioactive plane with a bomb in it land on him, he'd burst a tyre and spun out, and he was trapped upside-down in an elevator car. I honestly thought that we'd killed him on our first rescue, and I was trying not to let air traffic control see that I was sweating bullets. I got on the radio to ask him how he was and the first thing he says to me is a laconic: _Okay, Scott. Good timing…_" He paused. "Nothing phased him."

"Yes," Gordon agreed. "He wasn't frightened of anything. Not even being trapped under overheated metal and lumps of concrete."

"That's where you're wrong, Gordon." Scott's stare seemed to bore through his younger brother. "You're very wrong… He was terrified…"

-F-A-B-

Jeff picked his phone up again with a sigh. "I guess I should tell Hamish, and Virgil's friends." He stared at the instrument. "It's no good, I can't do it over the phone." He stood. "I'll be back soon."

But Grandma was already on her feet. "I'll come with you. I need to get out of this place for a bit."

They'd been trapped in the artificial light of the storeroom for so long that it was a surprise to step outside into the darkness of the night. Following a moonlit trail across the park, they made their way to the hall and found the entrance.

Inside the lights had been dimmed, but not everyone was snoozing. There were some sounds of snoring; but most people, displaced from their homes and having to deal with lying on thin mattresses, on wooden floors, in an unfamiliar environment, were unable to sleep.

An administrator approached Jeff and his mother. "Can I help you?" she whispered.

Jeff responded equally quietly. "We were hoping to see some people. They came from Aeronautical Component Engineering."

"Jeff…" his mother tapped him on the arm. "There's Hamish." She pointed to a figure who was sitting, his eyes closed and his arm in a sling, with his back against the wall.

"Try not to make too much noise," the administrator requested.

Jeff hadn't planned on doing so, but he nodded his agreement.

He and his mother had only just started picking their way through the bodies, when they came across other ACE members of staff. As if they'd sensed their boss approaching, all of them stirred.

Greg sat up. "Jeff?"

"It's me… Hello, Greg… Mavis."

Hamish got to his feet to greet his friend and employer. "You look terrible," he said.

Jeff noted Hamish's pale face. "So do you…" He turned to Edna. "How are you?"

"At a guess, a darn sight better than you, Jeff."

Wanting to be as quiet yet supportive as possible, Lisa stood up and gave Mrs Tracy a silent hug.

Bruce, as he was helped to his feet by Olivia, had the appearance of a man who wanted to ask a million questions, but was afraid to do so. Winston seemed to be equally as desperate and it was only Rex's arm on his that stopped him from blurting them out. Freddy, the shadows under his eyes as black as his hair, hugged his knees as his concerns for his family shut him out from what was happening around him. He looked up, as if awakening, when Butch accidentally nudged him.

Grandma looked around, not seeing the smallest member of the group. "Where's Ginny?" she whispered.

Lisa smiled and gently pulled aside the edges of a blanket that was suspended between the handles of two cupboard doors. Curled up inside her hammock, as snug as the proverbial bug, slept Ginny. "Butch made it for her."

Grandma smiled at the big man who turned pink with embarrassment.

Deciding that it would be easier to talk in the foyer rather than risk waking the lucky few who were asleep, Hamish gestured in that direction.

Rex's Auntie Alicia had been given one of the more comfortable mattresses but had been as unable to sleep as the rest of ACE. "You go," she told Lisa. "I'll look after Ginny."

Treading as softly as they could, the ACE personnel who remained at the evacuation centre traipsed out of the main hall. Deciding that the foyer was too crowded for their needs they, by mutual whispered agreement, continued outside to where they could talk normally.

Jeff was incensed by the situation his friends and employees had found themselves in. "Is that all the authorities can offer you?" he demanded. "Can't they find you proper accommodation?"

"Every hotel, motel, backpackers, hostel, and campground is full," Hamish explained. "Some people have been billeted out to private homes, but we haven't been that lucky." He lowered his voice. "Edna and I were offered a room, but, much to her disgust, I thought I should stay with the rest of the team."

"I can do something about that," Jeff declared. "I'll get motorhomes for you all." They saw the light of his phone illuminate his face.

"That can wait," Hamish told him. "How's Virgil?"

The phone's light went out.

In the darkness that followed everyone waited for the answer before realising that the answer was the darkness.

"Jeff?"

Jeff Tracy felt his friend's uninjured hand on his shoulder but felt powerless to speak. Maybe he should have rung the news through? Now it seemed easier to tell his own sons than to tell this group waiting patiently and with trepidation in the dark.

He switched that phone back on. "You need somewhere comfortable to sleep," he insisted, and started searching local directories for hire companies.

He heard Lisa start to cry but didn't see Butch wrap his wife in a gentle embrace. He didn't see Edna offer his mother a reassuring hug. He didn't see Bruce and Olivia comfort each other, as did Greg and Mavis, and Winston and Rex. He didn't see Freddy stand there alone and lost, but felt Hamish's grip change so that his friend's arm was about his shoulders.

"Come on, Jeff, let me help you," Hamish offered, and led him further into the black night. "We can sit over here…"

-F-A-B-

Across…

And back…

Across…

And back…

Across…

And back…

Watching the printer track its untiring way backwards and forwards was almost hypnotic in its repetitiveness. Each time that John thought that had to be the pass that finished this particular component, the machine would trundle back and lay another minuscule line.

Across…

And back…

Across…

And stop.

A protective coating was sprayed around the printout, setting like a plastic wrap.

John had the microphone to his mouth. "You're in!"

Two of his brothers, by height and build they had to be Scott and Gordon, entered, completely covered by dust resistant suits. They released the printout from its base as Alan, similarly clad and pushing an equally protected pallet truck, followed. The three of them (they'd discovered after the first printout that there wasn't enough room for all four) slid the unit onto the pallet truck and left the room.

John started the process that refilled the consumable chambers and input the plan that was the last unit to be made. As a final check, he hit the equivalent of "page preview" and examined the printout from on all sides as a hologram rotated in front of him.

Alan, stripped of his suit, joined him. "Ready for the final one?"

"Almost." John didn't let his attention stray from the image on screen. A panel with a code etched into it appeared.

"Pause it!" Alan commanded.

John did as he'd told. "Why?"

"That part's not functional, right?" Alan pointed at the panel.

"No. It's just an identifier."

"Good." Alan opened the editing programme and, above the identifier, swiftly typed in six letters.

_Virgil_

John nodded his approval and pushed print.

_To be continued…_


	21. Chapter 21

_Finally, it is time to reveal my devious plan. By killing off Virgil, I can now keep him all to myself! __However, I possibly could be bribed by chocolate, if anyone ever wants to borrow him to play with. _

_Funnily enough, no one's called me evil this time around… _

_...Yet._

_FAB._

;-)_ Purupuss_

* * *

It wasn't until Jeff was satisfied that enough accommodation had been supplied for everyone trapped in the hall that he and his mother had bid a sombre goodnight to ACE and returned to their storeroom in Bearston General. Their intention was to stay there until the family joined them and then retire to one of the two motorhomes that they'd procured for their own use. Jeff wondered if they should leave a note in the room saying where they were and retire anyway.

Grandma picked up the cushion that had fallen onto the floor and replaced it on her chair. "I wonder when the boys will be back."

"Mr Tracy!" They jumped as Colin Eden slammed his way in through the door. "Mrs Tracy! I've had everyone looking for you!"

Jeff was too exhausted, emotionally and physically, to respond.

"We made a mistake!"

Jeff barely had the energy to comprehend, let alone comment on what the hospital manager was saying. "Mistake?"

"Virgil! He's alive!" Eden, his eyes almost popping out of his head as he wrung his hands together, started gabbling. "I'm sorry, really sorry. I know that you've been through a stressful time, and I'm sorry the way that Bearston General has treated you, and I'm sure you understand that this been a traumatic event for everyone, and we've done our best to behave professionally, and I'm sorry that you've had to deal with what you thought was your son's death, but mistakes happen, especially when people are under pressure…"

Jeff, feeling a new burst of energy not so much surge as pulse through him, held up his hand, stopping the manager's garrulous speech. "What are you telling us?"

Colin Eden, seeing his entire career pass before his eyes, repeated the most important point. "Virgil is not dead. He's alive. It was an error. One of our clerical staff accidentally listed him as deceased. All our staff have been working non-stop for hours and a few mistakes are only natural, and the error was discovered a short time later and corrected, but by then I'd already been notified. I've set up our computer system to automatically send any reports on Virgil's condition to me; and, of course, I told you as soon as I received that report. When the correction was made, I couldn't find you. I've had all our staff looking for you…"

"Are you telling me…" Jeff's rumble sounded almost subterranean, "that I've just told my sons…" his voice increased in volume and pitch, "Virgil's brothers…!" He rose to his feet. "…and various family friends that my son's dead when the truth is that he's still alive!? That… That it was a clerical error?!"

Eden was ringing is hands again. "Yes. I'm so sorry, and we did try to tell you, but…"

Jeff's mother laid her hand on the small of her son's back. "It was an honest mistake, Jeff."

Sinking back into his chair he took her hand and all the fight seemed to evaporate out of him. "I know…" He looked back at the wide-eyed manager. "It's been a tough day."

"I'm sure it has been. And please allow me to extend the sympathy of Bearston General and apologise that we have added to your burden."

Then Grandma grabbed her son's arm. "Jeff! You've got to tell the boys! What if they _have _stopped printing the printer?!"

"They wouldn't do th..." Jeff began, but then doubts crept in. His sons had never had to deal with this exact scenario before. "Would they?" He pulled out his mobile phone. "They're still at ACE."

"What if they're just sitting there? You've got to call them now!"

"No." Jeff almost launched himself out of his chair. "Not until I've seen Virgil for myself." He grabbed the box containing the music player and the stress ball. "Show me where he is!" he ordered.

Desperate to make amends, Eden agreed.

He led Jeff down a familiar route to the room that had been Virgil's.

Jeff frowned as Eden pushed open the doors. "We were told he'd been moved."

"Ah… Yes… That was the original intention, but then someone else needed that room more…" Eden looked embarrassed as he held the door open and stood aside.

Jeff entered and looked around the room. "Where is he?"

"What?!" Eden did a quick check of his own. "Nurse! Where's Virgil Tracy?"

She treated them to a bright smile. "He's lucky. They've just taken him into surgery."

"What!?" Jeff felt his heart, which had been getting a major workout over the last however many hours it had been since this nightmare had begun, drop. "We've got to stop them!" He slammed back through the doors. "Which way to the operating rooms?!"

A helpful orderly pointed left.

Jeff ran through the corridors, following signs where he could and gasping out breathless questions when he needed extra guidance. He could hear Eden panting along behind him, but didn't want to take the chance that the administrator would try to stop him. Not that he would let anyone stop him. He had to get to Virgil before all chances of a full recovery were lost.

He found a nurse at a workstation in the surgical ward. "Which room is Virgil Tracy being operated in?"

"Ah…" The nurse checked his notes. "Room six… But you can't go down there!" He yelled after the departing back.

He was about to summon security when he was stopped by the hospital's manager.

With the briefest of checks through the windows in the doors to ensure that he wasn't about to do more harm than good, Jeff burst into theatre six. "Stop!"

"What?" Several masked faces stared at him; the anaesthetist frozen midway through the process of applying a mask to the patient's face.

Furious, the surgeon pulled his hat off. "What's going on here!?" He turned when Eden also entered unannounced. "What's the meaning of this, Colin?!" His mask was ripped clear. "You're contaminating the entire area!"

"I know," Eden soothed. "But it is important he sees his son."

"Important?! Doesn't he think saving his son's life is important?! Does he have any idea what he's just done?"

Jeff didn't listen to the exchange as he bent over the figure lying on the bed. "Virgil? It's your father. Can you hear me?"

"Dad…?" Virgil gazed sightlessly at the burning light overhead. "S'all dark."

Jeff saw a small movement of his son's arm and reached down to hold Virgil's good hand; trying not to think that, unlike last time, it felt as fragile as wet tissue paper. "Virgil. Can you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

There was a tiny nod. "Y's."

"You!" Jeff pointed at the hapless anaesthetist, who hadn't moved. "Listen to what he says! You're to be his voice."

Bemused, the anaesthetist frowned behind her mask. "I'm what?"

"Whatever Virgil says is the final word. If anyone, including me, tries to do something to him he doesn't want, you are to speak up for him."

The anaesthetist turned wide, bewildered eyes on her colleagues.

"Virgil," Jeff began. "You trust Brains, don't you?"

There was the nod again. "Y's."

"The surgeons here at this hospital want to help you. If you let them operate on you now, they will take away all the pain and discomfort you are in now. Do you understand?"

"Y's."

"But if you let them operate on you now, things will never be the same as they were before. You won't be able to do what you always did. Do you understand?"

"… Y's."

"Brains has discovered a procedure that will enable you to live as you always did…" Behind him Jeff heard a snort of disbelief. "…and do what you always did. But the procedure has never been used before and Brains can't guarantee that it will work. And this procedure won't be able to be done for at least an hour…"

The surgeon turned on his superior. "Colin! I must protest."

Jeff kept his focus on his son and the need to speak clearly. "Brains believes that this operation, even though it has never been done before, will work. Do you understand?"

"Bra'n' say' i' work?"

"Brains thinks it will work," Jeff clarified. "Do you want to be operated on now?"

Virgil didn't take any time to think about it. "No."

"Do you want to wait for the untried procedure?"

This response was equally as sure. "Y's… Trus' Bra'n'," Virgil stated, and Jeff glanced at the anaesthetist to ensure that she'd heard and understood. "Trus' you."

Not expecting those last two words, Jeff felt shocked. Shocked enough to do something that he hadn't done for decades. He kissed his son on the forehead. "Thank you, Virgil," he whispered. "I'll try not to betray your trust."

He straightened. "You heard him! He doesn't want to be operated on now. He wants to wait until the other procedure is ready."

"He doesn't know what he's saying!" the surgeon protested.

Jeff turned to the anaesthetist but didn't say anything.

"He…" The anaesthetist darted confused eyes between all the people in the room. "He sounded like he understood and knew what he was saying."

When it came to the welfare of his patients, the surgeon was a tyrant. "Mr Tracy! To not operate now would be tantamount to murder!"

"Suicide," someone amended and then tried to make themselves invisible against the pale walls of the theatre.

"I'm not saying anything against your surgical abilities nor that of this hospital," Jeff began, trying to sound calm and rational even though he felt like he was about to explode. "But I am Virgil's next of kin and I also have power of attorney over him." That document was in a safe at Tracy Island and had been created in case there was ever a situation where Jeff Tracy would have to reveal his link, although not necessarily his relationship, with International Rescue's operatives. "We don't have the time to retrieve the documentation to prove it, but I can assure you that I have the authority to dictate Virgil's course of treatment and I insist that we wait until the printer and the polymer are ready."

"Mr Tracy!" the surgeon stormed. "Virgil can't wait. You can see that his body is already shutting down!" He was silenced by his boss making a calm down gesture and laying a hand on his arm. Realising that making such comments in front of his patient did not equate with his understanding of the Hippocratic Oath, he lowered his voice. "Mr Tracy," he repeated. "Virgil's sight loss is the first stage in cascading organ failure. He can't wait… Even if this untried procedure is going to be the miracle cure you're hoping for."

The heartfelt statement from someone who knew more about his son's condition than he did was enough to make Jeff's resolve waver. It was one thing to be sure of his decision when he knew that his son would live long enough to make it to the operating table. It was another when he knew that he was about to jeopardise Virgil's life, especially as the pain of losing him was still raw.

Everyone watched as he battled between rational thought and his almost evangelical faith in Brains.

Then his eyes fell on an oxygen cylinder and in his mind he heard a single word said in a strong, sure, resolute voice.

_Oxyhydnite._

"We wait," he said and shoved Virgil's box into Colin Eden's hands. "Make sure he gets those. I've got phone calls to make to ensure that he lives."

He strode out of the operating theatre.

Eden looked at the surgical team and handed the box to one of them. "You heard the decision. Take Virgil back to his ward."

"Colin!" The surgeon protested as the theatre staff moved towards the patient. "This is madness!"

"I know," Eden soothed. "But I have to think of the bigger picture."

"The bigger picture?!"

"Yes. This is about more than one man's life."

The surgeon looked disgusted. "The day you put that suit on you became as big a pen-pusher as your predecessor!"

"I'm sorry," Eden apologised. "But this is not our decision. It is the decision of a man who is worried about his son, believes that he can help him, and is also in all probability going to force this hospital to close when he sues us for every penny. In the interests of every other patient in this facility, we have to wait."

-F-A-B-

Suing anyone was the last thing Jeff had in his mind when he re-entered the storeroom and collapsed into the seat next to his mother. "I think I've just killed him, Ma." He buried his head in his hands.

Trying to hide the cold chill that seemed to freeze her body, his mother attempted to remain calm. "Killed him?"

He nodded, scrunching his hair up in his fists as he did so.

His mother put her arm across his shoulders and held him as tight as she could, wanting to take away his pain. "Why do you say that? What happened?"

"He was in O.R. They were going to operate on him. They were going to save his life! … And I… I made them wait."

"Oh."

Hidden behind his hands, Jeff squeezed his eyes shut. "What if I've made the wrong decision? He said he trusted me to look after him. What if I've just betrayed his trust?"

"Virgil said? Just now? What else did he say?"

Jeff remembered the painful memory. "That everything was dark. The surgeon said that was the first stage in cascading organ failure. Then I told Virgil that the surgeons wanted to help him and that they would take away the pain, but that things would never be the same again. And then I asked him if he trusted Brains enough to wait until he could have an operation that would make things the same again…" Jeff's hair was almost pulled out by his anguished fists. "I lied to Virgil. Even if we could guarantee that he would live, there are no guarantees that that's true."

"You didn't lie to him, Jeff."

"He said that he trusted me."

"You gave him hope."

"I told them not to help him. I made them send him back to the ward… What hope have I given him?"

"Jeff…" A sudden frightening scenario of her grandsons being so overcome with grief that they hadn't made a start on creating the 3D printer, and the psychological damage it would do to her son if he knew that precious time had been wasted, stabbed through her mind. "Jeff! You've got to call the boys! They don't know that Virgil is alive!"

"What…?" He seemed in a daze as her sentence penetrated the emotional fog that had settled over him. Then he sat up, rolling his sleeve away from his watch in the same motion. "Come in, Boys!"

But it was only John who answered. "Hi, Dad."

Jeff had one question and he needed to know the answer immediately. "Are you printing the printer!?"

"Don't worry, Dad," John told him, seeing, but not understanding, the stressed look on his father's face. "We are. We thought we should finish making it to honour Vi…," his voice broke, and he cleared his throat, "his memory… We've nearly finished. The others haven't answered because they probably have their hands full loading the body of the unit into the helijet. We've also printed a room to house it, so it's not taking up space in the operating rooms. They're going to fly all that to the hospital while I wait for the robot to finish preparing the electronics. Then I'll pack the robot up so that we're ready to fly out as soon as they get back…" Three lights flashed on around the bezel of his watch's dial. "Ah. Here they are."

His watch face too small to see all four of his sons' faces at once, Jeff transferred the signal to his phone. "He's alive!" he blurted out. "Virgil's alive!"

Each of the four quadrants on his phone's screen showed a blank, bemused, confused, _worried_ face.

"Ah… Dad…" Alan ventured. "Are you feeling all right?"

"It was a mistake! An error! A computer error! I've seen him! I've spoken to him! He spoke to me! He's _alive!_"

There was silence as each of Jeff's sons considered what he'd said. Each of them was desperate to believe him, but each was too frightened to do so.

Grandma grabbed the phone. "Your father's right," she confirmed. "Virgil's alive and we need that printer back here _stat_!"

"Right!" Scott told his two youngest brothers, which had the odd effect of all three of them looking away from each other on the phone's screen. "Let's get moving!"

Three portraits disappeared and John's grew to fill the screen. "He's alive?"

"Yes." Jeff looking over his mother's shoulder at his phone, nodded. "I've just seen him."

"But you said he was dead."

"That's what we were told. It was a computer error."

John was silent. His father didn't believe in "computer errors". In Jeff's mind all computer-related errors were human-related errors, caused by either the programmer putting in too many zeros and not enough ones, or some data entry clerk keying in the wrong data. For Jeff Tracy to label this misadventure a computer error was akin to him saying that he wasn't prepared to blame anyone. "Dad…?"

"Yes, John?"

"Am I all right?"

"Are you all right?" Jeff frowned, hoping he wasn't going to have to start worrying again. "Why? Don't you feel well?"

"I feel fine, but… Did my bump on my head make me imagine everything that's happened? That we thought that Virgil had died?"

"Oh, John…" With everything else that had happened since, Jeff had forgotten that for a time he'd been worried about this son. "No. We were told that he'd died."

"Then please tell me that I'm not imagining this bit." John sounded like a young child desperate for reassurance after a bad dream. "Please tell me that he is alive and that I haven't got a delayed concussion or something."

"Not unless there's something you need to tell me," Jeff reassured him. "I have spoken to Virgil and he told me that he trusts us to help him get better…" He managed a smile. "Now… Are you sure you're all right?"

John confusion melted away to be replaced by a beaming grin. "I am now."

"No headaches or anything?"

John's grin broadened. "You don't need to worry about me, Dad. And you don't need to worry about Virgil either. He won't give up. Talk to you soon!" And he was gone.

"John's right," Grandma gave her son his phone back. "Virgil won't give up."

"I hope not…" Jeff did a quick check on the phone. "The polymer's still miles away!" He switched off the device and sat back. "And all we can do is wait!"

"We can tell everyone that Virgil's still alive," she reminded him. "They need to know."

Deciding that this was a job that was going to be more enjoyable than the last time he'd contacted many of their friends, Jeff fired the phone up again.

-F-A-B-

John lowered his arm after speaking with his father. He hadn't told the exact truth, but he thought that the slight pulsing discomfort in his head was due more to stress, tiredness, and hunger, rather than a hangover from his earlier accident.

The robot was still tirelessly laying down the wires and electrodes that would make the 3D printer tick, and so John took a moment to sit back, rest his head against the wall, close his eyes, and think.

Once the new printer was finished and installed, it was going to have to communicate with the researchers in Australia. The problem was, which was the best way to achieve this? The standard method was over the regular phone networks, but John didn't want to take the chance of the connection overloading and dropping out at a delicate point in the operation. This, he knew, was a very real probability in all the communication mayhem that was going on in the wake of a major earthquake.

Another option was to route the communications through Tracy Industries' private networks. There was less possibility of any outages, but that risk was still there.

His preferred option was to direct the link through Thunderbird Five, but even this had issues. The first was the 60,000-kilometre round trip the signal would have to take to Earth and the microsecond delay between its despatch and its arrival at its target. The second was that no one, namely he, John, was in Thunderbird Five to keep watch over the signal and be ready to act should something go wrong. The third was that he needed a dedicated International Rescue radio unit to ensure the link and he didn't have one…

Or did he?

Opening his eyes, John straightened and checked his watch. His brothers had only just arrived at Bearston. They'd agreed that they'd make a start assembling the room that was to house the printer before they returned to collect him. It was going to take some time for the robot to finish its work and then be packed away ready for transportation, and they didn't want to waste a second.

It would be at least half an hour before they returned.

John made his decision. Pulling his watch off his wrist, he extended the band until it was long enough to sit over his head with the watch face staring out from his forehead. Then he went through to one of the other rooms and selected a range of tools.

An earthquake rattling through the complex made him reconsider his decision.

He decided that he needed some fresh air, so he could think clearly. Stepping outside he saw the faint glow of the dawning sun brighten the night sky.

Pushing his misgivings to the back of his mind he pushed a button combination on his watch, turning it into a powerful headlamp. He didn't want to risk twisting an ankle or worse in the earthquake-hewn terrain between the printer building and his destination…

He approached the crucible furnace building.

The Firefly was gone, leaving behind a pile of rubble that had been the source of many of their problems. With all the excitement he'd forgotten that the building had been demolished, along with the corner that had housed the radio unit. Feeling slightly despondent, a feeling which seemed to exacerbate his headache, John looked about, the bright beam of his headlamp highlighting twisted concrete, metal and dirt.

The light bounced off something sky blue and yellow.

With a cry of delight, he scrambled over the pile of rubble, slipping a little as a minor aftershock hit, zeroing in on the International Rescue logo still attached to part of the wall. He was amazed to realise that the unit appeared unscathed. Holding it high as he staggered over the rubble and back to level ground, he made a hurried return to the printer room.

Here, in the more even glow of the lights, he was able to examine his prize closely. He could see nothing that made him think that it was unusable, and the inbuilt diagnostics programme seemed to confirm it. To enable him to fully put aside any misgivings he wired his watch to it and sent a signal to Thunderbird Five.

Thunderbird Five returned the signal without missing a beat.

But there was still one problem. That logo that had led him to the radio. When he took it to Bearston someone was likely to see it and wonder where he'd got it from. Then they would start to wonder how one of the Tracys knew enough about a top-secret piece of equipment to be able to use it.

He returned to the 3D printer room, downloaded a plan from Thunderbird Five, and started printing.

-F-A-B-

"You'll wake the neighbours," Gordon commented as the helijet drew near to Bearston General.

"Nope." Scott almost smiled. "This baby's electric." Maintaining his cruising height, he flicked a switch and the sounds of the jets dulled. Taking care not to jolt their precious cargo, he descended vertically until they were next to a prefabricated building that was almost in darkness.

They barely felt the landing.

Gordon stepped out into the lightening sky. "I was right."

A figure walked towards them, playing a torch over the ground and the logo on the helijet before him. "Is that the Tracys I can see?"

"It is, Mr Harrison," Alan responded. "Did we wake you?"

"Yes, but I wasn't really asleep," Greg whispered, aware that they were near a hospital and a refugee camp. "It's been too upsetting a day… Speaking of which," he cleared his throat. "Please accept my sincerest sympathies."

"We'll do that when we need to," Gordon grinned. "Virgil's still alive."

His face barely visible in the gathering light, Greg stared at him. "What?!"

"Someone got their wires crossed. He's still alive. And this…" Gordon patted the huge package inside the helijet, "is going to make him better."

A beaming grin flashed back at him. "He is!?" Greg exclaimed. "That's fantastic news!" He remembered his resolution to remain quiet. "What is it?"

"A 3D printer that's just been printed by ACE's 3D printer," Alan explained. "Plus, the room it's going to be housed in. Are you any good at jigsaw puzzles?"

"Why? Do you want some help assembling it?"

"We'd love the assistance of a top-notch engineer." Gordon passed ACE's charge hand some of the smaller, less delicate units. "The sooner we get it finished, the sooner we can go and get John and the rest of the machine, and the sooner Virgil will get better."

"How's your father?" Greg asked, accepting another unit. "He looked terrible when I last saw him. But then," he recollected, "he'd come to tell us that Virgil had died. No one could look good in that situation."

"He's hanging in there," Alan collected a couple of pieces himself. "The last time we saw him was on the videcall he made when he told us that Virgil was still with us. He looked pretty stressed." He received a glare from his eldest brother.

"I'm sure he is," Greg agreed. He followed Alan towards the darkened theatre building. "Tell me what you want me to do."

-F-A-B-

Jeff had finished the joyous task of telling his family that his son was still alive. Brains had responded with his habitual dance of delight, much to the bemusement of the two researchers, before accepting Tin-Tin's second hug of the day, this one an ecstatic embrace. Kyrano had almost shown some emotion and Jeff had the feeling that his friend would now be enjoying a quiet celebration on his own. Lady Penelope and Parker were equally restrained at the reception of his news and said that they would "partake in a celebratory cup of tea" until such time when they could join the family for a proper party.

Pleased that he'd been able to relieve his family and friends of some of their pain, Jeff dialled Hamish Mickelson's number.

Edna answered it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Edna." And for the first time in many hours Jeff felt able to smile. "Sorry to call you this early in the morning, but can I have a word with Hamish?"

He was astonished when she responded with a tight, "No," and saw what appeared to be tears well up in her eyes.

"Edna? What's wrong?"

"Oh… Jeff…" She sniffed as she tried to get her emotions back under control. "He's… He's had a breakdown."

"What?!"

"After you'd left, I could see that he was upset, but once we were alone in the motorhome he started talking. He was talking about Virgil, and the earthquake, and the number of people who'd been hurt, and the destruction of ACE, and lying, and you, and how much work's going to have to be done to get the factory operational again, and how he didn't think he'd be able to do it alone. And then he started crying. I couldn't do anything to help him. The doctor's just arrived." She sniffed again. "I'm frightened, Jeff."

"I…" Jeff began. Then a memory clicked. "This afternoon, when the medics checked his arm, did they give him painkillers?"

"Yes. I asked him if it was Delazole at the time, and he said he'd checked before he let them give it to him. He said they said it wasn't."

"Maybe it's a related drug? Have you mentioned it to the doctor yet?"

Edna looked embarrassed. "He's only just arrived, and I was so frightened about the way Hamish's behaving, that I forgot."

"Do you want me to come over and talk to them?"

"Oh, Jeff! I can't ask you to do that. Not with… Not with all that's happened."

Jeff held up his hand. "I'd be glad to. The reason why I rang was to let you know that Virgil's still alive…"

"Jeff!?"

"Hearing it from me in person might be what Hamish needs to calm down…"

Edna seemed disbelieving of his news. "But, Jeff…"

"I'll be over in a minute, Edna. Don't worry. Hamish will be all right. He's as tough as old boots." Hanging up the phone, Jeff stood.

"Jeff?" His mother also got to her feet. "I'm coming with you. Edna sounded like she needs some support."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that, Mother."

This time they let reception know where they were going.

As they followed the pale line that was the path to where the motorhomes were parked, Grandma slipped her arm through her son's. "What's the story about that painkiller?"

"Delazole. It's the reason why Hamish wasn't accepted into the astronaut corps. A short time before they made the final selection he hurt his arm and needed some pain relief. As a matter of course, they administered Delazole. A few hours later we'd finished for the day and were on the way home when he started raving on about all sorts of little, insignificant things that had gone wrong, and what could go wrong in the future, and how being a pilot was dangerous and that being an astronaut was even more so, and how he didn't want to risk leaving Edna a widow when they'd only just got married. At first, I thought he was joking, but then I realised that he was serious. I got him home safely and he took one look at Edna and burst into tears. Talking to him didn't achieve anything, so I did the only thing I could think of and called the base M.O. The quacks eventually discovered that it was an allergic reaction to the drug… It's a shame, because he would have been an asset to the programme."

"But surely all they'd have to do is administer a different drug if he needed it?"

"There were a lot of equally talented guys all vying for a limited number of seats on a rocket. Why should they choose someone with a known condition, no matter how unlikely it is to be a factor in his work, when there's someone else equally qualified without that condition? I think I was nearly as devastated as he was when he got the news… This is it." Jeff gently rapped on a door, which opened almost immediately. "Hello, Edna." They stepped inside.

They were still in there when the helijet touched down and didn't emerge again until Jeff's sons were returning to ACE.

-F-A-B-

John, the robot wrapped carefully in an anti-static protective covering, had prised the last printout off the print plate, when he was joined by his fair-haired brother.

"What are you doing?" Alan asked.

John showed him the box he'd rescued. "Making sure there's a clear line of communication between Bearston and Australia." He started to fit his printout over the International Rescue casing. "Any news?"

"No…" Alan goggled at the box. "Where did you get that from?"

"It's the one I used to talk to Bruce and the others."

"You went out there? In the dark? Alone!? Through an earthquake zone!? Over all that rubble?! Without telling anyone?!"

The casing snapped home. "Yep."

"Remind me to tell Scott to give you a bawling out when all this is over," Alan stated. Then he grinned. "Until then, what can I do?"

John pointed at a box lined with anti-static foil. "Hand me that. This baby's already had a rough ride and I don't want to risk it going through another." He gently lowered the unit into the box. "Did you see Dad and Grandma?"

"No. We wanted to get straight back. We were lucky because Greg helped us."

"Greg?"

"Greg Harrison. He was able to give us a few tips."

"I'll bet he was happy to hear that Virgil's still alive."

"He was. I wish we could have seen everyone's faces when Dad told them."

"I'll be happier to see ours when we're told he's better."

-F-A-B-

Jeff and Grandma returned to the storeroom and collapsed into their chairs.

Letting out a breath that was part exhaustion and part relief Jeff ran his hands though his hair. "When will this nightmare end?!"

"Soon, Jeff. It can't go on for ever."

"Poor Hamish. You realise that part of his problem is my fault."

"Your fault?"

"Yes. You couldn't meet a more honest man than Hamish Mickelson and he's having to lie on my behalf. I think it's the fact that he's had to lie to Edna that's really killing him. If the doctor hadn't been there I would have told her all about us."

"You didn't cause the earthquake, Jeff. If that hadn't happened none of this would have happened. You can't accept any of the blame."

"Maybe." Morosely he pulled out his phone and checked it. "The polymer's still three quarters of an hour away."

"Would you like something to eat?"

Jeff shook his head.

There was a tap on the door. "Mr Tracy…?" Colin Eden poked his head inside. "Mrs Tracy? Ah… I need to talk to you." He was almost strangling the folder in his hands.

Jeff wished he'd go away and leave them alone. "Yes?"

"I know your instructions were that we weren't to operate on Virgil until you were ready, but I am here to ask… to beg you to change your mind."

Something in his tone made Jeff sit up. "Why?"

"Virgil's body is breaking down and poisoning itself. There is evidence of gangrene forming in his extremities. Please, Mr Tracy," Eden begged, "if we don't operate now, it will be too late! You have my word that we won't do any more than is necessary to keep him alive. We want him to have the best chance of a full recovery too!"

As he felt his mother grab his hand and hold tight, Jeff felt sick. This was the decision that he didn't want to have to make, but he knew that he had to make it and make it soon. Pulling his phone out of his pocket he pushed a speed dial. He barely gave his caller the chance to see him, let alone offer a greeting, before he'd pushed the screen at Eden. "Explain it to him!"

Taking the phone, Eden found himself looking at a blue-bespectacled, bemused, bewildered face. "Ah… I'm Colin Eden. I'm the manager of Bearston General Hospital."

"G-Good day, Mr Eden. My name is Brains."

"Brains? Ah, right." Deciding to ignore the strangeness of the name, Eden began to explain the situation, interspaced by questions from the younger man. A lot of what was said was medical gobbledegook to Jeff and his mother, but they understood enough to realise that the situation was serious, and their options limited.

Finally, Eden handed the phone back to its owner.

"Mr Tracy," Brains looked sombre. "You must allow them to do what they feel is necessary to save Virgil's life. If they don't his chances of survival are low. Even if he lives long enough for the experimental surgery, he may not be strong enough to undertake it."

Jeff nodded. "Thank you, Brains." He shut the phone down and looked at the manager. "Do you need me to sign an authorisation?"

Eden hurried forward, pulling a slip of paper from out of the now dog-eared folder. Trying to hold the page flat, he handed Jeff a pen. "We wouldn't ask this if it wasn't necessary and I promise we won't do more than we have to."

Jeff signed the paper without hesitation. "Please," he said as he handed it back, "if it's at all possible, save his hand."

Eden slotted the paper back into its folder. "We'll do our best. I… I'm sorry, Mr Tracy... Mrs Tracy." He rushed out the door.

Jeff barely had the time to contemplate what he'd done before they were interrupted again. But this interruption was by a group who were much more upbeat and positive.

"Everything's ready!" Scott announced.

"Yep," Gordon grinned. "Tell them to wheel him out ASAP."

"Give me a chance to make the connection…" John was tapping something into his tablet computer. "Which should take about five minutes."

"Do you want me to go and tell them to prep him?" Alan offered.

"No…" Jeff held up his hand. A gesture which instantly put them on edge. "You can't… He's already in surgery."

"What!" Gordon gaped at his father. "Stop them!"

"I'll go," Alan offered again and made a dash for the door.

"NO!" Jeff barked, and they looked at him in astonishment. "No…" he repeated quietly. "The spiderweb polymer's not here yet and won't be here for at least half an hour. If we don't let them operate now, Brains says that he will die."

"What are they going to do?" John asked.

"Enough to keep him alive long enough to undergo Brains' surgery."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning… Amputation…"

_To be continued…_


	22. Chapter 22

"…Amputation…"

Upon hearing that single word, Scott seemed to lose contact with his legs. He slid down a cupboard door and ended up sitting on the floor, looking and feeling bewildered by what had just happened.

"Scott?" John crouched next to him as the rest of the family gathered around. "Are you all right?"

"Am I all right?" Scott echoed. "Yes, I..." Knowing that everyone in the room would see through his lie, he admitted the truth. "No, John, I'm not all right. I'm scared…" He hugged himself. "I'm scared that I'm going to feel what they do to him."

It was only thanks to John's many years communicating with frightened and stressed callers to Thunderbird Five that allowed him to sound reassuring, even though he felt he was about to either scream or be sick. "You're scared you're going to, or did your legs feel something?"

"No, I haven't felt anything…" Scott looked at his brother and John could see a real, yet unfamiliar fear. "Yet."

"And you won't," John soothed, trying to sound confident. "We know from past experience that you only feel something when he's scared. He'll be under general anaesthetic when they operate. He won't even know what's happening to him and neither will you."

"What about all those stories you hear about people being under anaesthetic, but not completely under?" Alan's less than helpful offering had everyone squirming. "They can feel and hear everything that's happening to them, but can't move to tell anyoOW!" He rubbed his arm and glared at Gordon. "That hurt!"

"I liked you better when you didn't believe in ESP," his brother snapped.

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

"Why don't you shut up?!"

"Why don't y…?!"

"Boys…" Jeff's growl wasn't loud, but it had the desired effect of silencing his two youngest sons.

Gordon and Alan looked at each other.

Alan ran his hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have said that," he admitted. "It was a stupid comment."

"And I over-reacted." Gordon held out his hand and the brothers fist-bumped to show there were no hard feelings.

That drama over, John looked up at his father. "Did they say what they were amputating?"

He could hear and see the exhaustion in the reply as Jeff almost collapsed into a chair. "I had Eden explain their plans to Brains and I couldn't understand most of what they said, but I think it'll depend on what they find when Virgil's on the operating table."

"Did they mention his hand?"

Jeff gave a sombre nod.

"We asked him to do all they could to save it," Grandma offered, "but their priority is to save Virgil's life."

"Right… Scott…" John sat next to his brother on the floor. "You can think what you like about this. You can think that I've lost my marbles or that the bump on my head has scrambled my brains." He took his brother's left hand, holding it in both of his, "I don't understand this empathetic clairvoyance connection that you and Virgil have, but if there's any chance that doing something as simple as this channels some positive energy or weird new-age power to Virgil's hand and helps to save it, then I'm willing to try."

Scott looked at the joined hands and said nothing.

"John…" Alan stared down at him. "That makes absolutely no sense."

"Under normal circumstances I'd agree. But who am I to say that it's not going to work? I can talk to you from thousands of miles away with no visible connection. Why can't Scott and Virgil communicate using a process that hasn't been discovered yet?"

"Because you use a quantifiable theory that is repeatable. This…" Alan indicated his eldest brother. "Scott doesn't even know if he's feeling what Virgil's feeling."

Ignoring his youngest brethren, John looked back at his eldest. "Do you mind?"

Scott shook his head.

"I agree that it sounds crazy," Gordon shrugged, "but at least I'd feel like I'm doing something." Sitting on the floor on Scott's right side, he made sure his leg touched his brother's and held onto his other hand.

John felt a touch on his shoulder. Looking up he saw that his grandmother was resting her hand there. She smiled down at him, but he could see the tenseness in her face. She was like the rest of them; willing to cling to the most unlikely source of hope if it meant that there was some hope to cling to.

She turned to her son. "Jeff?" She held out her hand.

Alan got another chair, placing it closer to the circle. "Sit there," he instructed his father, and then sat cross-legged on the floor so that he could reach both Gordon's and his father's spare hands. "Is this where we start to sing _Kumbaya_?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation and the ridiculousness of what they were doing, or perhaps because of it, his family chuckled.

But no one broke the circle.

-F-A-B-

Brains shut down his phone.

"Brains?" Tin-Tin queried. "It is serious?"

"It's serious," he confirmed. "They will definitely have to, ah, amputate his left foot and p-possibly his right."

They heard a door open and the two Australasian research scientists enter.

"Any news?" Timoti asked.

"Not the news we w-wanted," Brains confirmed. "He is showing all the symptoms of crush syndrome…"

"Hypotension, renal failure, acidosis, hyperkalemia and hypocalcemia?" Timoti confirmed. "Is he on an amputation watch?"

"They're taking him into surgery now."

Bryce frowned. "Is that necessary?"

"I believe so. There is evidence of gangrene in his extremities, n-necessitating the p-partial amputation of both lower limbs." Brains watched as his fellow researchers nodded their understanding. "He is also showing symptoms of peritonitis."

Bryce screwed up his face. "We expected that after the abdominal injuries he sustained."

"We can't risk operating while he's got an infection," Timoti stated. "If it spreads to the new tissue all our work will be wasted."

"The hospital is doing their best to treat it before it becomes an issue," Brains admitted. "I'm s-sorry. I know you were eager to test your theories."

"We are," Bryce admitted. "But the delay could be a blessing in disguise."

Not being as clued up on medical matters as her associates, Tin-Tin had been listening in silence, but now she felt she had to speak up. "A blessing? How can this be a blessing? It sounds like a matter of life or death!"

"It is matter of life or death," Timoti confirmed. "But it appears that the subject is getting adequate care to sustain life. And while we wait until he is strong enough to survive our operation we will have time to print all the required components…"

Tin-Tin curled her hands into fists at the word "components", feeling her nails dig into her palms. Those "components" were supposed to be the scaffolding that was meant to offer… not just "the subject", but _her friend_ hope! And not only hope, but _life_! All the time that she and Brains been in the presence of these two researchers they'd been behaving as if they were unaware that a real, living person's life hung in the balance. All their focus had been on the success or failure of their "experiment", and the viability of their "research subject"; their "guinea pig."

But she said nothing as Timoti continued. "…ready for installation when the time comes. In the long run it could be beneficial to the subject because they won't have to be under anaesthetic for an extended period while we wait for the next unit to be printed out. And with any luck the cyclone will have passed, and we'll have our visas for the States."

"Right." Bryce rubbed his hands together. "And when the time arrives for our experiment to proceed, it appears that we will be working with a clean slate…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"John…"

John looked at Scott. "Yes?"

"Could you loosen your grip a little? You're cutting off the circulation."

"Oh! Sorry." John released Scott's hand.

He was surprised when Scott made a grab at him. "Don't let go!"

John remade the connection and held tight, but not as tight has he had previously. "Do you think it's working?"

"I think it's probably total bunkum, but it makes me feel like I'm doing something; like…" Scott thought, "…like I've got some control."

"Have you felt anything?" Gordon asked.

Scott shook his head.

"I'm feeling something," Alan informed the group. "I'm feeling that this floor is hard. D'ya think we could all move to the chairs?"

Jeff shifted in his seat. "I don't think these are much softer. Maybe we should all stand and have a stretch. We won't do Virgil much good if we cut off _our_ circulation."

Scott showed that he agreed with his father's decision by dropping his brothers' hands and getting to his feet unaided.

They were just stretching, massaging their hands, and dusting down their clothes when there was a knock on the door.

It was Colin Eden carrying a folder. He greeted them with: "The operation's over and we've taken Virgil to intensive care." Taking a breath, he opened the folder. "We've had to amputate both legs. The left above the knee, the right below."

It was as though they'd all expected the news, which they had, and they all nodded their understanding.

"Anything else?" John asked.

Eden hesitated. Jeff Tracy's request had been to save Virgil's left hand. "I'm sorry. We had to amputate his thumb and index finger."

Gordon sunk onto a chair. "All that care. All for nothing." John rested a hand on his shoulder and he retreated into silence.

Eden didn't understand the meaning behind the younger man's words. "Is Virgil left handed?"

"No," Jeff shook his head. "He's ambidextrous."

"Ah." Eden wondered if there was tactful way to say that this, at least, was something positive.

"He's a pianist," Grandma told the manager.

Relieved that he hadn't made a tactless comment, Eden managed a monosyllabic: "Oh."

"And an artist," Alan added.

"And an engineer," Gordon moaned. "What good is an engineer with only half a hand?"

"Guys, he's alive," John reminded them. "We can deal with everything else."

"Is there any chance we can see him?" Jeff asked.

Eden hesitated. "Mr Tracy, you've seen the condition the hospital is in."

"I know, but he needs to know that the family's here to support him. Even if it's only for one minute, can't we at least let him know that he's not alone?"

"Mr Tracy," Eden repeated. "Virgil is unconscious. He is not responding to any external stimuli."

"He's in a coma?" Jeff didn't flinch. "Induced or because of his injuries?"

"It's too early to say that he's in a coma, but the signs aren't good. His body's been through a lot and it's shut down to protect itself. He's not only got to deal with the trauma of surgery, he's fighting an infection caused by peritonitis, along with renal failure. Even if you did talk to him, the chances are that he can't hear you."

"But he might hear us." Gordon sat up. "We won't know that he can't until he wakes up and tells us."

"We understand that you can't call it a coma yet," Jeff admitted, "but if you did, what score would you give him on the modified GCS?"

Eden started, not expecting a layperson to understand. "You have knowledge of the Glasgow Coma Scale?"

"Yes." Jeff nodded. "We know that any one of us would count as grade 15, while someone in a full coma who doesn't respond to any external stimuli… or is dead… is grade three."

"And grade threes, if they're not dead, are still capable of hearing," Gordon reminded the manager who consulted his notes.

"The last tests showed Virgil to be 1tc."

"One!?" Jeff stared at Eden as his family showed signs of concern. "But I thought it couldn't go any lower than three."

"The GCS is made up of the sum of the three different responses: eyes, vocal, and motor. There are some situations where it is impossible to interpret the level of the eye and vocal responses. In Virgil's case he has been intubated; that is a tube has been passed down his trachea… I mean windpipe… to enable him to breathe. This renders the vocal response impossible to analyse. It is because of the tube that we list his grade as 't'. The 'c' grade is because fluid build-up in his body has swollen his eyes closed and as a result we are unable to read any eye responses to stimuli."

"And the one is because he doesn't respond at all to any stimuli, including pain," John queried.

"Yes."

Uncomfortable with what he was hearing, Alan sat down. "Could that be because of the anaesthetic?"

"That is a possibility," Eden admitted.

"He may just be looking for a way out of the darkness," Gordon insisted. "Maybe he needs to hear our voices to know which way to go to the light!" Becoming agitated with an almost evangelical desire, he stood. "We have to talk to him to show him the way!"

"Gordon…" Grandma took his hand. "Gordon… Calm down, Darling." She pulled her grandson back into the chair next to her and put her arm about his shoulders. "We all know that this is important, and I'm sure that Mr Eden would let us talk to Virgil if he could. Getting upset isn't going to help anyone."

"Could we set up a radio?" John asked. "Maybe through his earbuds? That way he could hear us talking to him."

Eden made a face that showed that he wasn't too keen on the idea. "With all the electrical equipment in the room I'm sure there would be some interference. I'd also be concerned that your signal might interfere with the hospital's equipment."

John had opened his mouth to say that his radio wouldn't cause any such problems when his father spoke.

"Until such time as we can see him, will you ensure that Virgil can still hear music?"

"I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," Jeff said. "We appreciate your honesty and the fact that you have made the effort to keep us informed when we know that you must be very busy."

"And I need to get back," Eden said as he handed him the folder. "There are more details about Virgil's condition that you should be aware of. You may need to ask, erm…"

"Brains."

"Yes, you might need to ask Brains to clarify some points, although you seem to have a good grasp on many of the details."

"We've been in a similar situation before," Jeff told Bearston General's manager, without elaborating.

"Would I be able to contact Brains? I want to discuss what the requirements will be for the experimental operation."

Jeff had begun to wonder if there was any point when so much had already been lost. "Do you think we'll be able to go ahead?"

"That will be up to your research team. But I want to be ready if Virgil's strong enough."

"Send Brains an email through the web site," Jeff suggested. "He'll give you his contact details, so you can arrange a videcall."

"Thank you." Eden left the room.

In the silence that followed, John sank into a chair. "So much for that theory." He looked at his hands.

"You helped me anyway," Scott told him.

John looked up. "Did you feel anything?"

"Nothing." Scott sat down. "I'm not feeling anything… Except scared."

"That's understandable."

"Except that you said that I feel scared when he's scared…" Scott twisted his hands together. "…and I am definitely scared."

"We're all scared, Scott." John reached out for him. "We're frightened that we're going to have to deal with stuff we don't want to deal with. You feeling scared is because you're a concerned brother, not because you're feeling what he's feeling."

Aghast at his family's defeated attitude, Gordon looked at each one of them. "What's wrong with you guys?" Perturbed he got to his feet. "We don't matter! Virgil's the one who matters!"

"We know, Gordon," Alan told him.

"We shouldn't be sitting here!" Desperate to drive home his point, Gordon strode over to his brother. "We should be in that room with him! Letting him know that we're supporting him!"

"I'm sure he knows that."

"How?! He can't hear us when we're in another room!"

"Even if we were with him, there're no guarantees that he would hear us," Alan reminded him. "Not every case is like yours."

"But what if he can!?"

"Calm down, Gordon." His grandmother held out her hand to him. "Come and sit next to me."

"Sit down?" He ignored her instruction. "The only place we should be sitting is next to Virgil's bed. We need to be talking to him! He needs to hear us!"

"And as soon as we can, we will. We need to be patient, Honey."

"Patient!? Virgil's the patient. You don't know what it's like to be in a coma and alone! He's the only one who understood." Determined that he was going to do some good, even if it seemed his family wasn't prepared to, Gordon headed for the door. "And I'm going to help him!"

He was physically stopped by his father holding an arm out in front of him. "Gordon, you can't go out there."

"Why not?! Why can't I help him? He helped me!"

"Gordon…" Holding his son by both shoulders, Jeff twisted him around, so they were face to face. "I know why you feel this way, but this isn't like last time. Last time you were the only one involved in the accident. This time Virgil's one of hundreds injured by the earthquake. Last time you were in a spacious room by yourself. This time Virgil was one of eight in a room built for four, and I don't know how many people he's got to share intensive care with. Last time you were cared for by staff who were rostered on and off duty, so they were always fresh, and awake, and ready to respond to your smallest need. This time Virgil's got one nurse who's been on duty over 24 hours and is caring for others equally as ill as he is. Last time your life support was state of the art, well maintained, and monitored 24 hours a day. This time… Well, I don't doubt that the life support's well maintained, but it looks well used too, and as I said there's only one nurse monitoring it. Last time there was enough room for us all to sit around your bed and talk to each other and talk to you. This time there wasn't enough room for me to get close enough, so I could hear him speak to me. Maybe one of us could stay by his bedside, but if something happened and he, or his neighbour, needed immediate treatment, then we'd only be in the way…" Jeff took a breath. "And there's something else you need to remember Gordon. Virgil's not as… social's the wrong word, but I'm too tired to think of a better one… he's not as social as you are. So long as he's got his music he doesn't need to hear our voices. I don't doubt that he'd rather hear them…" he added quickly when he saw the potential counterargument, "and I want to be there for him as much as you do, but if he has his music he'll keep calm." He held up his cell phone. "I've got Eden's number and I'll send him a message to remind him to make sure that Virgil's earbuds are in place and switched on. I'll admit that it's a poor second best, but it's the best we can do under the circumstances…" He paused, trying to gauge his son's reaction to his speech. "All right?"

Gordon, all his zealous energy sapped from him, seemed to have shrivelled in size. He gave a reluctant nod, detached himself from his father's grip, and retired to a corner behind his family, where he sat on the floor staring at a box on the shelf.

Jeff, true to his word, sent the promised message.

And everyone waited.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Hours later they were still waiting. Gordon had curled up in his corner and appeared to be dozing. Alan sat in a chair and fidgeted as the seat got harder and harder. Grandma knitted a row, dropped a stitch, and had to undo her handiwork before starting again. Jeff studied his phone and communicated with all concerned as the polymers arrived, were installed in the required hoppers, and construction of the various "components" began in the sterile environment of the room that his sons had helped create.

John, sat, thought, and watched.

Scott was sitting there, his forehead resting against his clenched hands and John may have supposed that his brother was engaged in quiet contemplation, except that Scott's knuckles were white and his veins were standing out on his temples.

Concerned, John looked around his family, trying to see if any of the others were displaying the same levels of stress.

None were, but his grandma was staring at her eldest grandson with an expression that could only be interpreted as "worried". She looked away, seeing that same expression of concern in her next eldest. They shared an apprehensive grimace.

John glanced back at Scott, before coming to decision. He winked at Grandma and then slapped Scott on the leg. "Come on." He stood. "You and I are going for a walk."

Surprised, Scott looked up at him. "What?"

"A walk," John elucidated. "You know…? One foot in front of the other…? A form of locomotion…? Sometimes known as perambulate, saunter, going for a stroll, a wander, a promenade…? A walk!"

Scott's face had slipped into a bemused frown during this monologue. "Why?"

"Because I've got a mild headache and I need to stretch my legs, and you need to keep an eye on me in case I collapse with delayed concussion or something."

His father looked alarmed. "John…!"

"Don't worry, I think it's only the stuffiness of this room that's causing it."

"Are you sure?" Alan checked.

"Positive… C'mon, Scott. I'm not planning on going too far; not even beyond the hospital grounds. If someone calls us to say it's visiting hours, we'll be back before they've signed off. We spent too long in those fire-suits yesterday and we both need the fresh air."

"That actually sounds like a good idea," Gordon agreed, getting to his feet. "I'll join you."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "So long as we don't go too far."

This wasn't part of John's plan, but before he had a chance to think of an excuse for his younger brothers not to join them, Grandma had come to his rescue. She held out her hands to her two grandsons. "I'd rather that you came and sat with me, Boys."

Both Alan and Gordon hesitated, wanting to escape the confines of the hospital for a short time, but equally needing to be there for their grandmother.

"We'll go this time," John suggested, "and you two can go when we come back. And then Dad and Grandma can go. That way if we get the call to sit with Virgil, at least four of us will be available."

Deciding that this was a worthwhile compromise, Alan and Gordon sat down so they were flanking Mrs Tracy.

Relieved, John turned back to Scott. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah." Reluctantly, Scott got to his feet.

When both men had gone, Gordon took his grandmother's hand. "Are you okay, Grandma?"

She patted the hand which held hers. "Perfectly, Darling, and thank you for staying, but you don't need to worry about me."

Slightly bewildered, Alan frowned. "I thought you needed us to stay with you."

"I wanted you to stay," she corrected. "John needed to talk to Scott alone."

Gordon's frown was deeper than Alan's. "John needed to talk?! How'd you know?"

"I knew."

Alan made a disgruntled sound. "I'm beginning to think that I'm the only one in this family that doesn't have ESP!"

"Don't worry," Gordon, equally miffed, growled. "You're not the only one."

-F-A-B-

The elder two had barely left the storeroom when Scott turned to his younger brother. "Are you all right?"

John started walking towards the hospital's foyer. "Physically, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Brains checked me over before we flew out and gave me the all clear. That little ruse was a chance for me to get you away from the family and ask if _you're _all right."

"I'm okay."

They exited the front doors.

Outside John turned right towards a path that led around some rose beds that dotted the front garden, not willing to stray too far. He said nothing, hoping that Scott would make the first move, but after ten minutes of silence he finally decided that it was time to speak. "You've been quiet."

"I've been… er…" Scott stopped to admire the remains of a blooming rose without really seeing it. "I've been thinking." He started walking again.

John followed. "What about?"

Scott shrugged. "Just thoughts."

"About Virgil?"

There was a sigh. "Yeah."

"He's tough, Scott. He's never given up before and he won't now. He'll pull though somehow."

"Will he?"

"He's hung in there so far… Now give me the truth. How are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" Scott echoed.

"Yes. How are you feeling?"

"Dead," Scott admitted. "I feel dead. Not that Virgil's dead, that _I'm_ dead. I'm not feeling any emotions. I don't feel happy that he's survived this far. I don't feel sad at what the surgeons had to do to him and that we don't know how that's going to turn out. I don't feel frustrated that we're having to live through this all over again. I don't feel angry with myself for accepting Gordon's suggestion that it should be Virgil who rescued his friends, rather than sending Gordon in as I'd planned. I don't feel relieved that we're not going through all this with Gordon again. I feel… Nothing."

There was silence for another two laps before John spoke again. "What were you thinking about Virgil?"

"I…" This time it was a leaf that held Scott's attention. "You'll laugh."

"I doubt it. I'm not in a laughing mood."

"I…" Scott kicked at a lump of dirt on the ground. "I…"

John waited.

"I was trying to see if I could communicate with him."

John had wondered if his hypothesis was right. "Even though my experiment didn't work?"

Scott made no comment.

"What have you got in your hand?"

Scott shoved his hands into his pockets. "Nothin'."

John didn't believe it. "Come on, Scott. No one else is here. You can tell me."

Scott hesitated, then he held out his hand. In it rested a nut and bolt. "I had this."

"What is it?"

"Remember that steam locomotive he helped restore when he was at Denver?"

John managed to snort a laugh. "Remember it? Each time he was home he barely talked about anything else. I'm sure that's all his studies consisted of: stripping… What was its name?"

"Myra."

"Sounds obscene, doesn't it? Stripping Myra down and getting her steamed up."

"He loved working on that loco. This is the last nut they replaced on her and he kept it as a souvenir."

"And you thought that would give you the necessary connection with him?"

"I'd hoped so." Finally, Scott found the strength to look at his brother. "I was trying to talk to him… Telepathically. I was trying to get inside his mind… I was trying to tell him that we're all here for him and that we all want him to come back to us. I was telling him that he wasn't allowed to leave us." He waited for the response.

John didn't laugh. He didn't tease his brother. He didn't say anything flippant or derogatory. Instead he said three words. "Did he answer?"

Scott shoved the bolt and his hands back into his pockets. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Maybe Eden was right," John suggested. "Maybe there is too much interference inside the hospital."

Scott stared at him. "What?"

"Maybe you need to be outside, well away from the interference caused by all the pain in that building. Maybe you need to be away from the interference caused by our family."

"Maybe I need to start worrying about what that bump did to your head, John."

"I'm not saying that I understand any of this, and if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it. But I can't explain that link between you and Virgil with regular science, and so I'm willing to postulate the hypothesis that there's something going on beyond my comprehension." John stopped. "Look, there's a tree. There's no one nearby. Go and sit under it and see if you can talk to Virgil. I'll stay here out of the way and make sure you're not disturbed."

"John. This is crazy!"

"If it is then you and I are the only ones to know about the craziness."

"You, me and the family."

"They've already proven that they're desperate enough to try anything, so they're not going to think you're crazy. And I'm not about to go bragging that I believe in ESP. If I did I'd only make myself seem as crazy as it sounds."

"At least you've got an excuse," Scott grunted. "How is your head?"

"It hasn't hurt since ACE," John lied. "Go on, Scott. It's our secret."

Scott decided that he was desperate enough to attempt even the most hare-brained of schemes. "Okay," he agreed. "But promise me that you won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I promise on Virgil's life."

Feeling a fool, Scott wandered over to the tree and sat beneath it.

Finding himself alone in a rose garden, John felt just as foolish. He pretended that there was a point to his aimless wanderings and attempted to appreciate the garden about him.

He'd just confirmed that the only plants he was interested in were those that were edible and on his plate, when he thought he heard his name being called. Knowing that his family wouldn't have wasted time hunting him down when they had more direct forms of communication, and deciding that there were probably several "John's" both on the staff and under the care of the hospital, he ignored it.

"John…"

There was something familiar about the voice and this time he looked up.

Walking towards him was Lisa Crump with Ginny clinging tightly to her hand. As they drew closer, Ginny detached herself from her mother's grip and hung back.

Aware that he was almost a stranger to the youngster, John crouched down so he was closer to her eye level. "Hiya, Ginny."

"Do you remember Uncle John?" Lisa asked. "He's one of Mr T's sons."

Ginny frowned and shook her head.

"I'm not surprised. It's been a while since you've seen me," he responded. "Aren't you becoming a big girl, Ginny?"

Ginny nodded.

"Are you as tall as me?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Am I as tall as your dad?"

Ginny shook her head again. "Nope."

"Are my muscles as big as your dad's?" John flexed his, by Butch Crump standards, minuscule biceps.

"Nope," Ginny giggled.

Despite everything, John smiled at the sound. "Thought not."

He stood.

Concerned, Lisa laid a hand on his arm. "Are you, all right?"

John had suddenly felt lightheaded and, nodding, took a deep breath in to try and quell the sensation. He was relieved when it worked. "I'm fine."

"Why don't you look at the pretty flowers, Darling?" Lisa suggested. Keeping a motherly eye on her daughter as the child wandered away to admire the plants, she turned back to John, giving him a warm hug. "I'm so sorry… How are you all?"

"Coping almost covers it." John rubbed his chin, feeling 30 hours' worth of growth there. "It feels like we've been riding a rollercoaster and I don't know when we're going to get the chance to get off."

"You look exhausted," she told him. "When did you last sleep?"

"When I was at A…" John caught himself. "It was late in the day when the call came through and I've kind lost track of time since then." He pulled a face. "It's been a tough few days."

"That's why I decided that Ginny and I needed to get some fresh air," Lisa admitted. "I've been trying to keep things as stress-free for her as I can, so I haven't told her anything yet. Let's sit down." She indicated a nearby seat dedicated to a former Bearston General staff member. "How's Mrs T?"

"Still hanging onto her place as the rock of the family."

"And Mr T?"

"Worried."

"And Gordon?"

"Remembering what it was like to go through a major health issue." John didn't want to think about the stresses his family were having to deal with. "How are you all coping?"

"Butch is…" Lisa hesitated. "Butch is not good. He refuses to leave the motor home."

John frowned. "Is he okay? He must have been roasting inside that building."

"Physically, the doctors say he's fine," Lisa admitted. "Mentally…" She bit her lip, not wanting to lay more stress on the man next to her. "He's very upset. Virgil was the first person who was willing to be his friend, and not just because he wanted to use him for his own ends."

"First person apart from you?" John guessed.

"I suppose so." Lisa managed a small smile. "And Mrs T. But Virgil was the first man who took the time to listen and talk to Butch and that meant the world to him. He feels like he's lost a real friend."

"I know that Virgil regards Butch as his friend too. If I get the chance, I'll tell him that Butch; and you of course; are thinking of him…"

A slight frown creased Lisa's forehead.

"What's wrong?"

"I… Um… Ah…" Lisa seemed unsure of herself. "John…?'

"Yes?"

Lisa flushed. "I… I don't know how to ask this."

"Just ask," John advised. "My skin's thicker than my muscles."

"You'll think I'm a fool."

"I know you're not, Lisa."

"Ummm…" She took a deep breath and tried to marshal her thoughts. "Last night…"

"Yes?"

"Your father… Mr T… Mr Tracy…"

John decided not to point out that he knew who she was talking about.

"…Came and saw us all in the hall… Before he got us all motorhomes to sleep in… I thought… that… he said… That is, he didn't say, but I thought he was going to say… The way he was acting I was sure he was going to say… We all thought it…"

There was silence.

"Yes?" John prompted again.

"Don't touch that, Ginny," Lisa called, and the little girl dropped something she'd been examining.

Lisa took another deep breath. "I thought he was trying to tell us that Virgil had died."

"We thought he had, so he probably was," John admitted. Then it was his turn to frown. "Haven't you had any news since then?"

"No. We've kept to ourselves."

"You mean no one's told you?!" John was horrified. "Virgil's critical, but he's not dead… At least not yet."

"He's not?!" Lisa's face brightened, removing many of the stress lines that had settled there over the last 27 hours.

It was John's turn to apologise. "I'm sorry, Lisa. We _were_ told that he'd died, and I guess Dad thought Virgil's friends and former workmates should be told in person. But it was a clerical error."

"Clerical error! How?!"

"Probably because the hospital is overloaded and trying to cope under a pressure situation."

"But that's awful! To make his family go through the pain of thinking that he was dead."

"It wasn't pleasant, but we've survived…" John agreed. "I did think that Dad would have at least let Uncle Hamish know and that he would have passed the message on to you."

It was Lisa's turn to look horrified. "Haven't you heard about Mr Mickelson?"

"I haven't seen or heard anything about him since…" John had to keep his true recollections in check as he struggled to remember what the public version of his story should be. "…since he called to let Dad know that Virgil had been brought here. What's happened to him?"

Lisa bit her lip. "Maybe I shouldn't say anything."

"I think you probably should. I've endured enough horrors without imagining more."

"Mr M had a nervous breakdown last night," Lisa admitted. "They say it's because of an allergic reaction to the painkillers he was given for the injury to his arm."

"Along with everything else he's had to deal with," John said grimly. "How is he?"

"As far as I know, still sedated. I returned to our motorhome when Ginny woke up. Olivia, Rex's Auntie Alicia, and I have been taking turns sitting with Mrs Mickelson. Mavis Harrison has been looking after Mr M. She's a nurse."

"How's Auntie Edna holding up?"

"She was scared, but she calmed down once he stopped crying." Lisa gripped John's arm. "You won't tell your brothers, will you? Your father and grandmother probably thought you had enough to worry about."

"And they don't?" John realised what Lisa had said. "You mean Dad and Grandma know?"

"Apparently, it's not the first time it happened, and your father came over to try and settle Mr M. Mrs T. sat with Mrs M. until they got me."

John ran his hands through his hair. "I can't believe this day! Is there anything else I should know?"

"No."

"Thank heavens for that…" John saw Ginny approaching his brother and wondered if he should intercept her…

Ginny had thought there was something familiar about the man who was sitting underneath the tree with his eyes shut and his hands clasped together. She was about to run back and ask her mama when the man opened his eyes and looked at her. "Hello, Ginny."

They were nice, friendly eyes, even if they weren't smiling. "'Lo."

"I'm Uncle Virgil's brother, Uncle Scott. Do you remember me?"

Ginny nodded and sat next to him.

Glancing past the little girl, Scott saw that John and Lisa were in a deep discussion and that Lisa was looking visibly upset. He thought it was better if he held Ginny's attention until things calmed down. "Have you been looking at the pretty flowers?"

"Not lots of flowers," he was told.

"No. It's probably too early for them," Scott admitted. "Or too late. What's your favourite coloured flower?"

"Pink!" Ginny stated with an emphatic nod. "I like pink."

"I've got a friend who likes pink too. I like blue."

"Daddy likes blue."

"Are there any blue flowers here?"

Ginny shook her head.

"If we come back in a few weeks there'll probably be lots and lots of flowers. There'll be pink, and blue, and yellow, and red…" Scott couldn't think of any more floral colours.

Not that Ginny was interested in the garden. "Don't want to come back." She screwed up her nose. "Don't like this place."

Scott decided against saying _me too_.

"I like Sunbeam Preschool."

"Is that a fun place to be?"

Ginny nodded. "I flew in a Thunderbird," she told him.

Once again Scott decided against saying _me too_. "Was that exciting?"

Ginny gave yet another emphatic nod of her head. Then she cocked it sideways and Scott was reminded of a little bird, rather than a big green one. "Are you sad?"

Scott wished she hadn't been so perceptive. "Yes."

"Daddy's sad. Why are you sad?"

Scott sighed. "I'm sad because my friend is sick."

"If I'm sick Mama reads me a story," Ginny told him helpfully.

"I'll ask the doctor if I can do that."

"And Daddy sings to me."

Scott chuckled. "I don't think my friend, or the doctors and nurses, would appreciate that."

"Daddy gives me shicken soup."

Scott remembered his grandmother's "shicken soup". That was a panacea guaranteed to cure all ills too…

Except for this one.

He held out his palm revealing what he'd been holding. "Do you know what this is?"

Ginny picked the fastening off his palm as carefully as if it had been a priceless gem. "Nut and bolt."

"That's right. Do you know what it came from?"

Ginny shook her head.

"It was a steam train called Myra. Uncle Virgil helped put it back together again, so that it could take little girls like you for a ride. Have you ever been on a ride in a train?"

Ginny shook her head again.

"One day we'll have to take you for a ride on Myra."

She carefully placed the fastening back on his hand. "Will 'ncle Virgil take me?"

Ginny saw Uncle Scott sadden again. "I don't know, Virginia. I hope so."

"'ncle Gordon calls me Vir-gig-el-er." Ginny giggled.

Scott smiled at the aptness of the name. "I can imagine that." Looking across to where her mother and his brother were talking, he saw they were both standing and looking towards them. He pocketed the nut and bolt and got to his feet. "Would you like a piggyback ride to your Mama?"

Ginny nodded.

_11:45 a.m._

_To be continued…_


	23. Chapter 23

_11:45 a.m._

"I suppose I'd better tell you everything that's happened," John began as he and Lisa Crump sat on the seat outside the hospital. "Brains had heard about an experimental operation that he thought could help Virgil. It uses a 3D printer to print out any bones, muscles or other tissue that can't be saved. The problem is that the two guys who'd developed it live in Australia and New Zealand and don't have visas for the States. To add to our problems there's also a, erm, hurricane raging in the Pacific that they'll have to fly through to get here. So, the two scientists decided to play it safe and stay behind. We respect their decision. Brains and Tin-Tin attempted to fly the printer to Bearston, thinking that we could set it up so the scientists could operate the robot that will do the operation remotely from Australia, but they couldn't make it through the cyclone. It was then that Scott came up with the idea that we use ACE's 3D printer to print out the medical 3D printer."

Lisa was shocked. "You went to ACE?!"

"Yeah. Hoping that it wasn't about to be hit by a major aftershock, we went back to ACE. We were just about to start printing when Dad let us know that Virgil had died." John paused as he remembered that moment. "But we decided to keep printing anyway. We figured that if we couldn't help Virg, we might be able to help someone else and that that was what Virgil would have wanted. You've got no idea what a relief it was when Dad called back and said it had all been a horrendous mistake."

Lisa smiled. "Was it you delivering the printer in the helijet that I heard this morning?"

"Probably my brothers. The guys said that Greg Harrison helped them set up…" John frowned again. "I'm sure they must have told him that Virg was alive. Why didn't he tell you?"

"He may have tried to," Lisa suggested. "But it might have been when I was with Mrs M. and Butch didn't want to talk to anyone. Maybe he thought he'd catch up with us later."

"Makes sense… Anyway, by the time we'd finished printing all the components, and put them together in the operating room, the four of us were ready to wheel Virgil in for his operation. That was when Dad told us that he already was in O.R. They had to operate to save his life." John looked at his hands. "Gangrene had set in…" Lisa's hand went to her mouth in shock. "They had to amputate both legs; the right below and the left above the knee."

"Oh, John… How awful."

"The good news is that the operation saved his life in the short term. The bad news is that they also had to amputate his left thumb and forefinger." John made a pinching motion with his digits. "Plus, he's still dealing with peritonitis and renal failure, along with various other complications resulting from his crush injury."

"Amputate his fingers! John! That's terrible!"

"The doctors say that he's, in effect, in a coma. He may never wake up."

"A coma!" This trauma of this bit of news was the last straw when Lisa burst into tears.

Wondering if he should, John gingerly put his arm about her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd want to know the full story."

"I do…" she sniffed. "It's not only that, it's everything! I don't know if my family's okay, I don't know if our home's still standing, I don't know how long we're going to be living in a motorhome, I don't know when the 'quakes are going to stop; Butch says they could last for months! I don't know what effect all this will have on Ginny, I'm worried about Butch, I feel sorry for the Mickelsons… And Freddy, he's only heard about his sister and she's been injured, and he doesn't know how his parents are. I'm tired, I'm filthy, I haven't had a proper wash in over 24 hours, I haven't got a change of clothes for any of us, and… and… I just want this nightmare to go away!"

"I know," John soothed.

Lisa pulled a handkerchief out of her overalls pocket. "And I'm laying all this on you when you've got more than enough to worry about."

"They say that a problem shared is a problem halved," John quoted. "We've just spread the load a bit more evenly." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Do you have your phone with you?"

Lisa sniffed. "Yes."

"Give me your number and I'll contact you whenever I have news. And will you do the same for me?"

Lisa nodded and read out her number.

"Do you have Bruce's phone number too? He should be kept in the loop."

"I do, but I don't think he has his phone. He always leaves it in his locker at ACE."

"Then you'll pass any news on to him?"

"Of course."

"Thanks." Standing John glanced over to Scott and Ginny, who were also getting to their feet. He watched as Lisa's little girl climbed onto John's big brother's back and the pair galloped over to them.

Scott crouched down so Ginny could slide off his back and onto the seat. "How are you, Lisa?"

She managed a brave smile. "Hanging in there. And you?" she gave him a hug. "How are you?"

"Coping," he said briefly. John caught his eye and received a minuscule shake of the head in reply.

"John's just been bringing me up-to-date on…" Lisa glanced at her daughter, "everything."

Scott ran his hand through his hair. "A lot's happened over the last few hours."

"So I hear."

John had an idea. "Lisa," he began, "have you seen any houses for sale nearby?"

"Houses for sale?" Lisa echoed. "No… Wait a minute, I think Ginny and I saw something when we were on our walk. I didn't really take it in."

"If you get the opportunity, would you be willing to see if there's anything close by? If we're going to be here for the long haul, two mobile homes are going to get very cramped, very quickly." John held up his phone. "You can send me a message."

"Of course. I'd be glad to help, and it will give Butch something useful to do."

"Thanks. We'd better go back inside. Everyone will be worrying about us."

"You'll give everyone my love?"

"Be glad to," John replied, as Scott nodded.

"Thank you… Say goodbye to Uncle John and Uncle Scott," Lisa instructed as she took Ginny's hand.

There was a little wave. "Bye, bye."

"Bye, Ginny." John waved in reply as Lisa started walking back towards the motorhomes.

As the Tracys started retracing their steps into the hospital, Scott was the first to speak. "A house?"

"It was a lifesaver last time," John shrugged. "Do you want to go shares?"

"You don't need to ask, John."

"Did you make contact?"

There was a sigh. "No."

John patted his brother on the back. "At least we tried."

They arrived back at the storeroom to discover that one member of the family was missing.

John felt a twinge of alarm. "Where's Dad?"

"Gone to check on Thunderbird Ten," Alan told him.

"Ah." John claimed a seat. "Lisa sends her best."

Gordon perked up at the mention of his friend. "How is she?"

"You can tell us everything in a moment," Grandma instructed. "But before your father gets back, I need to talk to you all first. I want you to do me a favour."

Intrigued, Gordon pulled his chair closer. "What's that, Grandma?"

"I know that what we've been through is nothing like what you've been through, but your father's been through a lot; what with having to authorise Virgil's operation and telling you he'd died; and I'm concerned that if he doesn't have a rest soon, he'll have a breakdown."

"Which seems to be quite common after an earthquake," John commented.

Grandma did a double take but didn't acknowledge his statement. "If, when the time is right, I suggest that we all retire to the motorhomes for a little sleep, will you agree with me? If you do, then I'm sure your father will feel that he can do the same."

"Is this some trick?" Gordon asked. He turned to his brothers. "Hands up all those who think we're being conned?"

"Now, Gordon Tracy! Would _I_ do that?!"

"Yes, you would," Alan reminded her. "You're not averse to using emotional blackmail to make us do what you want."

She scowled at him. "When have I ever done such a thing?"

"I have two words for you, Grandma. Phone call."

She looked a little embarrassed. "Oh."

John stared at his youngest brother. "Phone call?"

"Yesterday… or was it the day before?" Alan shrugged. "I've lost track of time."

"What happened?"

Before Alan could risk his grandmother's wrath and tell him, Jeff returned. "You're back!" he greeted his two eldest sons.

"Lisa and Ginny send their best," John told him.

Jeff managed a smile as he sat down next to him. "That's nice."

"Yeah. But if anyone sees them, be aware that Lisa's not telling Ginny anything that she doesn't need to know, and that includes everything about 'Uncle Virgil'. She's trying to pretend that nothing traumatic has happened to anyone, including the earthquake. Which must be difficult, as she told me that Butch is pretty cut up over Virg's 'death'. For some reason they hadn't heard that he's still alive."

Alan frowned. "But we told Greg."

"And I told the Mickelsons," Jeff added.

John glanced at him. "Lisa said she'd been helping th… some distressed friends and that Butch wasn't talking to anyone, so it might be that they hadn't had the opportunity to be told. Anyway, she knows now and she's going to tell him. I've got her phone number and she's got mine. We're going to keep each other up-to-date."

Gordon groaned. "I wish I'd realised that she didn't know. I could have called her."

"So could I," his father reminded him, before turning to John. "Anything else we need to know?"

"Probably, but nothing I'm privy to."

His father frowned, before indicating Alan and Gordon. "Do you two want to go for a walk now?"

Glad for the chance to stretch their legs, and an excuse to get away before John asked further questions that would get them into trouble, his two youngest sons got to their feet and escaped.

-F-A-B-

_12:00 p.m._

Ginny's steps slowed as they approached the motorhome where she'd woken after going to sleep in a crowded hall. "When we going home?"

That was a question Lisa wished she had the answer to. She was saved from having to think of a suitable response when she heard her name called. Turning, she saw Greg Harrison.

He hurried over to her. "Did you get my note?"

Lisa frowned. "No."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't want to risk waking Ginny," he smiled down at the little girl, "so I pushed a note through the gap in your door. It's good news. Virgil…"

"I've just been talking to John Tracy," Lisa said quickly.

"Ah…" He gave a sage nod. "So you know?"

"There's more to tell," she admitted. "Um, let me just take Ginny back to Butch…"

Greg nodded. "Okay. I'll get everyone together?"

Lisa nodded. "I'll meet you at your motorhome… Come on, Honey. Let's go see Daddy."

Oblivious to much of the drama that was going on around her, Ginny skipped towards where she'd been told her daddy slept.

Lisa opened the door and looked around for Greg's note. She found a slip of paper jammed into the hinge and read it.

_Virgil's alive! _ _ Greg._

Smiling, she sat Ginny on her bed and gave her a pad and some crayons, courtesy of some kind donor. "Why don't you draw the pretty flowers you saw for Daddy, Honey?"

"'Kay."

Leaving her daughter at work with a fat red crayon, Lisa passed through a curtain that led to what could have been loosely called the master bedroom.

Butch was curled up in the bed, hugging a pillow, and, although he wasn't crying, his eyes were red and puffy.

"Hey, Darling," Lisa said softly. "How are you feeling?"

There was a loud sniff. "'Kay."

"Read this." She handed him the note. "It's from Greg."

Fighting against the bedclothes that had got knotted around him, Butch sat up. He read the note. Then he read it again.

And again.

He looked at Lisa, his puffy eyes full of hope. "This true?"

Lisa nodded. "I've been talking to John Tracy. It's true."

Butch opened his arms and mouth to let loose a cry of delight, which Lisa quickly silenced with a finger against his lips. "Shh. Ginny doesn't know any of this."

"Oh…" Butch nodded against her finger. Then a huge beaming smile broke out across his face and he swept his wife into the hug that he couldn't contain. "He's alive. M' pal's still alive."

"He is, Honey," she whispered. "But he's still very sick. They've had to operate on him to keep him alive."

"Operate?"

"Will you look after Ginny while I go and tell Greg, and Bruce, and the others? Then I'll see if one of them will look after Ginny and you and I can go for a walk. John's given us a job to do that will help the Tracys, and you and I can talk while we do that."

He nodded and rubbed his arm over his face. "'Ow do I look?" His eyes were red, his clothes crumpled and dishevelled, and he was badly in need of a shave.

"Handsome." Lisa kissed him on the formerly tattooed forehead. "Now go and admire Ginny's drawing while I tell everyone what I know."

She left a very happy husband and a daughter proudly telling her dad all about the "preddy flowers."

The mood was nearly as upbeat when she joined her workmates outside the motorhome that the Harrisons had shared until Mavis had been called away to help the Mickelsons. Bruce had been billeted with Freddy, Rex and Winston had a motorhome of their own, while Olivia had shared one with Rex's Auntie Alicia. Bruce quietly whispered to a giggling Olivia that, in his opinion, his bunk mate wasn't half as much fun as she would have been.

Forgetting all that he turned to Lisa. "Tell us everything you know about Virgil," he begged.

Lisa did, trying to recount all that John had told her, without histrionics or understating the seriousness of the situation.

The group had lost a lot of its good humour by the time she'd finished.

"And still they don't know if he's going to pull through?" Bruce clarified. Hearing the sadness in his voice, Olivia slipped her arm about him.

"No. John was trying to sound hopeful, but he looked exhausted. So did Scott. I hate to think how Mr and Mrs T. are."

"What about that printer they made at ACE?" Greg asked. "Are they still hoping to use that?"

"I think so, but it will depend on how strong Virgil is before they'll attempt something so untested. But if he can't use it, they're determined that it will help someone else." Lisa looked back towards her own motorhome. "I haven't given Butch all the facts yet, and I'm trying to tell Ginny as little as possible. Would one of you be willing to look after her, while Butch and I go for a walk?"

"Rexy and I would be glad to," Winston offered. "There's an _awesome_ playground just over there that I'd just _love_ to have an excuse to play in." Rex rolled his eyes in mock horror, but didn't offer any complaints.

Lisa smiled. "Thank you."

"Do you want Olivia and me to come with you when you tell Butch, Lisa?" Bruce offered. "I don't mind. Do you?" he asked his girlfriend.

"Of course, I don't mind," Olivia added. "But I'm not as close to Butch as you are. Are you sure you want me hanging around?"

"If we're going to have to get to know you better," Lisa told her, "we may as well start now."

Butch had just finished wolfing down a plate of cereal and Ginny was still drawing when the group arrived.

"Ginny!" Lisa crouched down in front of her daughter. "Uncle Winston and Uncle Rex are going to take you for a play in the park. Uncle Winston says it has an _awesome_ playground," she continued, mimicking the man's enthusiasm. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Ginny gave an emphatic head nod and slid off the bed.

"Good girl." Lisa picked her up to carry her outside. "And Mama, and Daddy, and Uncle Bruce, and Auntie Olivia are all going to go for a walk. Okay?"

"'Kay"

Lisa got a wet kiss on the nose. "Give Daddy a kiss too?"

Ginny nodded.

Butch leant in for the promised kiss. "Have fun, Sweetie."

Outside, Winston presented Ginny with a daisy plucked from the lawn and then gave her a theatrical bow. "Miss Ginny. We are indeed honoured to be in your company."

Ginny giggled and, happy with his theatrics, took his hand.

"Rex asked me to come too," Auntie Alicia whispered to Lisa. "Just in case a woman's touch is needed."

Lisa gave her a grateful squeeze on the arm. "Thank you."

Butch made short work of cleaning his teeth with some of the toiletries that all refugees had been given the previous night, and then joined his friends. "Watcha got t' tell me, Liesl?"

Lisa slipped her arm through his and started leading the group towards the front gate. "Virgil's still very sick, Honey," she explained. "They had to amputate both feet."

Horrified at the idea, Butch stopped dead in his tracks. "They chopped bits off 'im!?"

"Only to save his life," she reminded him, wishing that he hadn't phrased it in such a crude way. "If they hadn't he would be dead now." She threaded her fingers through his. "And they had to amputate his finger and thumb."

"But 'ow will 'e work on th' Red-Arrow?"

"Butch... Honey…"

"I know." He hung his head. "It saved 'is life."

"You saw how he was crushed beneath all that concrete," Bruce reminded his friend. "It's a miracle that he's lasted this long."

Butch nodded.

"And look on the bright side," Bruce continued. "At least the operation was done in a sterile environment. Imagine if hi…" he glanced at Lisa, "if International Rescue had had to amputate something in the middle of all that mud and dust."

Olivia gave a visible shudder. "I don't want to think about that."

They reached the hospital's front gate and Lisa stopped walking. "And, just in case we meet one of them, John's brothers don't know about Mr Mickelson's breakdown. Apparently, Mr T. was trying not to give them any more to worry about. So, we're not going to say anything to any of them… Right, Honey?" she asked Butch.

"Righ'."

"Thank you," she kissed him on the cheek. "John asked me to see if we can find a house for sale." Turning left, she started walking. "I thought we could all look together. I remember seeing something this morning."

"A house?" Olivia frowned. "Why is he looking for property now? I would have thought speculating would have been the last thing on his mind."

"He bought one when Gordon had his accident," Bruce told her. "It gave the family some space of their own away from the hospital during the months when Gordon was an in-patient. I think they've gifted it to a trust or something to enable other families to live close to loved ones who need hospital care."

"So, we're looking for something big enough for six people," Lisa stated. She rubbed at her arm feeling the grime that was ground into her overall's arm. "I wish I could get some different clothes!"

"I wish I could have a shower," Olivia sighed. "A long, relaxing, stress-free shower."

"A shower," Lisa moaned. "That sounds like heaven."

"And just as far away."

"So, where's this house, Lisa?" Bruce asked.

"I don't even remember if it was a house," she admitted and stopped walking. "I just remember seeing a sign… Somewhere… Now…" She looked around. "Where was it? I think it was close by…" Making a decision she started walking again. "Keep your eyes peeled, everyone."

They'd only travelled a couple of hundred metres further down the road when they found a sign perched at the edge of what looked like untamed jungle.

"This it?" Butch asked, as he stared at the chest high grass and creeping vines that hid the building in question.

"It doesn't look like the photo…" Lisa snapped a shot of the sign with her phone, and checked that the agent's details were readable.

"It says it used to be a combined hostel and motel," Bruce read.

"Why didn't they offer it to us refugees?"

"Maybe they couldn't get the permission of the owner?" Bruce looked down what appeared to be a long and winding driveway. "Maybe it's just a ratty ruin and not fit for human habitation and the owner's selling it for demolition?"

"I hope not. It would be no good for the Tracys if it was."

"Then let's go and look." Bruce took two steps down the drive, stopped, and turned back to his friends. "C'mon."

"Do you think we should?" Olivia hung back. "Aren't we trespassing?"

"Trespassing? They're trying to sell it."

"Through an agent; who is probably meant to be here with us when we go onto the property."

"We're just ascertaining if it's the kind of house the Tracys would want before we give them the information. John can deal with the agent." Bruce turned back and resumed his trek down the driveway. "Come on."

Happy with Bruce's assessment of the situation, Butch strode off after his friend. The two ladies looked at each other and then, with more reluctance, followed.

The driveway meandered through a grove of mature trees, many of which were almost smothered by a creeper that seemed intent on world domination.

"At least the Tracys would get some privacy," Bruce commented. "A few strategically placed cameras and an infra-red security beam and they could hide from invading paparazzi before they reached the hou…"

They had reached the house.

Four stories high and multi-gabled, it sat partially hidden by overgrown trees and weeds, with ivy clambering over it like a many-tendrilled monster taking possession of its prey.

Olivia stared at it. Then she wrapped her arms about herself and gave an obvious shiver. "It looks like something out of a horror film."

"It's not that bad, Sunbeam," Bruce told her, giving her a warming hug as Lisa got some more photos with her phone. "It's just got lots of…" he tried to think of the appropriate word. "Character."

"Must be th' 'ostel," Butch theorised. "Guess th' motel's round th' back 'ere." He continued along where the driveway attempted to sneak past the gothic home without being noticed by any of the building's ghoulish inhabitants.

In a complete contrast to the overgrown entrance, the driveway opened up into a sunlit, large, circular area bordered by what the group assumed were the motel units.

Bruce wiped the grime off one of the windows and attempted to peer inside. "It doesn't look too bad. I can't see any leaks or anything. And there's…" He did a quick count. "Nine units, so that's plenty. It's enough for the Tracys, Brains, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano to have a unit each.

Lisa had overcome her misgivings enough to search a little further. "It's even got a pool! And a playground."

"Well, that's Gordon catered for," Bruce chuckled.

Satisfied by what he'd seen of the motel, Butch was checking out the main building. "Can' see much," he admitted, having done a full circuit, "but looks solid. Woulda beena nice place 'fore it was deserted."

The group reconvened in the centre of the parking area. "Well?" Lisa asked. "Do I tell John about it?"

"What were his criteria?" Bruce asked.

"He didn't really say. Just big enough for the family. And, I suppose, close to the hospital."

"Well, this qualifies. Send it through, Lisa, and if he doesn't like it, tell him we'll look further afield." Bruce headed back down the drive.

"Okay." Lisa started typing. Her head down as she composed the message that was going to accompany the photographs, she walked slower than the rest of the group. She therefore didn't hear the voice call out her husband's name.

But Butch did. He stopped and frowned into the shrubbery. "Oo's that?"

The vines moved with a life discrete from the gentle breeze, and a man stepped out from within the tangled undergrowth. "It' me."

Bruce and Olivia stared at the leather-clad, unshaven, un-washed (Olivia tried not to screw up her nose at the smell), untidy newcomer. Seeing an intimidating tattoo on the man's cheek, Bruce took a protective step to shield his girlfriend, rubbing his head at the memories the ink evoked.

Butch also stared at the dishevelled apparition. "You?"

Lisa's reaction was similar to her husband's. Except that her "You!" came out more like an angry hiss.

The man pretended not to hear her. "I know I'm the las' person ya expect t' see, Butch," he began. "Bu'…"

"Come along, Butch," Lisa grasped her husband's hand and pulled him towards the road. "We've done what we said we would. We've got to get back."

Glad to escape the smell and that intimidating tattoo of a skull, Bruce and Olivia hurried after their friend and her more reluctant spouse.

"Liesl!" Butch protested and disengaged himself from her hand, stopping his assisted flight down the driveway. He quailed when she turned on him. "Lisa…"

"You promised, Butch!" she snapped.

"Lisa…"

"You know what I said I'd do if you broke your promise."

"I know. Bu'…"

"Butch! It's him or me!"

Stunned by the argument between the usually loving couple, Bruce and Olivia felt like spectators at a particularly acrimonious tennis match. They wondered if they should sneak away before they had to duck flying tennis rackets.

"Liesl… Please…"

"He's a Skulz, Butch. You promised me that you'd have nothing more to do with the Skulz."

The mere mention of the name was enough to make Bruce rub his head again. That was until he heard Butch's pleading remark.

"Bu' 'e's m' dad, Liesl."

-F-A-B-

_12:01 p.m._

Alan and Gordon had said little until they'd got outside the hospital's doors. Then they stopped and allowed the sun to shine on their faces.

"Mmn…" Alan sighed. "It feels good to be out of that stuffy room."

"What do you want to do? Go for a walk or find something to eat?"

"If the cafeteria's got outside seating and cushioned chairs, I opt for something to eat."

The brothers circumnavigated the building until they found an area that promised some form of sustenance. They went inside only to find an almost desert of edible food on the shelves.

Alan glared at a dried-up sandwich. "Is that all that's on offer?"

Gordon looked at his watch. "It is midday, isn't it? Shouldn't the lunch menu be ready by now?"

"Sorry, Luv," the lady behind the counter told him. "But we're running behind schedule. What with all the extra medical staff on site, we've been working around the clock trying to keep them going. We haven't had time to open up the cafeteria to anyone else."

"Couldn't you order in catering for the patients' visitors?" Alan asked. "There are a lot of people here waiting for news of their loved ones who are unwilling to stray too far from the hospital."

"Catering costs money. And all the hospital's money's going on surgical procedures."

Alan sighed. "I suppose it must be." He looked at Gordon. "Now what? Ring up Dad's P.A. and see if she can arrange catering? There must be others in our situation desperate for something to eat."

Gordon pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll give her a call. Dad's already paid plenty, so I'll cover it."

"Do you have any idea how much catering for what must be several hundred people for I don't know how many meals is going to cost?"

"Nope. Do you?"

"Nope."

"Are you in?"

"Yep."

"I'll go outside to make the call," Gordon offered. "In the meantime, see if you can get directions to the nearest place where we can get some food to take back to everyone."

"Okay." Alan watched his brother head outside.

"Is he serious?" the canteen lady asked, goggling at Gordon's departing back. If she'd known his reputation, she would have been even more convinced that she was caught up in the middle of a practical joke. "You are kidding, right? You two aren't going to pay for full catering services?"

"We are."

The canteen lady regarded Alan with the expression of someone who thought that the brothers may have been the ones in need of specialist care… Of the psychiatric variety. "Do you know how much that's going to cost?"

Alan shrugged. "It's only money… Until that's done, do you know of any food places around here?"

"There're some shops just down the road." She pointed in the general direction and then took pity on him. "Like a cup of coffee?" she offered. "I can spare that much."

Alan smiled. "I'd love one."

"Him too?" She nodded in Gordon's direction.

"Him too."

"Back in a moment." She disappeared through a door towards the kitchens, returning just after Gordon.

She gave each brother a takeaway cup of passable coffee and waved away their offer of payment. "Have you, ah, arranged the catering?" she asked Gordon.

"Dad's personal assistant's going to see what she can do. She's got the contacts and we don't. I told her to send me the bill." Gordon looked over the top of his coffee cup at Alan. "You can pay me back afterwards."

"Not a problem."

"You've got family in the hospital?" the canteen lady asked.

"Yeah," Gordon said and took a sip. "Ah. That'll keep the worms at bay."

"Hurt in the earthquake?"

Alan nodded.

"Horrible," she stated. "I've heard that some of the injuries are horrific."

"They are," Alan agreed.

"Have you found out where we can get something to eat?" Gordon asked. "Shall we go try to rustle up some food?"

"There're some shops in that direction." Alan pointed the same way that the canteen lady had done.

"Good," Gordon sipped his drink. "Like this coffee…" He beamed at the canteen lady before turning back to Alan. "I don't want to be gone for too long. Dad looks ready to collapse."

"Aren't we all?" Alan queried. "I think you're right. I think Grandma is as keen for us to get some rest as she is for him."

With a final thank you to the helpful lady the brothers left the hospital's canteen and made their way to the front gate.

"What's it like, Gordon?" Alan asked. "Being in a coma."

"What's it like?" Gordon echoed. "I can't really remember."

"You must remember something. You wouldn't have been that insistent that we sit with Virgil if you couldn't."

"Dad's right. What I remember might not be what Virgil's experiencing. My surgery was different to his."

"They had to remove a quarter of your liver and a bit of your lung."

Gordon had the physical scars to prove it. What worried him was how close to the surface the emotional ones were. He didn't want to continue the conversation.

But Alan was equally keen to gain some understanding of what their brother might be going through. "So, what do you remember? It sounds horrific."

"It was…" Gordon thought; not sure if he wanted to remind himself of what had been a stressful time for all of them. "It was like I was floating. Not in water; it didn't feel as comforting as water. It was like I was floating in nothing, but there was this pressure bearing down on me. I couldn't see anything. I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't smell anything. I couldn't move… But I don't know if that was because I was paralysed or an effect of the coma."

"Could you move your thumb?"

"I don't remember being able to, but I suppose I must have. Unless it was an involuntary tic."

Alan nodded and let his brother continue.

"But I could hear voices… Your voices. I couldn't always understand what you were saying, but I knew who was talking. I remember trying to reach out to you and getting incredibly frustrated because I couldn't move. I remember screaming at you to help free me and not being able to hear my own voice… It was like a nightmare." Gordon took a drink of his coffee; as much to equalise his emotions as to quench his thirst. He'd been as shocked as any of them by the depth of feeling that he'd shown when he'd been denied the chance to help his brother. "I could hear you apologise over and over for what you'd said to me and I was trying to tell you that it was okay, that I forgave you, and that I'd tell you that I forgave you if you'd only let me out of my prison…" He looked at Alan and managed a smile. "Which you did."

"I would never have forgiven myself," Alan said quietly, "if you'd died without telling me that you'd forgiven me."

"I thought you knew me better than that. Since when have I ever held a grudge?"

Alan shrugged. "Since I renounced you all and said I never wanted to see any of you again…?" He swallowed and looked skyward, trying to keep his own emotions under control. "That was a lie of the worst kind. I was lying to myself as well as you."

Gordon downed the last of his coffee and threw the cup into the recycling barrel outside a shop that promised some of the best food in the State. "That's all in the past, Alan. We survived that, and we can survive this. Now…" He rubbed his hands together as he looked at the delicacies on offer. "What do you feel like?"

-F-A-B-

In Australia, partly to put some distance between herself and the two researchers who seemed to have an inability to think of Virgil Tracy as anything other than the culmination of their research, Tin-Tin had also gone hunting for food.

She returned with several bags, which she placed on a table. "Is there any news?"

"Your friends have done a brilliant job," Timoti told her, beaming his delight at the progress that had been made. "The printer's working without a hitch. It's already finished printing the framework for the right femur and it's making a start on the left."

"And we hope to have the all the replacement skeletal units replicated within two hours," Bryce added with a cheerful grin. "Then we can make a start on the cartilaginous framework."

Exasperated, Tin-Tin turned to Brains.

"Sit down, Tin-Tin," he advised her. "There's been a, ah, development."

Worried by the seriousness in his tone and the nature of his instruction, she did as she was told.

Brains sat next to her. "Virgil's condition has deteriorated more than we thought. Various issues with his circulatory system have necessitated intervention by the surgical staff at Bearston General."

Tin-Tin told herself to remain calm. If the two researchers were happily watching the printer go about its work, then the devastating news that they'd received soon after their wasted flight couldn't be a rehearsal for what her friend was about to tell her. "What did they have to do, Brains?"

"They have had to amputate parts of both legs and five of his phalanges."

Tin-Tin caught her breath. The leg amputations were not a surprise; she'd been warned of this possibility before she went shopping. The fingers… "Which five?"

"Thumb and forefinger."

"Oh…" Tin-Tin the engineer felt saddened for her friend. Then she reminded herself that it had been done for the best of reasons. "Has that stabilised him?"

"It appears so. At least his deterioration has slowed."

"Good… How are the Tracys?"

"I don't know. The last time I spoke to any of them was when I had to advise Mr Tracy to allow the procedure to proceed."

Tin-Tin nodded again. This far away and with a weakening cyclone between them and the States, there was little she could do for her friends, but she could do something for the men in the room with her. "Is anyone hungry?"

The Australian looked at her blankly. "Hungry?" Bryce queried.

Throughout the day, Tin-Tin had formed the opinion that all three of her associates seemed to have forgotten that they were human and had a need for sustenance. She expected this of Brains, but thought that it might be an opportunity to remind the two researchers of what it was like to be flesh and blood. She had toyed with the idea of only purchasing enough food for two, but when the time came she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Yes. I found a supermarket," she started pulling several containers out of her bags. "Can we use your cooker?"

"Cooker?" Timoti sounded just as blank as his Australasian associate.

"For cooking food…" Tin-Tin read the instructions on the label. "These can be heated in anything."

The New Zealand researcher seemed to wake up to what she was asking. "There's one in the staff lunchroom."

"Thank you."

-F-A-B-

_12:15 p.m._

"Butch!"

"Lisa! 'E's m' dad, Lisa. Can' we at least talk t' 'im. See 'ow 'e is?"

Fuming, Lisa folded her arms, turned her back on the two Crumps, marched to a nearby rock, spun about and, glaring at some innocuous tree, sat down.

Bruce and Olivia hesitated, unsure what to do and where to go. Bruce especially had no desire to become acquainted with one of the men who'd been part of the gang that had given him concussion, and Olivia wanted to get away from the smell. But neither of them felt comfortable joining an obviously furious woman.

Butch solved their dilemma by introducing them. "Dad. These's m' friends Bruce 'n Olivia. We work together. Ah…" He paused, wondering how to continue the introductions. "This is m' fatha."

Wanting to at least appear polite, Bruce flapped his hand. "Hi."

"Hi," the elder man responded. "Was ya at Butch n' Lisa's party?"

"Ah…" Once again Bruce rubbed his head. "Yeah."

"Thought so. I was there. Bu' Butch was too 'shamed o' me t' intraduce me as 'is dad."

Butch kicked at the dirt. "Ya know why. An' cos o' wha' 'appened afta."

"I know. Things changed since then. Muzz been in jail."

From what he'd been told, rather than what he remembered of the fight during the party, Bruce thought that was a good thing.

"Ya got rid o' ya tats?" Mr Crump queried.

"Most of 'em," Butch confirmed. "Didn' want nothin' t' do with th' Skulz."

There was an awkward silence.

"How'd'cha get here?" Butch asked.

"Hitched," his father responded. "I's like ya. I's 'scaped the 'quake. 'N now I ain't got nowhere to stay."

"We're in a mobil' 'ome," Butch explained. "Bu' there ain't room for more." He cast a guilty look Lisa's way. "Sorry."

"Don' be. I don' 'spect ya t' look afta me, Butch. I never looked afta ya." Butch's dad looked over at his daughter-in-law. "Ya're the bes' thin' tha' 'appened to 'im, Lisa."

"Yeah…" Butch gave a soppy smile. "'Er an' Ginny." Lisa looked up sharply.

"Ginny?"

"M' daughter."

The newly discovered grandfather's jaw dropped. "I've a grandkid?"

"Yep." And those watching saw Butch swell in pride. "Virginia Liesl Crump."

"Virginia?"

"Named after the guy that saved Lisa's life." Then Butch jabbed a thumb in Bruce's direction. "'E saved 'er life too. Bu' Virgil saved allofus when th' plane was crashin'. He's m' pal."

"Virgil? Wasn' 'e th' guy a' th' party?"

"Yeah." Butch appeared to deflate. "'E's been 'urt bad in the 'quake. Real bad."

Lisa got to her feet. "We've got to get back, Butch. Ginny may need us."

"Lisa…" Butch turned to face her. "'E's m' dad, Lisa. Can' we take 'im with us?" To Olivia's ears he sounded like a child asking his mother to let him adopt a stray dog.

"Don' worry 'bout me," the member of the Skulz protested. "I'm comfatable 'ere."

"Lisa. If John buys it, where's 'e gonna go?"

Lisa hesitated. Her experiences with the Skulz had been nothing but bad, but this man, as smelly and undesirable as he was, was her husband's father. Her daughter's grandfather… "All right!" she snapped. "But no patches!" As a leather jacket was pulled off and turned inside out she continued, "And the first sign of any other Skulz, you're leaving!"

Her father-in-law gave a sheepish nod. "Righ'."

-F-A-B-

Back at the hospital, things had been quiet in the storeroom when the two youngest left. That was until Scott surprised everyone by standing up. "I'm going to check on Thunderbird Ten."

"Don't forget to close the pod door," John quipped, and was pleased to see a small smile on his brother's face.

He waited until he was alone with his father and grandmother. "Right, now what's the story with Uncle Hamish? Lisa tells me that he's still sedated."

Jeff looked startled. "She told you?"

"She assumed that I already knew. I've assumed that you haven't told anyone else, so I didn't mention it to Scott." John frowned at his father. "We can handle it, you know. You don't have to bear the burden all alone."

Jeff sighed. "I know. But you boys have been through more than we have. It seemed kinder not to worry you all."

John glanced down at the masking device to reassure himself that it was still operational. "What happened to him?"

Speaking quickly John's father explained about the allergy to the pain relief, along with detailing some of his friend's ravings. "Of course, what's really pushed him over the edge is knowing that he's going to have to lie to everyone, especially Edna, about Virgil's involvement with International Rescue."

"You're only saying that, Jeff."

Jeff glanced across his son to his mother. "I'm saying it because I know Hamish Mickelson."

John was astounded. "Hasn't he told her?"

It was Grandma who answered. "No. She told me what he'd said and most of it sounded like the ramblings of a confused man. Even if he did say something, it wouldn't have made any sense to her."

The door opened and, as Scott entered, John's phone beeped; a convenient excuse to cease their conversation with the unspoken agreement not to cause further worry to any of the Tracy offspring.

John switched off the masking device and read the message. "Lisa's found a house for us."

Jeff stared at the phone as John sent his thanks. "A house?"

"Yeah. It was a lifesaver last time and I thought a bit of house hunting would give them something constructive to do."

"How much is it?" Jeff asked.

John held the phone so that Scott could see the price and his father couldn't. "You don't need to worry about that. You've already spent enough money. Scott and I can take care of this one." He read some more. "Apparently it used to be a hostel and a motel. The main building is a little rundown, but according to Lisa the motel units are still liveable." He looked at Jeff. "Can I ask your P.A. to arrange for a civil engineer to check it out and then, if he gives the all clear, get her to put the purchasing wheels in motion?" At Jeff's nod, he made the call.

The P.A., as usual, was quick and efficient in answering. "Hello, John," she smiled. "How's your father?"

"Sitting here listening to our conversation, so you'd better not say anything against him."

"As if I would," she laughed, before turning serious. "And Virgil?"

"The bad news is he's critical. The good news is he's not dead." Not wanting to continue down that conversational route, John made his request.

The P.A. was typing something into her computer. "I can see the property you mean. So, you would like me to arrange for it to have a full engineering check to ensure that it's sound, before putting the property ownership transfer wheels in motion?"

"Yes, please."

"Both the motel and the hostel, or just the units?"

"Both, if it's not too much trouble. I know I'm giving you a lot more work to do, but I can't always get to the phone to arrange it myself."

"Don't worry about it," the P.A. reassured him. "I'm glad to help. Can I reach you on this number if I need to clarify anything?"

"Assuming I'm available to answer it, yes."

"Thank you, John. Give my best to your family."

"Will do. And thanks for your support." John signed off before the masking device was switched back on.

And they settled back to wait.

-F-A-B-

Gordon and Alan, their arms full of "some of the best food in the State", were nearing the hospital's gates, when a man stepped in front of them. "Don't I know you?"

Gordon, wishing he had a hat and sunglasses on, shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

"I've been watching you guys and I think I do…" The man snapped his fingers. "Gordon Tracy!" He turned to the younger man who appeared to be hiding behind an armload of groceries. "And you're Alan Tracy!"

Neither Tracy confirmed his supposition.

The man pulled a business card out of his pocket. "Lyall Whiting. Bearston Gazette." He dropped the card into one of Gordon's bags.

That was enough to galvanise the two Tracys. With a "'Scuse us," they pushed past.

But the reporter, unencumbered by bags of food was quicker. He pushed between them and blocked their way again. "You can't fool me. I used to work the sports beat and I know all the Olympic gold medallists and world champions, and you two being here together can't be a coincidence…" He grinned. "So, it's true."

Gordon fixed him with a level stare. "What's true?"

"That one of Jeff Tracy's sons was injured in the earthquake at Aeronautical Component Engineering and brought to Bearston General for treatment in Thunderbird Two."

"No comment." Alan attempted to continue walking.

"Was he seriously injured?"

"No comment," Gordon echoed.

"Is it true that there are concerns for his life?"

"No comment."

"Is it true that your father's ignoring governmental regulations and cutting through red tape to build a new operating room and importing the best surgeons in the world just to treat his son at the expense of other patients?"

Alan's, "No comment," was ignored.

"And that he's running roughshod over the hospital staff and processes."

"No comment."

The brothers pushed through and started walking.

Once again, they were stopped by the persistent reporter. "If you're not going to give a comment, how about a photo?" He pulled his camera up from where it was holstered at his hip.

Gordon was glad that Alan's hands were full of shopping. His brother's expression didn't bode well for the reporter's nose or the Tracys' reputation.

"Leave 'em 'lone," someone growled.

Turning, the brothers had to crane their heads up slightly to see the speaker who was standing protectively behind them.

Butch Crump slammed his fist into his palm and ground it home as he glared at the reporter. "They ain't done nothin' t' ya, so ya ain't gonna do nothin' t' them."

"Just tryin' to earn an honest living," he was told. "One photo won't hurt."

The older man at Butch's side, a stranger to the Tracys, took a menacing step forward. "It'll hurt ya."

Butch put his arm out to stop the other's advance.

"This is public property," the reporter told the interlopers, ignoring Olivia as she slipped past. "I know my rights and I am free to take photos of anyone or anything I wish so long as we're in a public forum."

"An' their rights is t' be left 'lone," Butch told him. "An' if ya want tha' camra of yas t' stay in one piece, ya won' get any photos." He pushed Alan aside and stood in front of him, blocking the reporter's view of the younger man. His associate did the same, hiding Gordon, who took a step back. Bruce and Lisa, wondering what they were letting themselves in for, also surrounded the reporter, giving the two Tracys the opportunity to make a dash for the hospital gate. They were met there by Olivia and a security guard.

"Go inside," the latter instructed. "I won't let him in."

With a breathless thanks, Gordon and Alan did as they were told.

Their headlong rush into the storeroom was met with bemused looks from their family.

"You're both behaving like you've got mutated alligators on your tails," John told them.

"We had." Gordon collapsed into a chair. He reached into his bag and pulled out a card. "By the name of Lyall Whiting of the Bearston Gazette." He screwed up the card and dropped it into the bag. "He recognised Alan and me and put two and two together with a rumour going around that one of Jeff Tracy's sons was seriously injured at ACE and flown to Bearston in a Thunderbird."

Jeff frowned. "A rumour?"

"Yeah," Alan added. "Which has been blown up into the news that you've taken over the hospital and, with no regard for other patients, have commandeered the best of everything for his care."

It was Gordon's turn to frown. "He didn't quite say that."

"Close enough. Another couple of rounds of Chinese Whispers and it will be."

"Anyway, if it weren't for the Crumps, Olivia, Bruce and…" Gordon shrugged, "some other guy, we'd be plastered all over tonight's news." He looked into his bags. "Who wants something to eat?"

Everyone did.

"Look on the bright side," Grandma commented as she accepted a parcel of something that, in her opinion, didn't even come _close_ to the best food in the State. "If that's the rumour, at least there's no mention of Virgil being part of International Rescue."

-F-A-B-

The group who'd come to the Tracys' rescue continued their walk to the local playground. In it they could see Ginny happily playing with Winston and, showing less enthusiasm for the game than his fiancé, Rex. Auntie Alicia, who'd taken on the mothering role as if she were everyone's auntie, sat to one side calling out words of encouragement.

Lisa walked up to the older woman. "Has she behaved herself?"

Auntie Alicia smiled at her. "She's been a little treasure."

There was laughter from those enjoying the playground as Winston, gaining on her as he chased after Ginny, pretended to trip and fall.

Lisa laughed too. In all the years she'd known Winston he'd always dressed immaculately and had a hatred of dirt. Being trapped in earthquake-ravaged clothes had brought out a hitherto unseen willingness to lark about.

"How's Butch?" Auntie Alicia asked, seeing him stand back, talking to a stranger.

"Better now that he knows that Virgil's alive and he's been able to do something for the Tracys. John asked us to find a house for them to stay in while Virgil's here."

"Have you heard any more about Virgil?"

"No." Lisa shook her head. "Ginny!"

Winston pretended to be surprised by her call and narrowly missed grabbing the little girl who, giggling in delight, ran to her mother. "Winnie gave me ice cream."

"Did he?" Lisa gasped, lifting her off the ground and hugging her. "What flavour?"

"Chockit."

"Was it yummy?"

Ginny gave a nod.

"Did you wash your hands and face afterwards?"

Another nod. "Aundy 'Licia 'elped."

"Thank you, Auntie Alicia," Lisa said to the older woman. "Thank you, Rex. Thank you, 'Winnie'." She giggled along with her daughter.

"She has been a delight," Winston puffed. "We have discovered a shared love of double-dip chocolate ice cream with a double helping of sprinkles."

"Hmmn." Lisa had visions of dealing with a hyperactive three-year-old. "Ginny… I've got someone for you to meet." She carried her daughter over to where Butch was standing.

Seeing the scruffy, tattooed, smelly man standing at her father's side, Ginny pulled back into her mother's arms and hid her face.

"Ginny," Lisa repeated softly. "This is Daddy's daddy."

A coy eye peeped out from the folds of dirty navy overalls.

The man with the horrible drawing on his face smiled a broken-toothed smile at her. "'Lo, Ginny."

Ginny buried her face again.

Butch's father looked disappointed at her granddaughter's reaction. "Spose I can' 'spect anythin' else. I ain't bin much of a granddad."

It was all Lisa could do to not agree...

-F-A-B-

_12:55 p.m._

A good few minutes passed without idle chatter as everyone replenished their energy reserves.

When he'd finished eating, Jeff gathered together their empty bags for disposal. Then he cast a regretful look at the door. "I need to stretch my legs, but I daren't go out there now."

"You'll be all right," Gordon told him. "So long as you don't leave the grounds. Security's warned him off."

"Him, but not his telephoto lens."

"Stick to the rose garden," John suggested. "It's well hidden from the road."

"That's an idea." Jeff extended his hand. "Coming, Mother?"

With a groan, as her stiff muscles complained about having been sitting too long, she allowed him to assist her to her feet.

The sun, after the cramped confines of the storeroom, was like an elixir.

"What do you say," Jeff asked, as his mother slipped her hand through his arm, "once around the rose bushes before we go and check on Hamish?"

"All right."

They began walking, not so much enjoying the few flowers that were blooming, as revelling in the natural warmth and fresh air.

"Jeff…"

"Yes, Mother."

"I'm worried about the boys."

Jeff grunted. He was worried about them too… One in particular.

"They've been awake for over 32 hours and they've had to deal with a huge amount of stress; more than we have. They had to work out how they were going to free Virgil, and then do it knowing that he might die in the process."

Jeff knew about that stress. He had seen it in his son's faces… And his own when he'd looked in the mirror as he'd washed his hands.

"And I'm frightened that if they don't get some rest soon, they'll crash somehow."

"You want me to order them to get some sleep?"

"An order won't do it; they're all stubborn as mules. They take after their father."

Jeff decided against retaliating.

"They won't leave that storeroom while we're waiting for news about Virgil. But, if they knew that you were taking some time out too, they'd feel that, maybe, they could take a short break."

Jeff stopped walking. He had to concede that he was exhausted and that his mother's idea of getting some sleep sounded like a good one. "Is this a trick?"

His mother feigned ignorance. "A trick?"

"A trick to get me to get some rest. Who are you more worried about? Them or me?"

"I'm worried about them and I'm worried about you. I'm worried about all of us!"

"All right, Mother. I don't think I can walk much further, anyway. Let's go and tell the boys and we'll all go to the motorhomes and get some sleep…"

_1:08 p.m._

_To be continued…_


	24. Chapter 24

_6:12 p.m._

Scott Tracy woke up. Hearing the sounds of sleep coming from an adjacent bed, he looked at his watch, taking care not to make more noise than necessary.

He'd been enduring a fitful sleep for five hours. More than he'd wanted, but less than he needed. Despite that he felt awake and disinclined to try to doze off again. He lay there, trying to analyse the various sensations he was feeling before deciding that he felt no different than he'd done when his father had suggested that they all retire to the motorhomes.

Not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, he sat up.

Aside from the regular rise and fall of his chest, Jeff Tracy didn't move. Further down the motorhome, hidden by a curtain partition, there was no sound from his grandmother's 'room'.

Sliding into his trousers, his feet into his shoes, and a shirt over his head, and after picking up his bag, Scott unlocked the door, slipped outside, and closed it again, hoping that the snip of the catch wasn't enough to disturb those inside.

It was early evening. His body clock was way out of kilter.

The motorhome that his brothers were sharing was parallel to his, with the door only two steps away. He stopped outside, listening, and could hear masculine voices talking.

He knocked on the door.

Alan opened it. "This is a first. Since when do you knock?"

Making no comment about the accusation, Scott entered the vehicle.

"Have you heard anything?" Gordon asked.

Scott shook his head.

John was standing by the small kitchenette with a kettle in hand. "No, we haven't either… Coffee?"

Scott nodded.

John handed him a cup.

Scott took a sip, feeling the caffeine enter his system. "Father and Grandma are still asleep."

"That explains the wild man look," Gordon told him. "Want to use our expansive ablution block? We'd offer you a shower, but we've only got limited water."

"Thanks." Scott took another drink, set his cup to one side, picked up his bag and went into the tiny area that supplied the motorhome's sanitary facilities. After a wash, a change into some clean clothes, and a shave that disposed of what was threatening to become a full-on beard, he emerged feeling almost human.

John topped up his coffee cup as Gordon handed him a parcel that smelt warm and delicious.

"Someone's arranged for a catering truck to be on site for visitors and refugees," the younger man explained. "It's not bad."

Scott realised that he was hungry, thanked his brother, and started eating.

There was a knock on the door.

Alan opened it; welcoming his father inside.

"Your grandmother's getting washed," Jeff explained, sitting on the corner of the bed after Gordon had shuffled along to make more room, "so I thought I'd leave her to it. There's not enough room in one of these to swing a cat, let alone a towel. Thanks." He accepted another of the aromatic parcels.

"Any news?" Gordon asked.

"No."

"No news is good news."

Jeff nodded and started eating.

Outside, the refugees from ACE were congregating by their temporary accommodation for a kind of end of day briefing.

"I've just been to the mustering centre," Greg Harrison explained. "They're not letting anyone back into the affected parts of the city… That includes our suburbs."

"But what about our homes?" Mavis asked him. "I locked up before Edna and I left, but windows are only there to keep honest burglars out. Anyone could break in."

"The military's patrolling the streets," her husband told her. "They're keeping looters at bay." Then he turned to the youngest member of their group. "Freddy… When did you last check on your parents?"

Freddy looked at his watch. "'Bout an hour ago."

"I saw the name Eagles mentioned. You might like to check it out."

"What!" Freddy turned to run.

Greg caught his arm. "It's not only your parents' names that I think I saw," he admitted. "I think I saw your sister's too."

"Angela?" Freddy paled. "How is she?"

"If it's her, she's been transported to Bearston."

Without hesitation, or even sparing a moment to say thanks, Freddy sprinted for the refugee centre.

"I hope they're all right," Bruce said. "He's miserable company at the moment. I hate to think what he'd be like if anything's happened to them."

Aunty Alicia was looking in the direction the young man had run. "The poor boy's almost at his wits end," she declared. "He may need support. I'll stay with him."

"Thanks, Alicia," Greg said, and she hurried away.

"Any other news for us, Greg?" Winston asked.

"Only that water trucks are doing the rounds to supply the people who've remained behind with potable water, and that sports grounds, those that still have water reticulation, have opened their facilities to enable people to have showers."

"I wish someone would do that for us," Mavis complained. "I'm desperate for a nice, long, hot shower." The ladies in the group murmured their agreement.

"Oh, my dear lady!" Winston gushed. "Long? The next shower I enjoy had better have enough hot water to last a year!"

The men, apart from Winston, were less concerned about their personal hygiene and urged Greg to continue his recitation.

"There are many places that still don't have electricity, so apparently neighbours are getting together to eat what's defrosting in their freezers before the food goes bad. Mobile communications are slowly being reinstated, as temporary cell towers are erected throughout the city. Sewerage pipes have broken and the advice for those remaining at home is to either dig a hole in the back yard or, if people are lucky, portable latrines are being trucked into some streets. The authorities are saying not to expect any return to normality any time soon and that all traffic movements should be kept to a minimum. And…" he paused. "Aftershocks are still continuing."

Rex gave an obvious shiver. "I'm glad to be out of there. Any word when the aftershocks will stop?"

"Could be months."

The group looked at each other. Months as refugees in their own country. It was a daunting prospect.

Their musings were interrupted when a middle-aged man, moving slowly from the mustering area, approached them.

"Mr Watts!" Olivia gasped, before hurrying over to assist him. "How are you?"

"I'm all right." He waved away her concerns. "Young Freddy told me you were here. Has anyone heard anything about my family?"

"No, Max, we haven't," Greg admitted. "Have you?"

"No." Max Watts looked downcast.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Mavis tried to console him. "They've probably been evacuated to another city."

Desperate to take his mind off his own troubles, Watts took roll call. "Where are the Crumps?"

"Getting to know Butch's father," Bruce told him. "He almost literally popped out of nowhere." An involuntary reflex made him rub his head.

"It's been a big day for Ginny…" Olivia agreed. "She's met her grandfather for the first time on top of everything else."

"That would be a shock for anyone," Winston opined. "He's not exactly Santa Claus…" Rex caught his arm and he turned, seeing the man he was talking about along with the man's family, including Ginny, close behind him. "Uh…" He took a step away.

Much to Winston's relief, Mr Crump senior chose to ignore him.

Max Watts had one more question. One nearly as pressing as his desperate need to know where his family was. Yet that one question was hard to articulate. "What happened to…? Is Mr…?" he waffled. "I mean, did International Rescue…? I haven't heard anything…"

"Virgil's in the hospital, Max," Greg told him. "He's had a least one major operation, but is still hanging in there… At least that's what we've heard so far…"

-F-A-B-

Once his mother had finished her wash and was seated in his sons' motorhome eating, if not enjoying, the on-site catering, Jeff made use of his lodging's own facilities. By the time he'd finished the whole family were ready to restart their vigil.

They'd barely locked the door when they spied someone almost unexpected.

"Hamish!" Jeff Tracy hurried over to his friend. "How are you feeling?"

Much to the surprise of most of Jeff's sons, Hamish Mickelson looked terrible. His face was pale and, in a stark contrast to his normal neat appearance, he was without a jacket or tie, his business shirt and trousers were filthy, torn, and undone at the neck, and his shoes were dulled by dirt. His arm, the one that wasn't supported in a sling, was being supported by his wife. He managed a wan smile. "Getting there… And you, Jeff? How are you all?"

"Coping," Jeff told him.

"And…" Hamish seemed unwilling to speak the name.

"We haven't heard anything about Virgil's condition for the last few hours," Jeff admitted, raising his voice so his employees, unsure whether they should draw closer for news, could hear. He didn't want to have to repeat himself when he didn't have anything to say. "We've been catching up on our sleep and we've got to assume that the fact that no one's woken us is a good sign."

"I hope so." Hamish turned and saw his staff. He looked embarrassed at the state that they found him in.

"Mr Mickelson!" Taking care to avoid his injuries, Olivia hugged her boss. "How are you?" she asked.

"I'm okay. Edna decided that we needed the walk." Hamish watched as his wife was also hugged. He turned to ACE and, with dignity, enquired after their health.

"We're okay, Hamish," Greg told him. "You don't need to worry about us. Not until you're feeling one hundred percent again." The rest of ACE nodded their agreement, as three of the four younger Tracys, remembering the relatively fit and alert General Manager that they'd transported to Bearston, shared bemused and worried glances.

"What…?" Gordon began and was nudged by John.

"Explain later," the elder hissed.

"Max," Jeff held his hand out to the Production Manager. "It's good to see you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Mr Tracy." The Production Manager was just as bemused by his superior's appearance as the junior Tracys. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr Mickelson."

"It was my pleasure. Where are you staying tonight?"

"I, ah, I don't know."

"We've got a spare bed in our motorhome you can use," Bruce offered and then wondered if he shouldn't. It wasn't an appealing prospect, sharing his accommodation with two troubled men desperate for news. "I'm sure Freddy won't mind."

"Where is Freddy?" Hamish asked.

"There's a possibility that he's finally got information about his family," Greg told him. "He's at the refugee centre now."

"I hope it's good news."

Bruce nodded his agreement. "We all do."

Alan took a step forward. "Gordon and I never got the chance to thank you guys for coming to our rescue earlier." He extended his hand to the one member of the group he'd never been formally introduced to. "Thank you."

Butch's father looked surprised that someone so clean cut would be willing to offer such a gesture to a gang member; even one whose patched jacket was shoved beneath his son's motorhome. He looked at his own hands, decided that they weren't too dirty, and shook Alan's and then Gordon's. "Was nothin'."

"This," and there was a vague hint of pride in Butch Crump's voice, even if his wife didn't look so happy and Ginny was making sure that her mother was between her and the odd-looking stranger, "is m' dad. Dad; this," he extended his hand to the senior members of the group, "is m' boss and m' boss."

"Mr Crump." Hamish managed to release Edna's grip long enough to shake Crump senior's hand. "I'm Hamish Mickelson."

"And I'm Jeff Tracy," Jeff extended his own hand. "Always a pleasure to meet the family of one of our respected members of staff."

Respected? Crump senior looked like he'd never heard the word. Especially not directed towards a member of his family.

Butch beamed. "This is Gordon, John, Scott, Mrs T., Mrs M., and _this_ is Alan Tracy," he said indicating his hero. He clearly felt that that was all the introductions that were needed.

Gordon felt something wrap around his leg. Looking down he saw that Ginny had abandoned her mother and was beaming up at him. "And this is Virginia!" He picked her up; tossing her gently into the air before sitting her on his hip and tickling her; sending her into a fit of giggles that were infectious enough to have everyone smiling.

Comfortable in his presence, Ginny relaxed in his arms, looking at and recognising many of the adults about her. "Where' 'ncle Virgil?"

"Ah…" Gordon thought quickly as others in the group looked uncomfortable. "He's not feeling too good, so he's sleeping."

"Oh…" Ginny thought for a moment about what she'd been told, frowned, and then touched Gordon on the nose.

"Come here, Ginny." Lisa hurried forward to collect her daughter. "Time you went to bed."

"And time we went back inside the hospital," Jeff admitted. "Take care… All of you."

"You too, Jeff," Hamish told him. "Don't worry about us."

Jeff managed a chuckle. "I thought you knew me better than that, Hamish."

As the two groups went their separate ways, Bruce happened to look over his shoulder. "Uh, oh," he intoned. "Something's happening."

As one, ACE turned.

The Tracys had stopped walking and all had gathered around a solitary individual wearing a neat business suit and holding a tablet PC like a clipboard. The man was speaking in a voice too quiet to carry and none of the Tracys interrupted him. As ACE watched their employer and his family seemed to wilt. Then there were more words from the official and the family drew closer together, the younger two putting their arms about their grandmother as if they were offering her support. Jeff Tracy said something, John put his hand on his elder brother's shoulder and gave it a squeeze and then Scott, looking white as a ghost, followed the official into the hospital.

-F-A-B-

Some hours after her shopping trip, Tin-Tin woke up. Tired out after doing battle with the cyclone and drained after learning that they'd risked their necks for nothing before discovering that Virgil was still alive, full after her meal which the others had barely touched, and wanting some time alone to come to terms with the procedures that had been done to her friend, she'd retired to a cot that the two researchers had set up in an office away from the main lab. Feeling dopey after a less than ideal sleep, she blinked and tried to remember where she was and what she was doing there.

It all came flooding back in a rush and, desperate to for information she hurried through to the lab. "Any news?"

Three pair of eyes looked at her.

"About Virgil?" she clarified, remembering the researchers' preoccupation with their own fields.

"We're getting new reports," Brains admitted. "From the hospital."

"And?"

He hesitated.

"Brains? What are they saying about Virgil's condition?"

"He's fading, Tin-Tin," Brains admitted. "They had to rush him back into surgery to remove more tissue."

"How much?"

"They had to, ah, remove his left leg at the hip joint."

"Brains!"

"And his right leg has now been amputated above the knee."

"And his hand?"

"Has not needed further work."

Tin-Tin felt a degree of relief, tempered with sorrow.

"But…"

The relief turned icy. "But?"

"He is fading, Tin-Tin," Brains repeated. "His body is showing signs of total collapse. The notes say that his family has been told of his failing condition… And that they have been given the opportunity to say goodbye."

"How long has he got?"

Brains shrugged his helplessness. "Minutes? Hours?"

"We wouldn't have time to fly out there and say goodbye ourselves? To support the Tracys when the time comes?"

"No. Not even if the weather was perfect."

"Oh…" Tin-Tin looked at her friend. "Then what shall we do?"

"Start planning for the next subject?" Bryce suggested.

Stunned by the words, Tin-Tin turned to him. "I beg your pardon?"

"This is still the ideal opportunity to field-test our theories. Your friends have prepared the printer and ordered in the polymer…"

"We haven't got as much collagen base for skeletal reconstructions as I'd like," Timoti reminded his associate. "We've already used a lot of it in the incomplete experiment."

"True… Still… we should contact the hospital officials and ask them to send through the files, so we can decide who the next test subject will be."

"It'll have to be someone with asymmetrical injuries. We won't have the luxury of full body scans this time."

"I'm sure we'll be able to select the ideal candidate. We just need to make our criteria clear."

Tin-Tin gaped at the two of them. "Are you listening to yourselves? Do you know what you are saying?!"

The two researchers looked confused. "Ah… Yes…?"

"These are not elements on a piece of paper," she told them. "These are not numbers on a computer screen. These are not molecules in a petri dish. These are people you're talking about! People who are reliant on others to do what's best for them!"

"Tin-Tin," Brains said quietly.

Fired up, she refused to listen to him. "People with lives! People who are in pain. People who were going about their normal everyday routines before their world collapsed on top of them! People with other people who love them, and miss them, and are frightened for them, and would do anything to help them! Like, like… Like fly through a cyclone to bring them the tools they need to survive!"

"Uh…" The two researchers appeared lost for words.

"Virgil Tracy is not some name on a computer screen in some distant country. He is not just _your research_. He is not just _your subject_. He is not just _your experiment_. He is not an _object_, an _it_, nor a _guinea pig_! He is someone I played with as a child. He is someone I grew up with. He is someone who helped me awaken my love of engineering. He is someone that _we_," she indicated herself and Brains, "care about! He is someone who _we_," Brains was indicated again, "regard as a colleague, a _friend_! He is someone that _we_ love as if he was our brother! He is someone we don't want to lose!"

"Tin-Tin…" Brains guided her to sit on a lab stool as if he were trying to calm her down. "Well said," he whispered.

There was an awkward silence as Tin-Tin glared at a spot on the wall, too angry to even think about crying over the inevitable loss.

"You're right," Timoti admitted, and his colleague glanced at him. "I can't speak for Bryce here, but I'll admit that I get wrapped up in my work. You only need to talk to my wife to know that."

Tin-Tin hmphed.

"I started this research because I wanted to help people improve their lives, but, I guess, I've been staring at a petri dish for so long that when I finally got the chance to help someone, I forgot that he wasn't a mono-cellular organism."

Bryce looked just as sheepish. "And, for us, being half a world away from…" He looked awkward. "Virgil… has seemed the same as running simulator tests in the computer. We haven't been a part of the real flesh and blood emotional world that your friends are dealing with and, I suppose, we forgot that that world exists."

A little mollified, Tin-Tin slid off her stool. "I'm going to make sure that the plane is ready so that we can fly out as soon as the storm has passed," she stated. "What are you going to do?"

"Work with the hospital to see which of their casualties would benefit from our research?" Bryce suggested, a trifle hesitantly.

Tin-Tin nodded. "Good." She turned to her friend. "Brains?"

"I'm staying here."

She stared at him. "Brains?"

"I'm used to working in, ah, real world situations," he admitted. "If I stay here I can assist these two with their work. It's what Virgil would have, ah… does, ah… would want." He moved as if he were going to place his hand on her shoulder, but didn't. "Go and be with your father, Tin-Tin. I'm sure he needs the support as much as you do."

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy was led to a room close to the one he'd been occupying for hours. One built for two patients, but crammed with three beds. He was directed by the nurse on duty to the one at the far side of the room. He stopped, staring down at the figure that lay there, and then looked at his watch.

He'd been allocated exactly five minutes.

Five minutes to say goodbye to someone who was an integral part of his life.

He wedged himself into the seat at the head of the bed. "Virg…? Virgil…?"

There was no response from the patient.

Colin Eden had told them that the decision had been made to operate a second time while the family had slept. He'd said that there'd been no time to rouse Jeff Tracy from his slumbers and that he'd made the decision; he hoped the family agreed that he'd done the right thing; to do what had to be done to prolong Virgil's life.

Not that that had helped.

Scott looked up at the board above the bed, the one that told the medical team at a glance what the patient's vital statistics were. Virgil's blood pressure was low, his heart rate slow, and his temperature rising close to a level that Scott knew was almost guaranteed to cause brain damage.

Not that that mattered now.

Scott gazed at the swollen face, an intubation tube supplying oxygen through his brother's mouth and down into his lungs. "Virgil…" He gently held the limp hand. "It's Scott… Father let me go first... He said you'd need to hear my voice..." He hesitated. "Not as much as I need to hear yours."

He looked down the bed, seeing the bulges under the blankets where frames protected what remained of his brother's body. "I thought you said it was going to be a quiet day?"

There was no response.

"Bruce, and Butch, and Lisa are all well. And Ginny's happy. No one's told her what's happened to her Uncle Virgil. I saw Mr Watts a few moments ago and he seems well too…"

There was a quiet beep from somewhere in the room.

"You're a bit of a celebrity here, Virg, because you were brought in by International Rescue. A pity w… they weren't able to help you more. A pity International Rescue can't actually work the miracles they're supposed to do…"

The bellows that were assisting his brother's breathing continued pumping, reminding Scott of a steam engine.

"I have something of yours…" Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the locomotive's fastenings. He placed it into the unresponsive hand and curled the fingers around it, wrapping his own hand around the limp one to stop the metal pieces from falling free. "I know how proud you were of the way you brought Myra back to life and I thought if you had something to focus on then it might help you do the same… It's not as flashy as an Olympic gold medal, but I thought you'd be just as keen to know that it was here."

The beeping continued.

Scott bit his lip. "What am I supposed to say to you, Virg? I haven't had time to think of anything… We'd only just been told that there wasn't much time before I was brought in here…"

The beeping didn't cease.

"I suppose I have had time, but I haven't wanted to think that that… That there was any chance… I haven't wanted to believe that it could happen… Not when you'd beaten the odds… Not when you'd survived the rescue… I've been telling myself that you're going to be okay…"

There was no sign that he'd been heard.

"Now I'm supposed to say goodbye to you, but how can I when I don't want to?"

Silence apart from the beeps.

"Do you want me to say goodbye?"

The nurse, treading quietly, moved from one bed to another.

"We tried… We tried so hard… Brains thought he'd found the answer to make you well again and we all did what we could to make it happen. But we couldn't do enough…"

A set of bellows pumped.

"I'm sorry.

"I've been willing you to live… I've been trying to help you to live… I've been trying to reach out to you… But you haven't been able to answer…"

Virgil didn't answer.

"Or haven't you wanted to...? I'd do anything to help… I've got bruises on my hand and legs, mirroring yours. If I were to do something else would it let you live?"

Scott had no idea what that "something else" could be.

"I'm scared Virg, I'm scared about what your leaving is going to mean to us… To me…"

Scott reached out and placed a gentle hand on his brother's head. He caressed the chestnut brown hair. He closed his eyes. This was the only chance he'd had to touch his brother since International Rescue had handed him over to the ambulance staff. This was his last chance to make contact.

"Please tell me that it's going to be okay… Please tell me that you're going to be okay…"

His watched beeped. His five minutes were up.

Time to say goodbye.

Aware that others in his family had as great a need to see his brother as he did, Scott released Virgil's hand and the unresponsive fingers fell open, Myra's fastenings dropping onto the bed. He picked it up and put it back into his pocket.

"Goodbye, Virgil." Swiftly Scott bent down, kissed his brother, and then, without a backwards glance, walked out of the room.

John and Gordon were waiting for him in the corridor.

Surprisingly, it was Gordon who stepped towards the door he'd just exited. Seeing a mute, raised eyebrow Gordon shrugged his lack of understanding. "It was Dad's idea."

"I'm waiting for my turn," John explained, adding. "Will you wait with me?"

Scott hesitated. He wasn't feeling strong enough to face his family right now, but the corridor was exposed.

Then John led him to a little alcove. It wasn't much, more of a hollow in the wall and offered nothing in the way of seating, but it was a refuge from the world and Scott accepted it. He stood there with his back against the wall, trying not to look at anything or anyone, and attempting, with each calming breath, to expel the emotions that threatened to overtake him.

John stood beside him, not saying anything or making any physical contact, just being a gentle presence as his brother struggled with a world that was spinning out of control, and being a physical barrier should anyone intrude on the private moment.

A full four minutes had passed before John realised that he'd been so intent on fulfilling his promise that he'd forgotten something equally important. The realisation hit him like a shock wave from a Thunderbird. "I don't know what to say to him."

Those eight words had sounded more distressed than he'd intended, and the plea for help from one of his brothers was enough to ground Scott emotionally. "Tell him everything that I've forgotten to tell him," he suggested, the world reverting to its natural order as the elder Tracy reached out to support his younger brother. "Tell him that you'll miss his music, and his paintings, and his ability to fix things… And especially that you'll miss him… Tell him that we're not going to give up and that every time we succeed, we'll think of him. Don't be ashamed to tell him that you love him…" There was a quiet smile. "And you can tell him that I said thanks to both of you for looking out for me."

Surprised and rendered speechless by the astuteness of the remark, John looked at his brother. But before he could gather himself together enough to pass comment he heard a quiet sound from his phone. "It's from Lisa," he said. "I sent her a message saying that… To tell them that things weren't looking good."

"What does she say?"

John read. "If you get the chance, will you please tell Virgil that we're all thinking of him, and want to thank him for his friendship and all he's done for us. Give him our love. From Lisa, Butch, Ginny, Bruce, Olivia, Mr M., Mrs M., Greg, Mavis, Winston, Rex, Mr Watts, and Freddy."

"There you are. That's something else you can tell him. He'll appreciate hearing that."

There was another sound and another message. "If there is anything that we can do for you and your family, please ask."

The door to the room opened and a subdued, downhearted Gordon stepped out. Scott, having assumed his habitual mantle as his brothers' protector, stepped forward, putting his arm about his younger brother's shoulders. "Let's go for a walk, Gordon."

Gordon nodded. When he had entered Virgil's room, he'd done so without his family's preconceived ideas of what he was going to experience. That didn't stop the sounds, the lack of carers, the number of beds and the way those beds were crowded together from being a shock.

It was different from what he'd experienced when he'd been the one lying in the bed.

Like Scott he was directed to the far bed. Like Scott he squeezed himself into the chair at the head. Like Scott he laid his hand on his unresponsive brother's. "It's Gordon, Virgil…"

Virgil didn't acknowledge the newcomer.

"It was Dad's idea that I come in here before John. I think he wanted me to try to help you… I think that he had some notion that I'd know the trick that would drag you out of the blackness…"

Gordon looked up at the display at the head of the bed, seeing how the temperature was rising while the pulse and blood pressure was dropping.

"And it is black, isn't it? Black and frightening…"

There was no agreement.

"Is it?"

Gordon heard the beeping of the machine.

"Do you feel like you're in a pitch-black hangar, and you can't feel anything to find your way out…"

The beeping machine gave Gordon the only response.

"You're probably thinking that someone's turned the lights out on you as a joke…"

No one was laughing.

"And you're probably blaming me. But it's not my fault this time, Virgil. Alan told me that."

If Alan was right, no one was confirming it.

"We were told that you'd died, Virgil. And at first I was mad at you for dying. Then I was mad at me for causing your death when I was flying," Gordon looked across at the nurse, but he was within earshot. "Her… That was until Alan told me I'd done all right."

The nurse appeared engrossed in his work.

"Did I do all right, Virg?"

Gordon waited for Virgil to reassure him.

"I don't know why I've been told to come in here before John. Maybe Dad sent me in here second because I freaked out before?"

Gordon clasped his brother's hand tightly.

"I wanted… No… I needed to know that you weren't being left alone. I remember the fear that comes from being trapped in the blackness with nothing to cling to. I remember how important it was to hear a friendly voice. Dad thought you'd be just as happy hearing music. I hope he was right…."

There was still no reassurance from the bed.

"Was he?"

Still nothing.

"I know I put you all through some bad times after my accident, but you don't have to pay me back in kind… Are you trying to show me what it was like? How horrible it is to sit next to the bed of someone you care about and not know if they'll wake up…?"

Gordon looked down at the bulges under the bedclothes and tried not to think of what was there… And what wasn't.

"They tell us you aren't going to wake up, Virgil."

Virgil didn't wake up.

"If this is your way of getting revenge, then I'll accept my punishment, so long as you'll wake up and tell the doctors they don't know what they're talking about and tell me that we're now even."

Virgil showed no sign of doing that.

"If you don't want to wake up for me, then please wake up for Scott, Dad, Grandma, John, and Alan. Please, Virgil, don't let them suffer through this again…" Gordon looked up at the display at the head of his brother's bed. The needles had continued their inexorable negative slide.

Gordon's watch beeped. His five minutes were up.

John was waiting outside, Gordon knew that. He also knew that to take extra time now might mean that someone down the track would have less.

He squeezed his brother's hand. "Thanks for a great ride, Virgil. And don't worry about Two. I'll look after her." He hesitated, unwilling to let go. "Goodbye."

And he left the room, relieved to find Scott's reassuring presence waiting for him.

John, still trying to think of something intelligent to say, entered the room. He followed the line of the nurse's pointing hand to the bed at the far end.

He leant close to Virgil's ear so he could speak without the nurse hearing him. "Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two… Come in Thunderbird Two."

There wasn't the usual response.

"I suppose saying that it's John here is a bit pointless…"

John sat back, squeezing into the chair that was still warm from his two brothers' previous visits.

"But I said it because I don't know what else to say…"

Looking at the board at the head of the bed, John could see the temperature bar creeping higher and higher.

"I suppose, to be fair, I should read you Lisa's message…"

John did so, paraphrasing "Mr M. and Mrs M." with "Uncle Hamish" and "Auntie Edna."

"I don't suppose you have anything you want to say in reply? I'll send it."

Virgil didn't mention anything.

"I've tried to keep my promise to you. I've done all I can to support Scott. I don't know that I've done much good, but at least it's given me something to do…"

John pocketed his phone.

"Would you believe he knew what I'd promised you, Virg? Don't ask me how. I don't know if he overheard us talking, or gathered it from the way I was acting, or if… If you told him… But he knew I was looking out for him… And he said I was to tell you that he wanted to thank both of us for doing it."

John looked at his hands.

"When you asked me to help Scott, you helped me, Virgil. You gave focus to my world when it was collapsing around me."

John felt that his world was still collapsing… Literally in front of his eyes…

"But it meant that I was so focused on him that I wasn't focussing on myself and what I wanted to say to you… So, when the time came to… I had nothing to say… So, I asked him…"

Virgil didn't enquire as to what Scott's response had been.

"He told me to tell you all the things he didn't have time to tell you. He said to say that he… that _we_ will miss your music… We'll miss your artworks brightening our walls… And making my books seem much more interesting than they really are… I wonder how many people picked up a John Tracy tome based on the picture on the cover and were bitterly disappointed with what they read…"

Normally this type of self-depreciating statement would have sustained an instant rebuttal, but this time it didn't.

"Scott reminded me that we'll miss that uncanny knack you had of fixing almost anything… If you couldn't fix it then it was only worth chucking into the trash can."

John attempted a chuckle.

"He… Scott… also reminded me that we're not going to give up, because you'd never give up… And just because our world's going to fall apart without you, it doesn't mean that we're going to fall apart…" John checked that the attendant nurse wasn't close enough to overhear, "and we're definitely not going to let the same happen to anyone else…"

John looked into his brother's swollen face.

"You're going to be our inspiration, Virgil."

He took up Virgil's hand.

"I promise you this. And I'll keep my promise; just as I've kept my promise to look after Scott."

He looked down the bed seeing the bulges in the blankets caused by the frames.

"But I guess there are limits to what a guardian angel can do."

A repetitive pip began, almost sounding like a countdown.

John wiped his eyes. "I'm gonna miss you, Virgil… We may not have been able to spend as many hours together as I would have liked these last few years, but I'm still going to miss you. I'm going to hate knowing that you're not there."

He looked down onto the closed eyes and found the strength he needed to say what he needed.

"I love you, Virgil."

His watch beeped. Time to go.

In the corridor he found Alan alone. "Scott and Gordon haven't come back," the younger man said. "I think they're outside somewhere."

John nodded. "I'll go and sit with Dad and Grandma," he offered. He indicated the room he'd just vacated. "You'd better get in there."

Alan nodded, squared his shoulders, and marched into the room.

If the nurse was tired of directing Tracys to the appropriate bed, he didn't show it and soon Alan was sitting next to his older brother. "You look terrible, Virgil."

Virgil didn't agree nor disagree.

"And everyone's miserable."

Alan cast his mind about, trying to think of something more meaningful to say.

"We met Butch's father today. He looks like one of those guys who beat you up at the Crumps' wedding anniversary party. Bruce didn't seem very happy to see him."

Alan wasn't sure how happy Virgil would have been either.

"And Ginny looks like she doesn't know what to make of him. I guess he's frightening to a little kid. He's got a Skulz tattoo on his face like Butch used to have and that must look creepy to her. I should think that it would be a shock to anyone to suddenly discover that a patched gang member is your granddad. Not that he had his patch on, apart from on his face. By the looks of Lisa, she's told him that he's not allowed anywhere near Ginny wearing it."

Satisfied that Virgil would be interested in his snippet of news, Alan looked around for inspiration, but all that he seemed to be able to see were sheets and blankets, bits of medical equipment, and IVs draining into limbs. _Those that remained_, he thought, and then felt disgusted with himself.

Trying to come up with something halfway positive, he said: "Everyone's coping… Just… John seems to have elected himself Scott's minder for some reason."

Virgil didn't enlighten him.

"It's probably just as well. I don't know how he'll cope with…"

Alan didn't want to think about what they were all going to have to cope with.

"I know I should be saying something personal to say goodbye, Virgil, but I can't think of anything. I probably will in a few days' time when all this hits me, but I can't think of anything now…"

Alan thought, and then came up with the most meaningful thing he could.

"I'm sorry."

A movement from the bed made him look down in unexpected hope.

It took him a third of a second to realise what was happening, another third for his training to kick in, and the final third to realise that he was in a situation where he was surrounded by people better trained and equipped than him.

With a "Nurse! He's having a seizure!" Alan scrambled clear of the flailing limbs and the arching body, but the nurse had already pushed a button to summon assistance to the room and was pushing Virgil's bed out from the wall, so the influx of medical personnel had full access to their violently writhing patient.

Shaken, Alan backed into the corridor. "Please…" he whispered to the closing door, ducking clear of someone in a hurry wheeling something important. "Please, Virgil, don't die yet. Give Grandma and Dad a chance to say goodbye."

"Ah… Alan?"

Alan looked at the man who had spoken. "Oh… Uh… Mr Eden."

"Has something happened?" Eden checked his electronic clipboard.

Alan indicated the room. "He's had a seizure… I was in there… Saying goodbye… I thought it would be better all-round if I left."

Colin Eden was about to agree when suddenly, unexpectedly, Alan extended his hand to him.

"Thank you, Sir," the younger man sounded calm and in control as they shook hands, even though Eden could feel him quivering with the shock. "I know we've been a nuisance to you, but you should be aware that we all appreciate the way you've gone out of your way for us." He began walking back to the storeroom.

"Thank you, Alan," Eden acknowledged, stunned that anyone should show him such a courtesy at this time. "But your father… and you," he added, having been told the story behind the catering truck parked outside, "have done more for Bearston than anyone could expect…" They arrived at their destination. "Ah… Do you want me to come in with you?" He indicated his clipboard. "I can give you information as it comes to hand."

"Thank you, Sir. We'd all appreciate that."

They entered the storeroom to find that Scott and Gordon had returned.

Jeff looked alarmed; both by Alan's early return, and the paleness of his son's face and the way that he was visibly shaking. "What's happened?!"

"He had a seizure," Alan admitted, collapsing into a chair and his grandmother's comforting hug. His watch beeped, and he silenced it. "I'd barely been there a minute when he started convulsing. I got out of there so I wouldn't be in the way."

"His temperature must have got too high," John theorised. "It was rising all the time."

Eden checked his clipboard. "That seems to be the case. They're still trying to bring it down."

Scott had claimed the other seat next to Alan so he could support him. He looked up at the General Manager. "They're still trying?" He left the anticipated "why?" off the end of his sentence.

Why try to help a man who was dying when there were many others struggling to live?

Rather than answer that question, Eden continued perusing the information he had to hand. "It seems to be working. They've reduced his temperature by point zero one."

Jeff sat forward. "So, there's still a chance that we'll be able to see him?" He took his mother's hand.

"Please… Mr Tracy… Don't get your hopes up," Eden cautioned as the temperature reading on his screen dropped some more. "This may only be a temporary reprieve..."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was a reprieve that stretched into minutes and then hours before Bearston's General Manager felt confident enough to permit the Tracys to resume their vigil alongside the sickbed.

"Alan," Jeff said, aware that the time they had remaining could only be fleeting. "Will you take your grandmother?"

Alan held out his hand to Grandma, who took it. He didn't comment on how much hers was shaking. Nor she on his quivering hand.

They entered the room together. This time the nurse had no need to direct them.

Grandma stopped at the foot of the bed. "You never got the chance to finish what you were saying to your brother, Alan," she told him. "So, don't mind me. You say what you've got to say."

He looked at her. "I don't know what that is, Grandma."

"Tell him you love him, and you'll miss him," she advised. "If you don't, you'll regret it forever."

Bowing to his grandmother's authority, Alan approached the bed, noticing that the intubation tube had been removed and replaced by an oxygen mask. He sat down. "Did you hear what Grandma said, Virgil? Because it's true… I…" He wrestled with the words and the awkwardness that went with saying them. "I… I will miss you… And…"

"Go on, Alan," Grandma prompted.

"And… I love you." Alan decided that the seizure-inducing temperature that Virgil had borne before was nothing compared to what he was enduring now.

"Good," his grandma congratulated him. "He'll be at peace now… and so will you."

Alan nodded and looked back down at his brother, taking the unresponsive hand. "I've got to go now, Virgil, Grandma wants a word with you. And you know what she's like if we keep her waiting." His grandmother chuckled as he leant closer to the recumbent figure on the bed. "And I'm warning you now, Virgil Tracy, if you give Grandma a fright like you gave me, you're gonna have to answer to me!"

Grandma was preparing to take his place, when Alan did something unexpected. He leant in, said a brief "Bye," gave Virgil a kiss on the cheek, and then without another word to anyone or looking at his grandmother, he left the room.

Grandma claimed the seat for herself.

Five minutes later it was Jeff's turn.

As they passed each other in the corridor, he gave his mother comforting hug. "You okay?"

As he'd known she would, she straightened and stared him down; a small bundle of iron determination. "Of course, I am, Jefferson."

Jeff claimed the seat. "Son… Virgil..." he said. "I'm here… And I'm not leaving you until you tell me that it's time to go."

And then he started speaking. He told Virgil he was proud of him. He told him how he'd respected the person his son had become. He told him how he appreciated the fact that Virgil had been a part of his life and had been part of what kept him going when his wife, Virgil's mother, had been cruelly taken from them. He told him that he'd keep "the family business" going, and that he and Virgil's brothers would never give up. He apologised that he was responsible for any pain and distress that Virgil had been through and he thanked Virgil for taking the time to let him know that he hadn't had any regrets. He said he wished that Brains, and Tin-Tin, and Kyrano, and Lady Penelope, and Parker, and all of Virgil's friends had had a chance to say goodbye in person, but that he knew that Virgil would understand why it was impossible for them to be there.

He talked and talked until he could talk no more.

That was the moment when Jeff's world was turned upside-down…

_3:52 a.m._

_To be continued…_


	25. Chapter 25

_Hmmn. So the best way to get lots of reviews is to kill off a much loved character. Must remember that. Must also remember that I've still got another four Tracy boys to work my way through… as well as the rest of the International Rescue team..._

;-) Purupuss

* * *

It was black…

Black with an occasional confusing splash of light…

There was nothing around him. No sense of gravity to tell him which way was up, and which way was down. No pressure on the soles of his feet, or his sides, or his back, or even his head to allow him to orientate himself.

It was disorientating.

Reaching out, he could feel nothing and was touching nothing. Nothing was pressing down on him. There wasn't the comforting embrace of clothing… or a caring family member. There was no pain or sadness, but neither was there anything to allow him to experience joy or relief. He couldn't see his hands. The wall and the floor could be millimetres or kilometres away from him and he had no way of telling how far or in which direction.

He felt alone.

But there were some smells. A confusing mixture of life, death, and stages in between. All known, but nothing identifiable.

Taste? Nothing. Even those unpleasant smells that tended to linger in the mouth weren't being absorbed there to be remembered long after the smell had long gone.

But the joy of hearing! That first sound was a shock. A shock that hit like a tsunami of relief. To know that something, _someone_, was out there, reaching for him.

Music: Sweet, sweet music. Music to make the pulses quicken, and music mellow and mild to calm and relax. Music that was modern and music that had stood the test of time.

Music…

And then voices!

The voices of strangers. Strangers talking to him…

And to others about him.

And then…

Heaven!

He could hear the voices of his family!

Scott. Scott who'd always protected him. Scott who'd had that special bond with him.

Scott…

"_Bruce, and Butch, and Lisa are all well. And Ginny's happy. No one's told her what's happened to her Uncle Virgil. I saw Mr Watts a few moments ago and he seems well too…"_

"I don't care about them! What about my family? **Our** family?!"

"_What am I supposed to say to you, Virg…?" _

"You can tell me that everyone's okay."

"_I'd do anything to help…"_

"Tell me that our family's all right. That they're not trapped in here with me. Scott! Please…!"

"_Do you feel like you're in a pitch-black hangar…"_

"Gordon?"

"…_and you can't feel anything to find your way out…"_

"Is that where I am? How do I leave? Just give me a bearing, Gordon…

"Where's everyone else?"

"_It's not my fault this time, Virgil. Alan told me that." _

"What's not your fault? Whatever you've done, Gordon, I don't care. I just need to know that everyone's okay. Is Father okay?"

"_Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbird Two… Come in Thunderbird Two."_

"John! I'm receiving you. Are you all right? Is everyone all right?"

"_I've tried to keep my promise to you. I've done all I can to support Scott…"_

"Scott? Why does Scott need support? What's happened to Father!?"

"_John seems to have elected himself Scott's minder…"_

"Why, Alan? Why is John Scott's minder? Why isn't Father looking after him!? Why does he need support?! What's happened? Where's Father?! Please! Tell me! What's happened to Father!?"

It was hot… Unbearably hot… Hotter than the bottom of the Sidewinder's pit. Hotter than the bottom of a live volcano's crater. As hot as the various mythical incarnations of Hades…

"_Go peacefully, Virgil."_

"Grandma? Where am I supposed to be going?"

"_Don't linger if you must leave us."_

"I don't want to leave you. Why would I leave you? I want to know that you're okay. Is Father okay? … Grandma, I haven't heard from Father! I've heard from the rest of you, but not him! Where is he? What's happened to him!? Why won't you tell me?!"

"_I'm here…"_

"Father?"

"_And I'm not leaving you until you tell me that it's time to go."_

"I don't want to leave you! Don't leave me. Please don't leave me! I can't feel anything, Dad! I can't see anything! I can't see you! Tell me that you're all right! I can hear your voice, Father…

"But I don't know what you're saying…

"Where am I…?

"Why is it so dark…?

"But it's not dark…

"Is that a light?"

The light was dim at first, but as Virgil tried to focus on it, it grew brighter.

Somehow, he knew that that light meant safety. That light meant that he was being lead out of the draining darkness… That light meant that someone was waiting for him…

Waiting for him to join them…

Virgil found peace.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_3:52 a.m._

Jeff Tracy had sat beside his son's bed for he didn't know how many hours. He hadn't wanted to leave, not even when his body made him. He didn't want to take his eyes off his son's face, not even to get some rejuvenating sleep.

He didn't want to miss his son's final moments.

As he sat, he considered that everyone could have had longer than their allotted five minutes to say goodbye, and wondered if he should set up another roster…

But what if, while his son was alone, he left them forever?

The first sign that he wouldn't have to maintain his vigil for much longer came when Jeff felt a movement beneath his hand; a thumb twitch…

"Virgil?"

Adjusting his grip so he was still holding his son's lifeless hand, but the thumb was free, he watched.

The thumb twitched again.

"Virgil!" Jeff struggled to keep calm. He'd been through this before and the twitch had meant nothing… And this time the doctors had told him there was no hope.

But another twitch made him hope that maybe the doctors were wrong. "Nurse! He moved."

The nurse; at some point, Jeff didn't know when, the original one had been relieved, and another male nurse had taken over; moved closer. "Mr Tracy?"

"He moved!" Jeff insisted; trying, and failing, to keep the delight out of his voice. He still remembered the long hours when the only movement Gordon displayed was a thumb with a life of its own. They were agonising hours when his son could have lived or could have died. He took a deep, calming, breath. "Virgil moved his thumb."

The nurse made no comment, preferring a more scientific examination of the status board to looking at the stationary digit. The various numbers were shifting and changing.

Growing stronger.

The nurse moved away, requesting into his radio that someone join him in triage four.

Jeff looked down at the limp hand. "Come on, Virgil! Move your thumb!"

But Virgil's thumb didn't move.

"Please…"

"Fff…"

Jeff's head snapped around to the top of the bed. The mask had misted over, and a pair of brown eyes were looking at him.

Not staring sightlessly but looking!

"Virgil…" Reaching out to confirm that he wasn't dreaming, Jeff stroked the side of his son's face. "Can you hear me, Virgil?"

"Y's." The voice was quiet, weak, but unmistakably Virgil's.

Jeff allowed his own eyes to close for a moment in relief. He opened them again when he heard his boy try to speak.

"Yiv."

"What?" Jeff leant closer. "What was that, Virgil?

"'live."

Jeff smiled. "Yes, Virgil. You're alive."

"N'." Virgil gave a tiny shake to his head and his father's smile vanished.

"No…? I don't understand."

"Y'…" Virgil swallowed and grimaced.

"Is your throat sore? You had a tube down it earlier."

Virgil appeared to consider this, then he attempted to say his piece again. "Y'u…"

"You?"

This time the response was a minute nod.

Jeff pointed to himself. "Me?"

The nod again. "'live?"

Jeff still wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "I'm alive? Why wouldn't I be alive? I've been sitting here waiting for you to… To wake up."

Virgil tried to say something, and Jeff leant closer still to try to understand.

The misting in the mask intensified. "Didn' 'ear y'."

"You didn't hear me? But could you hear the others talking to you? The rest of the family?"

A miniscule nod.

"Did you hear Scott?"

Another miniscule nod before four almost incoherent words. "N'd'd t' 'r y'."

_Needed to hear you._

It was silly Jeff knew. It was selfish, and childish, and unworthy of a man of his age and station, _and _it showed no regard for their situation; but still he felt a glowing sense of satisfaction, of pride, of smugness even, that it had been his voice and not Scott's that Virgil had been desperately listening out for. It was his father's voice that had dragged him out of the coma.

Jeff told himself to forget all that. He had someone more important to focus on. "It's all right, Virgil. I'm here. Keep positive. Keep fighting."

"Mr Tracy."

Jeff glanced over his shoulder at the new voice. A very young doctor was standing there, stethoscope at the ready and with the clear expectation that he was going to move out of the way and let her do her job.

Jeff turned back. "Virgil… I'm going to tell the rest of the family you're awake."

Virgil's eyebrows drew downwards millimetres in a frown. And Jeff felt a faint tightening around his fingers.

"Please, Son, let me go. They're desperate to hear good news about you and it's only fair that I tell them."

With a barely perceptible movement, Virgil shook his head.

"Virgil… The doctor needs to examine you. While she's doing that I'll go and tell everyone that you're getting better. I promise that I'll be back before the doctor's finished. And then I'll sit with you for as long as you need me to. Okay?"

Virgil looked like that wasn't okay, but that he didn't have the strength to complain.

"Thank you." Jeff gave Virgil's sole good hand a quick squeeze. "Back soon." He extricated himself from beside the bed.

"Mr Tracy," the doctor caught his arm as he slipped past. "Please…" she whispered. "Don't get anyone's hopes up just yet."

Jeff walked out of the room thinking that that was too late. The closer he got to their storeroom, the bigger his grin became. By the time he reached the door it felt so big that he doubted that he'd be able to walk through.

But he did.

Jeff's family were all slumped in their seats waiting for the news they didn't want to hear. The room was hushed, and an almost perceptible pall of depression hung over it. As one they looked up, saw him standing there and assumed the worst.

-F-A-B-

Despite being shamed by Tin-Tin's tirade, a short time after she'd left to prepare the aeroplane for her flight to Tracy Island, there had been an argument between the two Australasian researchers and Brains. Bryce and Timoti had wanted to avoid wasting the expensive polymer and stop the programme running half a world away so they could start their preparations for the next patient. Brains, unwilling to give up hope so long as his computer was telling him that his friend was still alive, had demanded that they keep the printer printing until there was absolutely, positively no point in continuing. Jeff Tracy, he insisted, would ensure that there was plenty of polymer to go around.

They eventually reached a compromise by both sides agreeing that they would start going through the multitude of prospective patients to select their next candidate. Once the "lucky" individual had been selected they would make a start preparing that patient's scans so copies were able to be made by the 3D printer. Only when the plans were ready to be printed would they cancel the programme in operation.

It had made for an uncomfortable environment to work in. Made more uncomfortable by the way that their first patient's stats were slowly reversing themselves.

That was until they received word that the patient had displayed evidence of being grade 15 on the modified GMS scale. Then all animosity was forgotten. Brains did a dance and his two associates cheered that their theories were that much closer to being tested on a live world subject… Uh… That their patient had a chance of being saved.

Brains was so delighted that he ignored their slip and got on the phone to Tin-Tin.

-F-A-B-

John's phone hit the roof with a clatter, sending the back flying in one direction while the body and other components arced off in another. The communicator's owner didn't notice as he let out another ecstatic whoop similar to the one that sent it flying in the first place.

No one else noticed either. They were all in a similarly ecstatic frame of mind and only aware of one thing.

Virgil was awake.

Jeff had joined in their celebrations and had danced a jig with his mother before lifting her off the floor with one of what was to be many ecstatic hugs.

Ecstatic. As far as the Tracys were concerned it was a word that couldn't be overused. That was the only word that could describe what they felt after all those hours of despair.

Finally, Scott settled down enough to speak coherently. "What happened?"

"Nothing dramatic," Jeff admitted. "His thumb started twitching like Gordon's did." He grinned over at his second youngest son, who, beaming, had his arms about both Alan's and John's shoulders. "I had visions of watching a rerun…" he paused for dramatic impact, "when he tried to speak."

"He spoke!" Scott exclaimed. "What did he say?"

Jeff looked at him and wondered if his son would see the smirk that he was sure was there. Chiding himself for the gloating thoughts that lurked so close to the surface and hoping that the smug look would be interpreted as a mixture of relief and joy, he fudged the answer. "He was a little confused, but he said that he heard us talking to him. He had heard all our voices!"

"See!" Gordon crowed. "See, I told you he needed to hear us."

"You did that," Jeff confirmed. "And you were right."

Alan pulled his phone out of his pocket and nearly dropped it in his haste. "We've got to let everyone know! I'll call Tin-Tin! Uh… And Kyrano."

"I'll call Penny!" Gordon offered.

"You call Lisa," John amended. "I'll call Penny… Where's my phone?" He collected the pieces and tried to reassemble them; failing when the various bits refused to stay together. Unperturbed by the damage, he grinned. "Just as well I've got my watch."

"He probably already knows, but why don't you call Brains, Scott?" Jeff suggested. "I promised Virgil I wouldn't leave him for too long." Eager to return, he turned to go.

Scott reached out to stop him. "You'll tell him that we can't wait to see him? And that he's got to stop giving us all heart failure?"

This time Jeff's smile was warm and genuine as he reassured his eldest. "I'll be sure to do that… Will you let Hamish know, Mother?"

"I'd be delighted to, Jeff."

Jeff Tracy practically ran back to Virgil's room, almost knocking over a now-familiar figure in his eagerness. He apologised quickly. "Have you heard our news?"

Colin Eden smiled what felt like the first smile since his hospital had been inundated with patients and he'd almost literally been buried under a mass of paperwork and humanity. "I have to say, Mr Tracy, that your boy has the constitution of an ox!"

"Jeff, call me Jeff," Jeff babbled, shaking his hand. "Isn't it wonderful?!"

"It is, ah, Jeff, and you'd better call me Colin… But… Please…" Bearston General's General Manager warned, "don't get too excited. This may only be a temporary reprieve."

"No." Jeff refused to accept that. "Virgil won't give up. Not now. Not ever. He'll never give up. And I'm going to stay with him for as long as he needs me."

Colin indicated the door. "If you're going to sit with him again, I'm not going to stop you." He checked his tablet. "The doctor's just finished examining him."

"And…?"

"And… She's cautiously optimistic… And very surprised. I'll see you later, Jeff."

Jeff's smile was nearly as wide as when he'd left when he peeked in through the door to ensure that he wouldn't interrupt anything important. "Can I come in?"

The doctor also smiled. "He's asleep now, Mr Tracy, but you can stay with him. If you have any questions, you can ask the nurse."

"Thanks." Jeff entered the room, surprised to realise that one of the other patients had gained a visitor, and moreover that visitor was someone he knew. "Mr Eagles?"

A haggard face started and looked up at him. "Huh…? Uh…" Freddy stammered. "Mr Tracy?"

Jeff moved closer to the end of the bed that his employee was squeezed in beside. This was the first time he'd taken notice of either of the other patients and he realised that the person who shared the bed next to the sleeping Virgil was a young lady. Even then, with her face swollen and hidden behind bandages and an oxygen mask, he doubted that he would have recognised her. "Is this your sister…? Er… Angela?" He noted the frame distorting the blankets on the lower part of the bed and felt empathy with the young man.

"Yes." Freddy took up his sibling's hand. "All those hours that I've been worried about how and where she was, and she's been here all along."

"How is she?" Jeff could tell by Freddy's haunted expression that the answer wasn't going to be good.

Freddy's response confirmed his fears. "They say she's been unconscious since the 'quake. That's been nearly 48 hours, Mr Tracy."

Jeff knew it. "What happened?"

"From what I understand she was on her way to work and was in a car accident. Someone lost control during the earthquake and ran into someone else, who ran into her… Her leg was trapped… Crushed…" Freddy glanced down the bed at the elevated sheets. "It took three hours for the rescue services to get to her and nearly another hour to free her. They flew her here in a helijet." He gave a bitter laugh and slumped back in his seat. "Isn't that ironic? I fly to Bearston in a matter of seconds in a Thunderbird, and she had to endure a slow flight in a helijet."

"Look on the bright side," Jeff suggested. "If the rescue had taken any longer, she would have died. They say that four hours is the maximum a person can survive with a crush injury."

The information didn't seem to help Freddy's mood.

"What's her prognosis?"

Freddy looked up at his boss and Jeff saw fear in his eyes. "She's on amputation watch!" He looked back down at his sister. "That's if she lives."

"Don't think like that," Jeff instructed. "It's vital that you keep positive. And keep talking to her. Tell her you're here; supporting her."

Freddy made a hopeless gesture. "She won't be able to hear me."

"There's every chance that she can," Jeff dropped ACE protocol, "Freddy."

The use of his first name didn't even register. Instead Freddy looked like he was going to argue. Then he looked back up at Jeff. "How can you know that?!"

"Because I've had two sons live through a coma and they both reported hearing, and more importantly needing to hear, the voices of loved ones. Angela needs to hear you talk to her… Freddy, I don't know exactly what you're going through, but I do know what it's like to sit beside someone you care about and not know if they're going to wake up."

Freddy sniffed and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. "What if she loses her leg? What if she wakes up and discovers that she…? That she's…?"

Jeff remembered the bubbly personality. "Trust me," he said gently. "So long as she's got her family supporting her, she'll cope."

"But she won't be able to do her job or any of the things she loves!"

"She's a…" Jeff ran his hand through his hair. Normally this kind of information about his employees and their immediate families came to him easily, and the fact that he was struggling to remember spoke volumes of the stresses he was under. "A… A teacher, isn't she?"

"A fitness trainer," Freddy corrected. "She loved her job. She was forever badgering me to do more exercise, but I'd tell her I got a decent workout at ACE." He managed to share a small grin with his boss before it disappeared. "But how can you encourage someone to exercise when you've only got one leg yourself?"

"I should think that anyone with the strength of personality to encourage some person, who's spent much of their life being overweight and unhealthy, to take control of that life, will have the strength of personality to overcome any challenges. And I'm sure her clients will all support her… As I know you will, Freddy… Uh…" Jeff knew he was potentially about to step into dangerous waters. "…and your parents?"

Freddy made no comment.

"Have you heard how they are?"

"I talked to them before I came in here. Physically they're both fine. But they're worried sick about Angela."

"I'm sure they are. Where are they?"

There was another bitter laugh. "They were evacuated in a totally different direction to us. They're in Asp over 400 miles away."

"In a refugee shelter?"

"Yes. They haven't found any accommodation."

"Keep strong, Freddy," Jeff advised. "And keep talking to Angela. I'm sure it'll help her more than you realise." With a quick glance to reassure himself that the figure in the next bed was still sleeping, he ducked back into the corridor, where he made a quick call.

Then he returned to the room, reclaimed his seat, and took up his son's hand again. "I'm back like I promised, Virgil. And I'm not going anywhere."

-F-A-B-

_4:12 a.m._

Lisa Crump stirred at the persistent sound of buzzing in her ear. Pulling her phone out from under her pillow she glared at the clock on screen. Four in the morning! Who on earth would ring her at this awful time? Beside her in the bed, Ginny stirred.

Lisa was tempted to sneak through the curtains so that she couldn't wake her daughter, but Butch, who'd insisted that he couldn't let his father sleep outside another night, had been banished to the bed that had been Ginny's while Crump senior was snoring at the far end of the motorhome. Seriously annoyed with her husband, she thought of waking him out of spite, but decided she didn't want her father-in-law listening in on a private conversation. "Hello," she whispered.

"Lisa!" The person on the other end of the line wasn't whispering. Neither were the others in the room with him by the sound of it. It sounded more like there was a party going on.

"Gordon?" Lisa wasn't awake enough to comprehend what the phone call might mean.

"He's awake, Lisa! Virgil's awake!"

So was Lisa Crump when the news sunk in. Deciding that this was something that Butch needed to know and that he should be told it immediately, she slipped through the curtain that separated her 'room' from the rest of the vehicle. "That's wonderful news!" she exclaimed to Gordon. "You all must be thrilled!"

Butch grumbled and opened his eyes.

She could hear her caller's excitement and relief. "Thrilled doesn't begin to do justice to what we're feeling, Honey!"

Glaring at his wife for banishing him to a solitary bed and then waking him while it was still dark, Butch pulled the pillow over his head.

"Would you like to tell Butch yourself?" Lisa asked.

"Tell you what," Gordon laughed. "Let's let Alan tell him."

Lisa laughed too. "He'll never come down off cloud nine."

"I'll just get him… _Hey, Alan!_"

"_What?"_

"You can tell Butch."

"_Yeah?_ Hi, Butch."

Lisa chuckled. "Not quite. Here he is." She handed the phone over.

"Yeah?" Butch growled into the speaker.

"Hiya, Butch. It's Alan Tracy. I've got some news for you."

Butch sprang up into a sitting position. "Alan?"

"Yes. We thought we should let you know right away. Virgil's awake."

"He's awake?!" As the news sunk home a beaming smile radiated from Butch's face. "That's primo news!"

He heard Alan laugh as Lisa leant closer so she could listen in. "Isn't it just. We can't quite believe it. It might only be a temporary reprieve, but we're going to make the most of it. Dad says Virgil was a bit confused, but he was talking, so we're all telling ourselves that he's going to get better."

"Primo!" Butch repeated.

"Well, guess I'd better let you get some sleep."

"Sleep? Who c'n sleep? Me 'n Lisa are gonna tell Bruce and th' rest of 'em."

"Thanks, Butch. We'll give Virgil your best."

"Thanks, Pal." Beaming Butch returned her phone to Lisa, before, with a restrained cry of joy, wrapping her in a big hug. Then he lumbered to his feet, bumping his head on the motorhome's ceiling. "Let's go tell Bruce."

"All right." Lisa checked that Ginny was still asleep and then slipped out of the motorhome after her husband…Who hurried over to Bruce's accommodation and banged on the door so loudly that it woke all the other occupants in the temporary camper park.

All except for those in the Mickelson's home.

"That's wonderful news," Hamish repeated for what seemed to be the hundredth time. "Edna's thrilled too. We're going to have a hot chocolate to celebrate." He grinned at his wife who already had the necessary pot on the tiny stove. "How's Jeff?"

"Over the moon," Mrs Tracy admitted, and Hamish heard her give a joyous laugh. "We all are."

"I'm sure you are. If you don't feel like celebrating in that storeroom, perhaps you'd care to join us?"

Edna looked alarmed at the suggestion. She began a hasty tidy-up.

"Maybe later, thank you. We don't want to stray too far in case they say we can see him."

"Fair enough." Hamish heard a banging noise. "I think Butch is trying to break down Bruce's door to give him the good news."

"Is that that noise I can hear?" There was more laughter. "I thought the building was collapsing… Well, I'd better leave you and Edna to your hot chocolate. I'm so glad that you're feeling better."

"And we're glad that Virgil's feeling better. Tell him he's got to stop scaring everyone like that."

"I will. Goodbye, Hamish. Give my love to Edna."

Hamish Mickelson shut down his phone and beamed at his wife.

-F-A-B-

_4:15 a.m._

Bruce Sanders was not impressed at being woken at some ungodly hour by someone banging on his door.

Neither was his roommate Max Watts.

"Who is that!?" he grumbled, blinking against the electric light that had been turned on a short time after it appeared that someone had tried to ram-raid their accommodation.

"I thought we were having another earthquake." Bruce stumbled down the motorhome to the door, wondering why he was having to get out of his (relatively) comfortable bed and admit what could only be a herd of buffaloes.

He swung the door open to two beaming smiles. "What?!"

"It's good news," Butch told him. "Virgil's gonna be okay."

"What!?" One hand on the door handle and the other on the jamb for support, Bruce stared at him. "What did you say?"

"That's what we were wondering."

Bruce looked over the Crumps' heads to where Greg and Mavis Harrison were scowling at his visitors. From around the adjacent vehicle Winston and Rex staggered towards them in the darkness. Olivia was peering out of the window opposite him, Auntie Alicia's beady eyes trying to see around her.

"Why…" Winston began, "have you decided to wake us all up out of our beauty sleep? Which heaven knows, after all the upheavals of the last two days, we all need desperately."

Bruce became aware that his roommate was standing at his shoulder and he stood to one side so ACE's Production Manager could join in the conversation. "Butch says Virgil's going to be okay."

"That's not exactly what we were told," Lisa clarified.

"I'm sure it wasn't."

As one, everyone turned to Hamish Mickelson.

"I've been talking to Virgil's grandmother. He has woken up and said a few words, but to say that he's on the road to a full recovery is a bit premature…" Hamish's smile slipped. "Remember that he's had some major surgery and he's going to have to learn how to deal with his…" he tried to think of a tactful way of phrasing it, "new situation before we can confidently say that he's fully recovered."

Bruce felt a smile forming on his now wide-awake face. "But he's not going to die?" he checked.

"It's too early to say that he's out of danger," Hamish corrected. "However, the Tracys are quietly optimistic."

"Quiet optimism; I can live with that." Bruce grinned. "It's better than the overbearing pessimism we've lived with for the last few days." He looked across at one of his friends. "Hey, Lisa. How did you manage to get out of your trailer without waking Ginny and Mr Crump? Butch made enough noise to wake th…"

"Ginny!"

"…dead…" Shocked by her sudden flight back to her trailer, Bruce stared after Lisa as she ran.

"Leece?" Confused by his wife's unexpected behaviour, Butch lumbered behind her. "Wha's wrong?"

What was wrong was that Lisa had left her vulnerable young daughter alone with a patched gang member. Feeling sick at how foolish she'd been and desperate to rescue Ginny before something unspeakable happened, she fled back to the motorhome. With the dread of what she would find flooding her system, she leapt onto the steps and wrenched the door open. "Ginny!"

Even at that moment, with her imagination spinning out of control, she was shocked by the sight that confronted her.

Ginny was sitting on the edge of her grandfather's bed. The older man was crouched awkwardly on the floor, both his hands raised toward the little girl. He quickly hid them behind his back where they couldn't be seen.

Ginny turned a toothy smile to her mother. "We' been playin' pat-a-cake," she said proudly. "I'm teachin' Grandpop."

"Pat-a-cake?" Lisa squeaked.

Crump Senior looked embarrassed. "Don' know any little girl's games," he confessed. "Ginny had t' show me."

-F-A-B-

As soon as Tin-Tin returned from preparing the aeroplane she barrelled through the door and almost suffocated Brains in a joyous hug. "He's alive! Virgil's still alive!" Suddenly remembering her scientific background, she took a step back, so she could confirm her facts. "Alan said he is alive! He is right, isn't he?"

"Virgil is alive," Brains confirmed, and then let out a smothered yelp when he was caught up in another ecstatic embrace.

Tin-Tin released him. "How long before you will be able to operate?"

"We still haven't got our visas yet," Bryce reminded her.

"We have already ascertained that you do not need to be there." Folding her arms Tin-Tin turned back to Brains. "Well?"

"If h-he is strong enough," Brains made a quick calculation, "eighteen hours?"

"Good. The weather bureau says the cyclone should have passed by then. It will at least be weak enough for us to fly through to the States."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_8:09 a.m._

The early dawn was just lightening the landscape when Virgil next stirred.

Jeff, who'd been dozing himself, awoke with a start. "Virgil…" He gave his son's hand a gentle squeeze.

He saw a frown and the oxygen mask misted over. "W'r'm I?"

"In the hospital. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Virgil shook his head.

Jeff thought that was probably just as well. "How are you feeling?" This was, he thought, a stupid question. There could only be one answer from someone who'd been unconscious for hours, endured several surgeries and amputations, was connected to numerous machines and IVs dedicated to keeping him alive, had a multitude of drains removing litres of unwanted fluid, and had his internal organs in an unknown and probably unrecognisable state.

Virgil didn't respond.

"Everyone was very happy to hear that you're alive," Jeff told him. "John even broke his phone and didn't care."

Virgil didn't comment. He lay with his eyes closed, breathing gently, and, needing to prove to himself that his son was still alive, Jeff was tempted to nudge him awake. But he held off, knowing that Virgil's need for sleep was more important.

"W'r'm I?"

Not expecting the quiet voice, Jeff looked into his son's brown eyes. "Bearston General Hospital."

"W't 'pn'?"

"There was an earthquake…"

But Virgil appeared to be asleep again.

When he awoke again a few minutes later, Jeff prepared to repeat his answer to the "where am I?" question.

But this time Virgil grimaced.

"What's wrong?" Jeff asked, fearing that he wouldn't be able to help.

"H…'v'."

"Heavy?"

There was a tiny nod.

"What's heavy?"

"M' f'd."

Jeff felt a chill. "Your foot feels heavy?" He looked around, but the nurse had briefly vacated the room.

"S'm'd'n scw's i'."

"Something's squashing it?"

Instead of confirming Jeff's guess, Virgil attempted to look down the bed. Finding his view hampered by the blanket-covered frame, he shuffled his torso.

Jeff grabbed him, holding him gently down by the shoulders. "Don't move, Virgil, you'll only hurt yourself more."

He felt his son relax beneath his hands and let go. Then Virgil looked straight at him. "Y' m'v' i'."

"You want me to move something?"

There was a nod.

"What?"

"Scw's'g f'd."

"You want me to move what's squashing your foot?" Hoping that Virgil was confused and he was meaning another part of his body, Jeff pointed to the end of the bed. If his son was going to think he was a fool, he didn't care. "Which foot?"

"L'f'."

The left foot. The leg that had been amputated to the hip. The chill, which seemed to have settled into Jeff's bones, froze his heart. He'd heard about those phantom pains where the owner of a lost limb could still feel its irritations. "I… I can't, Virgil."

This time the frown looked accusing and disappointed. "Pl'z'."

"I can't move anything off your foot. There's… There's nothing there."

"Dri."

"I can't, Virgil. Nothing is squashing your foot."

Jeff saw unexpected anger flare up. "C'n f'l id!"

"Virgil. Please… Listen to me. There is nothing squashing your foot… It can't…"

Virgil looked confused. Then he asked the question that Jeff wished he wouldn't. "'Y?"

"Virgil. Do you remember the earthquake? That's why you're in hospital. You've been badly, seriously, hurt. You and a lot of other people. The doctors… and surgeons… are working very hard to help everyone. They are doing what they need to do to keep people alive."

"Wod d'?"

Jeff had told himself he wouldn't do this. He'd told himself that there would be an appropriate time at some point in the future and that would be when he, or someone better qualified, would break the news. He'd been convinced, or at least had convinced himself, that the pain killers had numbed his son's crushed body and that he'd have no knowledge of the crisis he was going to have to deal with.

But Virgil was as tenacious as he would have been on a rescue. "Wod?"

Jeff looked towards the door, wishing that it would open, and the nurse would appear to take the heat of him.

"D'd?"

"Virgil…" Jeff took a deep breath and picked up his son's good hand, holding it as tightly as he dared. "Do you remember being squashed under a large and heavy weight?"

Virgil frowned as he thought, and Jeff hoped that this state of concentration would continue until the nurse returned… or he forgot the question.

"N'."

"Oh…" Jeff swallowed. "It crushed your legs, Virgil." There was no way that he was even going to mention the damage to his son's left hand. "The doctors had to operate to save your life."

"'p'ra'?"

"Yes. Operate."

"F'd."

"Yes," Jeff fudged. "They operated on your foot."

"Wod d'?"

"They…" Jeff shot another, agonised, glance at the door. "Remember they did what they had to, to save your life."

"Wod?"

The door remained obstinately closed and Jeff took a deep breath. "They amputated it, Virgil."

His son's eyes widened. "L'f'?"

"Erm…" The door showed no signs of opening and Jeff looked down at where Virgil's hand was grasping his. "Both… Both your feet."

"N'…"

"I'm sorry. We delayed it as long as we cou…"

"N'!" Surprising his father with the amount of strength he demonstrated, Virgil pulled his hand away from Jeff's. "N'!" It was a sound that seemed to rip through Jeff's soul. Followed by a never-ending wail that said nothing but spoke volumes.

"Virgil…"

Still screaming, Virgil thrashed his good arm and, Jeff was horrified to see, began to beat himself across the body. An IV was torn free. Liquid, including precious blood, began soaking the sheets. The protective frame was nudged askew.

"Virgil! Stop." Jeff attempted to grab hold of his son's arm, so he could keep it still, but was thwarted by the limb's almost uncoordinated thrashing. He was even more concerned when Virgil attempted to roll away from him over his injured limb. He didn't want to think what the reaction would be if Virgil succeeded. Or saw the bandage hiding his hand. "Virgil!" He managed to press his son's shoulders down flat again. "Virgil, please… Stop this!" he pleaded. "Don't move! You'll hurt yourself even more!" He was hit by the flailing arm.

The wailing intensified.

Jeff wanted to press the buzzer to alert someone but didn't dare release his grip. "Virgil! Calm down… Please…"

"Mr Tracy… Virgil…"

Panting as he pressed his son's shoulders into the mattress, Jeff looked over his shoulder.

Freddy was standing there. His face was white, but he appeared calm. "Virgil's right, Mr Tracy. There is something on his foot." He pretended to lift the phantom object. "But it's too heavy for me to lift by myself. Can you help me, Mr Tracy?"

It took a moment for the younger man's plan to penetrate Jeff's frightened mind. When it did, he nodded. Then he looked down at the wide-eyed, pale, clammy face that was gasping behind the oxygen mask. "Freddy's right, Virgil. There _is_ something lying on your foot. But you're going to have to lie still while we remove the… thing. Can you do that?"

Virgil, beads of sweat running off his brow, his gasps audible, nodded.

Hoping that his son understood the instruction, Jeff let go and was relieved when he lay still. He shuffled down to the end of the bed and, mirroring Freddy's actions, pretended to slip his fingers under the mystery object.

"We're not going to be able to lift it too high," the younger man warned. "So, we'll slide it off the end and onto…" he swung a wheeled chair around, so it was at the foot of the bed. "…this chair. Then we'll shift the thing over there." He pointed beyond Virgil's line of sight. "Okay, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff nodded, not trusting his voice to betray them. If it was shaking as much as he was, Virgil would probably see through their lie. As it was, for the first time in about two minutes, he was glad the nurse wasn't in the room with them.

The nurse entered. He looked surprised by the tableau before him.

"There's a weight on Virgil's foot," Freddy explained. "Perhaps you'll see to Virgil while we remove it?"

"I see…" The nurse hurried to his patient's bed and squeezed past Jeff. "Let's have a look at you, Virgil."

The charade could have ended then, but, through some unspoken agreement, Jeff and Freddy, grunting, groaning, and making it seem like it took a real effort, mimed shifting something heavy free of the bed. Then, keeping their bodies between the patient and the empty chair, they pushed it out of sight.

Jeff straightened and wiped real sweat off his brow. "Freddy…" He said in a quiet voice as he extended his hand, "I can't thank you enough. I would never have thought of pretending to help him."

"I joined a drama club a few years ago," Freddy admitted. "The guys at work said it was so I'd be able to talk and talk and people would have to listen to me." He dredged up a quiet chuckle. "I guess it's made me look at things differently from most people."

"Well, if I could award you an Oscar, I would. Without your help, Virgil may have done further damage to himself."

"Actually…" Freddy looked embarrassed. "I'd forgotten that Virgil was your son until I heard you two. When I saw you, I wondered why you were in here."

"And I hadn't realised that it was Angela in the bed next to him." Jeff managed an understanding smile. "Virgil and I didn't exactly advertise our relationship when he worked… the last time he worked at ACE."

Freddy looked at his hands. "When you said that two of your sons could hear you when they were in a coma; was he one of them?"

Jeff nodded.

"And he heard your voices?"

"I'm not sure that he understood what we were saying, but he knew it was us."

"So, I should keep talking to Angela?"

"Yes. You definitely should talk to Angela. And so should anyone else who sits with her."

"There is no one else." Freddy slumped. "The rest of the family's miles away…"

-F-A-B-

_9:22 a.m._

The city of Asp was in many ways like the city of Bearston; overrun with refugees from the earthquake. Its own hospital was full to overloaded and felt it owed a debt of gratitude to Tracy Industries for the two operating theatres and the foreign medical staff who'd flown in to help.

The refugee centre was just as full as the medical units, and just as stretched. People from all walks of life woke after a night of little sleep on hard beds in a cramped room. As babies cried, people talked amongst themselves and wondered what the third day of upheaval would bring.

Into this strode a young, well-dressed, woman and her older, uniformed, companion.

"How distressing," Lady Penelope mused. "It makes one feel so inadequate."

"H-Indeed, m'Lady," Parker agreed. "H-I believe that the reg-h-istration desk h-is h-over there."

"Thank you, Parker. I believe that you are correct."

There was a queue waiting to speak to the harassed, sleep-deprived, administrators and they joined the end.

"Do we 'ave h-any h-idea what they look like?" Parker asked. "H-It might be quicker to 'unt 'em h-out."

"Unfortunately, Jeff was unable to supply us with any more information other than their names." Lady Penelope took a miniscule step forward.

"Shall H-I see h-if H-I strike h-it lucky?"

"Do, Parker, but do not cause any fuss. These people have been through enough without us causing them further distress."

Parker made a small salute. "Yes, m'Lady."

He began by standing just inside the door to the hall, "casing the joint" as he might have said in earlier years, before deciding that he'd probably have more luck by standing between the two doors marked "Women" and "Men" and checking out the through traffic.

He struck it lucky.

"…My son finally managed to get hold of us yesterday evening, which was such a relief; but he told us that our daughter, Angela, has been seriously injured. Billy spent most of last night trying to get us a ride to Bearston, but there're no buses between the two cities…"

Parker stepped forward. "Excuse me, Madam," he said, tipping his cap. "But would you 'appen to be Mrs H-Amelia H-Eagles?"

The lady in question and her newly acquired friend stared at the unusually dressed man with the funny accent and the strange choice of words. "I…" she glanced at her associate. "I am Amelia Eagles."

"H-I work for Mr Jeff Tracy," Parker announced. "Meself and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward h-are 'ere to take you to Bearston."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mr Tracy h-is the h-owner of H-Aeronautical Component Engineering h-and your Mister Freddy works for 'im."

"I'm, ah, I'm aware of that."

"Mr Tracy 'as h-instructed 'er Ladyship h-and meself to transport you h-and your 'usband to Bearston so that you can be with your nippers, ah," Parker looked embarrassed at his verbal slip, "children… H-If you 'ave things you've got to do first," he made a subtle gesture towards the door marked _Women_, "then we can wait."

"Oh… ah… Thank you?" Mrs Eagles looked at her friend again.

Parker glanced across the room. "'Ere's 'er Ladyship now."

Amelia Eagles turned and saw her exhausted husband, looking as dazed as she felt, in the company of an impeccably dressed young woman. She immediately felt old, dirty, dishevelled and frumpy.

"Amy," Billy Eagles addressed his wife. "This is Lady Penelope, erm…"

"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward," Lady Penelope offered. "I am delighted to meet you Mrs Eagles… I see you have already met my man Parker."

Both the Eagles were beginning to feel like they were living in a dream. Not sure what else to do to someone who appeared to be English royalty, Amelia and her friend bobbed a curtsey.

Lady Penelope made no comment about the social _faux pas_. "Parker and I have been requested to escort you to Bearston, so you can be reacquainted with Angela and Freddy," she explained. "Please do not feel that you must hurry. We shall await you outside in the Rolls Royce, and you may take all the time you require."

"Oh, ah, thank you," said Billy Eagles. "But we haven't got much, so we won't be long."

"Excellent. I am sure that you are all eager to be reunited with your loved ones." Lady Penelope gave the couple a gracious smile and, Parker a respectful two steps behind, withdrew.

"What was that!" the friend exclaimed. "Do you think they're legit?"

"I don't know, but…" Amelia turned to her husband. "Billy! They said they're going to take us to Angela and Freddy!"

"It could be a trap, Amy," he protested.

"A trap?! He said that he worked for Jeff Tracy and that Freddy worked for Jeff Tracy and Aeronautical Component Engineering. How could anyone else know that?"

"We've talked to a lot of people about our kids over the last few days."

"But why would anyone set up a scam like this? It's not like we've got a lot of money, especially after the earthquake. It's so unbelievable that I believe they're telling the truth."

"Well, there's one way of finding out," the friend said. "Er Ladyship," she mimicked Parker, "said they were in the Rolls Royce. How many of those will there be out there? I'll go and see if I can see it. If it's there, they're legit." She hurried away leaving Billy and Amelia to gather their meagre things together in disbelieving anticipation.

She was back in short time. "They're legit," she announced.

Amelia stood there, holding her few belongings, almost frightened to move. "How will we know which car is theirs?"

"Amy," her husband sighed. "It's a Rolls Royce. How many can there be?"

"Especially bright pink ones," the friend added. "And he's standing next to the door waiting for you like he's some kind of chauffeur and you're royalty… Good luck," she gave Amelia a brief hug. "I hope your kids are okay."

So did Billy and Amelia Eagles as they signed out of the refugee centre, were assisted into a pink Rolls Royce by a man in a purple uniform, seated next to a titled lady, and were whisked away into a dream.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_10:15 a.m._

"Have you got your phone working, John?" Alan asked.

"Nope," John admitted, looking up from the instrument in question. "I don't have the right tools. I wouldn't worry except I promised Lisa I'd let her know what's going on… Not that we've got anything new to tell anyone."

"I can call her when we do," Gordon reminded him.

"I know. But I was hoping to hear about the house by now."

"Here," Scott handed over his mobile. "You're getting my money. You may as well use my phone as well."

John grinned, swapped the cards over between the phones, and checked his messages. "Looks like you and I have just extended our property portfolios," he announced. "The motel units are in a good state. The house needs work, but mainly on the attic and that can be done while we're over here." He checked his watch. "I'll ask the agent to bring the paperwork for signing to the house in half an hour." He looked at Scott. "Do you want to come with me? We can add your signature later."

"I'll come. Lisa said it's not that far away that we can't run back, and I need to stretch my legs."

John looked at his two youngest siblings and his grandmother. "Anyone else want to come?"

"I don't want to go too far," Grandma admitted, "but I might go and visit Edna and Hamish. But I will walk with you to the gate of the hospital, so you can point me in the right direction of your new house."

Gordon sniggered. "Don't forget John's never seen the place, Grandma. _You_ might need to point _him_ in the right direction."

John fixed him with a pointed look. "Do you want to stay here?"

"Nope. I want to see this monstrosity you've bought."

"Okay." John stood, stretched, and then looked down at his youngest brother. "Coming, Alan?"

"May as well. Gordon and I can keep an eye out for that reporter. We know what he looks like."

"Good point." John reached into his bag and pulled out a cap and sunglasses.

It was easy to find the location; the sign was still out front with a sold sticker defacing the photograph.

John looked at the tangled forest of weeds. "What a mess!"

Alan chuckled. "That's what you get for buying sight unseen."

"Well, let's see what the house is like."

They followed the long and curving driveway. "You know?" Scott began. "I really like this… It's private."

The driveway emerged onto the main building.

Gordon gave a low whistle. "John… You've bought the Bates Motel."

"It's not that bad," John told him, in an unknowing echo of Bruce's words. "It just needs a little work."

"Work?" Scott scratched his head. "Where did the inspector say it needed work?"

John craned his neck up three levels. "The attic and the roof."

"I wonder how much that's going to cost?"

John looked at his elder brother. "Having second thoughts?"

"No… There's the agent."

A well-dressed man approached the four brothers, unsure who to address. "Ah… Mr Tracy?"

"Yes." John took a step forward to clarify. "I'm John Tracy. You must be Mr Barefoot."

"Yes." Barefoot indicated the house. "Are you happy with your purchase?"

"We haven't had the chance to see it yet, but the inspector says that it's safe and watertight, apart from the roof. Once that's fixed this place will be all we need. Do you have the necessary papers?"

"Yes. Do you require assistance with a mortgage?"

"We don't need one. Do you have the bank account details, so I can transfer the cash over?"

"Do you want me to transfer my half over now?" Scott asked.

"No rush. That can wait until we've discovered how much the repairs are going to cost."

Their casual exchange about huge sums of money, for a property as yet uninspected, from such young men, had the agent slightly gobsmacked. Especially when he fired up his own phone and saw an extraordinary number of zeros after his firm's bank balance. "Erm… Here are the ownership papers."

"Thanks." John swiftly completed the transaction. "Know any good gardeners?"

"Ah... For this property?"

"Yes. From what we've seen of it, it needs some work."

"Maybe some of the refugees would like the job, John?" Alan suggested. "It'll give them an income and something to do until they can go home."

John nodded. "Good idea." He accepted a large ring of keys.

The Tracys thanked the rather bemused agent, saw him to his car, and waved him off the property.

John rubbed his hands together. "Let's explore."

"You guys can check out the buildings," Scott told him. "I'm going to check the grounds." Without waiting for approval or a general comment, he turned and walked away.

His brothers watched him go.

"I'd know that expression anywhere," Alan noted. "He's planning something, isn't he?"

"Looks like it." Gordon turned to his elder brother. "Where's this pool, John?"

"According to Lisa, it's by the motel units. Do you fellas want to check them out…" John gave Gordon most of the keys, keeping one for himself, "while I take a look at the house?"

They went their separate ways…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_3:33 p.m._

Hours earlier, soon after Virgil had been calmed down, Colin Eden had arrived in the room, had a quiet conversation with the duty nurse, and then had approached the worried father. "How are you, Jeff?"

"Me?" Jeff had run his fingers through his hair. "I feel like a gopher who's been running for his life and is now trapped down a hole with a coyote at one entrance and a rattler at the other. I'm exhausted and I don't know where to turn to next."

"What happened?"

"He told me something was squashing his foot. I made the mistake of telling him why that wasn't possible."

Colin had made no comment about the other man's actions. "Is that the reaction you would have expected?"

Jeff had considered the question. "No… But then how can you know how anyone would react to being told that they'd lost both feet?" He had given a helpless shrug. "Thank heavens I didn't mention his hand."

Once again, no comment was made. "The medication that Virgil has been on has been the bare minimum required to maintain the patient's quality of life."

Jeff had been aware of this from the first time he'd seen Virgil in the hospital. "Because you don't have the staff available to give your patients more than a basic examination, and you've had to ration your medical supplies."

"That's correct. Now that things are starting to settle down, and Bearston General has been able to transfer some of our less serious patients to other medical establishments, we are going to revise Virgil's treatment. The pain relief that he's been receiving has been, in my opinion, inappropriate for his condition…"

Surprised to hear this admission from the hospital's own head administrator, Jeff had stared at him.

Colin Eden had continued speaking as if he hadn't just offered one of the wealthiest men in the world grounds to sue his hospital for every penny and more. "…and so, we've now decided on a new course of treatment. One which will allow Virgil to, hopefully, improve, so that he will be strong enough to survive the operation when your surgical team is ready to proceed. I have spoken with the nurse on duty and we've confirmed which medication we are going to use. It should dull the pain and prevent further injuries, without causing the confusion that you've just experienced. This will have a similar effect to an epidural in that it will block all signals below a certain point on Virgil's torso. Obviously, in Virgil's case, we are unable to use a true epidural, but the alternative will work as well, with a few conditions…"

Jeff had felt a twinge of alarm. "Conditions?"

"We will have to be careful where we administer this anaesthetic to ensure we do not compromise any organs in the thoracic area, but I am confident that the new treatment will be administered correctly and will make Virgil unaware of any pain, phantom or otherwise, while keeping him clear-headed and able to make intelligent decisions on his own…"

Since then, all those hours ago, Jeff had been sitting at his son's side and the patient had shown no sign of awakening from his sleep.

…_Able to make intelligent decisions on his own…_

How could anyone do that when they'd been as good as unconscious for hours?

All Jeff could do was wait. Wait and hope that his son would awaken as clear-headed as Colin Eden had promised…

And awaken soon.

Except that this time, Jeff vowed, he wasn't going to say anything to Virgil about his condition.

The door opened and, glad for a change from the tedium of waiting, Jeff glanced across to see who'd entered.

A couple, looking frightened by the scene that was confronting them, slipped inside and stopped to get their bearings.

There was an exclamation of surprise, a scurry of feet on the vinyl floor, and Freddy left his post at his sister's bedside. There he'd been living up to his reputation of being a motormouth and had been dutifully talking to Angela about anything and everything. Now he ran across the room to the couple, wrapping them in a tight, tearful embrace. They, Jeff noted, clung to him just as tightly and shed just as many tears of relief.

Embarrassed at experiencing the raw emotion of such a private moment, Jeff diverted his gaze back to his sleeping son.

"Mr Tracy?"

Jeff looked back up.

Freddy, his eyes red, but his smile huge, was standing there with his arms about the couple at his sides. "These are my parents, Mr Tracy."

Jeff stood, shuffled a couple of steps along so he was closer to the Eagles, and extended his hand in greeting. "Always a pleasure to meet the family of one of one of my valued employees."

Freddy looked embarrassed.

"You…" Billy Eagles started speaking, but his voice shook, and he stopped. He tried again. "You brought my family together, Mr Tracy."

"How can we thank you?" Amelia had a hold of Jeff's hand as if he were some kind of deity who'd granted her their greatest wish.

Jeff gave an _it was nothing_ shrug and retrieved his hand. "Your kids needed you and, if you're anything like me…" he saw two pairs of eyes dart towards the still figure before him, "you needed to be with them."

"You should tell Angela that you're here," Freddy told his parents. "You need to talk to her." He gently steered his mother and father towards what Jeff was sure was their greatest nightmare.

He tried not to listen as the despairing parents implored their daughter to wake up. That had been him only a short time ago.

"Mr Tracy?"

Hearing Freddy's voice, Jeff looked around.

"Thank you, Mr Tracy. Thank you for bringing my folks here."

"Families should be together at a time like this."

"Yes, but…" Freddy looked at Virgil. "You had enough to think about without worrying about us."

"I can understand what you and your parents have been going through. And if I can help in some small way," Jeff shrugged again, "then I should… And I'm happy to."

"Thank you, Mr Tracy," Freddy repeated.

Billy Eagles approached his son. "There isn't enough room in here for all of us. Why don't you show me where you've been staying?"

And Jeff received two more heartfelt thank yous before the Eagles left the room.

He settled down to wait again.

_To be continued…_


	26. Chapter 26

_11:16 a.m._

John hadn't been displeased with what he saw. Yes, the house needed some work, and there was some definite damage to the attic brought about by the leaking roof, but it was serviceable and more importantly had room enough for the whole family whilst being close to the hospital.

He refused to consider that there could be any chance that the family wouldn't have a use for it.

"John!"

The upstairs rooms circled a central void that fell away into the main living area three stories below, and John went to the balcony and looked down. "Up here, Scott!" He wiggled the balcony's railing to check its stability. "This place is in better shape than I thought."

His brother ascended the stairs at a gentle jog.

Grinning, John opened his arms wide, encompassing the entire building. "Well? What do you think of our investment?"

Instead of commenting, or even looking, Scott leant his back on the balustrade, folded his arms, and looked into the middle distance. He appeared to have something major on his mind. "Did you know this place has tennis courts?"

Bemused by this brother's opening gambit, John stared at him. "Yes. They were advertised as being part of the property. Like most of this place, I haven't seen them yet."

"They're way down the far end of the grounds. The area around them is overgrown. It's good and private. No neighbours."

"Is it?"

"How would you feel if I didn't pay anything towards this place?"

"Surprised," was John's honest answer. "Why? Don't you like it?"

"I'm thinking of making another purchase that'll cost even more." Scott finally looked at John. "We could always go halves on both…"

"What is it?"

Scott detailed his plan.

A plan that had John grinning. "Scott, I'd be more than happy to go halves in your purchase. And you know full well that once you've told Gordon and Alan, we'll only be stung for a quarter. They'll jump at the chance to help."

"They've got to pay for the catering."

"That's nothing. Tell Dad and he'd pay for everything."

Scott shook his head. "He's not paying anything. Let him focus on Virgil and the hospital."

"Agreed. That's why he's not part-owning this place… So, what do you want to do? Still go halves on the property?"

Scott grinned. "Yeah, okay… You'd better show me around."

"And you can decide which room's yours. I think Dad, Grandma, and Kyrano should have the ground floor rooms. That'll leave one spare for Virgil. The rest of us will have the middle floor. Penny and Parker can stay in two of the top floor rooms. That'll give them a degree of privacy from the rest of us… but I think we'll have to install an elevator."

"And the attic?"

"Needs work. But once the roof's repaired and the rotten boards are replaced, this place will be watertight."

Once John had finished the grand tour of the main house, and they'd both made notes of what repairs would need to be made and furnishings supplied, the two brothers exited the back door, spying Alan about to lock up motel unit three.

"Alan!" John called. "Wait!"

"Why? What's up?"

"Nothing. We just want to see what they're like."

Alan stepped aside so the co-owners could check out their acquisition. "They're nothing special, but they're liveable."

"They'll need beds and other furnishings before they'll be liveable," John reminded his kid brother.

Alan flicked a light switch. Nothing happened. "And the water and power turned on."

"I've got that in hand."

Gordon stuck his head in the door. "Is this where you guys are? What's the house like?"

"It'll do." John inspected one of the bedrooms. "It's big enough so we'll each have a room to ourselves, and Virgil can have one when he becomes an outpatient."

His brothers didn't comment on his optimism.

"What are the other units like, Alan?"

"Pretty much in the same condition as this one, except that units one and nine have two separate bedrooms, five and six have one room, and the others are open plan… Who are you planning on letting stay here?"

"ACE. We all know how long it's likely to be before they can safely return to their homes." John shrugged. "And Virgil would want to know that his friends are being looked after… What's back here?" Leaving the unit, he started walking towards the recreation area. "How's the pool?"

"It will need to be cleaned and a new filter before it's refilled," Gordon told him. "And we'll have to mend the fence around it before that happens. It's got holes big enough for Ginny to climb through. I'll take care of paying for all that."

The brothers surveyed the hole in the ground, before John turned to Scott. "Where're the tennis courts?"

"Back here."

"I think we're going to need a machete."

As the four brothers approached the weed-infested area behind the motel units the youngest turned to the eldest. "Have you got your plan worked out?" Alan asked. "Whatever it is."

"Almost," Scott replied and infuriated his youngest brothers by not offering any more information. "Why don't we get Uncle Hamish to coordinate the refurbishment?"

"Good idea," Gordon approved. "He'd appreciate having something practical to do."

"Yeah," Alan nodded. "Especially if it's helping Dad and ACE."

"Except…" John hesitated.

Scott stared at him. "_Except_? What?"

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this."

"You've got to now," Gordon informed him. "We won't give you any peace otherwise."

"Okay. No one, including Dad and Grandma, wanted to tell us because they all thought that we had enough to worry about, but Uncle Hamish had a nervous breakdown the night they arrived here."

John's announcement caused consternation amongst his brothers.

"He did what!?" Alan exclaimed. "Uncle Hamish have a nervous breakdown?! No way!"

"I wouldn't have believed it either, but it's true. Lisa assumed that I knew and told me, and I confirmed it with Dad. Apparently, Uncle Hamish has got an allergy to the pain relief they gave him for his injured arm and a breakdown is one of the side-effects of the drug. It's happened before."

"That kind of rings a bell," Scott admitted. "I think I remember hearing something about it when I was a kid, before I was shooed away because it was 'grown up' talk. I think someone said something about that's why he wasn't selected for the astronaut programme."

"Lisa said that Mavis Harrison looked after him, because she was a nurse, while Grandma, Lisa and some of the other ladies kept Auntie Edna company. She also said that Dad tried to settle him."

"You mean Dad and Grandma had to deal with all that as well as…" Gordon made a swooping gesture with his arms. "…everything else?!"

"Yep. It was when we thought Virgil had died."

"I can't imagine Uncle Hamish having a nervous breakdown," Alan admitted. "He's always been like Dad: staunch."

John shrugged. "I guess even the strongest of us has their weakness."

"But it's been nearly," Gordon checked his watch, "48 hours since he would have had that medication. He might have recovered by now. He didn't look too bad when we saw him last night. Just a little dishevelled."

"And embarrassed," Alan added. "A job like this would probably help to reinstate his self-esteem."

"You could be right," John agreed. "Unless he's not feeling better. Then he might feel that he has to do something out of loyalty to us and slow his recovery."

Scott pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll phone Auntie Edna and ask her opinion. If she's happy for us to ask him, then you can give him a call, John."

"You may as well ask him. I don't have a phone, remember."

Alan snickered. "Are you getting communication withdrawal?"

"Yes. How about giving me your phone to help me recover?"

Scott, having pressed the speed dial on his phone, was ignoring the byplay between his brothers. "Auntie Edna! Hi. It's Scott… Just a minute, I'll put this onto speakerphone, so the guys can hear you too."

"_Hello, Boys. How are you all?"_

"We're okay. We haven't heard any more about Virg since Dad told us that he'd woken up, so we're taking that as a good sign."

"_I'm so glad. We've been so worried about him… Now, what can I do for you?"_

"Is Uncle Hamish within earshot?"

"_No. He's having a cup of coffee with Greg Harrison."_

"Auntie Edna…"

"_Now, Scott, you're all adults, and it's not like I'm your real Auntie. Isn't it time you started to call me just plain Edna?"_

"You're not just a _plain_ Edna," Gordon told her. "You're a _special_ Edna."

There was a girlish giggle. _"Thank you, Gordon."_

"It's a habit of a lifetime that's going to be hard to break," Scott told his friend. "Uncle Ha…" He grimaced when he heard a laugh from the phone. "See what I mean? He tried to get me to stop calling him 'Uncle' a couple of days ago and I still can't help myself."

"_It doesn't matter … Now, sorry, what were you going to say?"_

Scott glanced at John. "We've only just found out about Unc… His breakdown. How is he?"

"_He's all right. You don't need to worry about him."_

"Are you sure? We want to ask him a favour, but we won't if you think he's not ready for it."

"_That's sweet of you to ask me first. Don't you worry about Hamish, Scott, he's as tough as they come."_

"I know. That's why the news is such a shock. Do you think he'd mind if we asked him to help? It'll help ACE too."

"_I'm sure he'd love it."_

"Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" Alan checked.

"_I wouldn't mind at all, Alan,"_ Edna laughed. _"It would stop him from moping about here getting under my feet… I can hear him coming. Do you want to talk to him now?"_

"Sounds good." Scott handed the phone to John.

Who waited until the muffled conversation in the background ceased and a strong, clear, masculine voice came on the line. _"Hello."_

Relieved at how well their honorary uncle was sounding, the four Tracys offered their combined greetings to him.

"_How's Virgil?"_

"We haven't had any news for a while," John told Hamish, "but the last we heard was that he was conscious. Dad's sitting with him."

"How's your Dad holding up?"

"You know what he's like. He likes to pretend that he's as tough as old boots… Like someone else we could mention. How are you?"

"_I'm fine. Aside from a sore shoulder and having to put up with Edna fussing over me, nothing's wrong with me."_

"_Hamish!"_

John chuckled. "That's good, Uncle Hamish, because we've got a favour to ask you."

"_You can start by stop calling me 'Uncle'… All of you." _

"We've just had that discussion with Aunt…" John rolled his eyes. "With Edna… It's not going to be easy."

He heard Hamish laugh. _"What can I do for you boys?"_

"Stop calling us 'boys'?" Alan whispered to Gordon, who chuckled.

John ignored the whisper. "Scott and I have bought a property about 150 metres west of the hospital gates. It used to be a hostel and motel units and we thought that our family could use the hostel, since we're used to putting up with each other. That would leave the motel units free for refugees to use, especially those from ACE. It'll give everyone their own living area with solid walls and full facilities, while keeping you all together until things settle down enough for you to go home."

"_How long do you think we'll be staying here?"_

"We can't answer that. Based on past experience it could be hours or months."

If Hamish was disappointed by the ambiguity of the answer, he didn't show it. _"This is a wonderfully generous offer of yours, John, and you'll make a lot of people very happy. What can I do to help?"_

"The units need some refurbishing. New beds, linen, that kind of thing. We don't want to stray too far from the hospital, so we wondered if you would like to coordinate that. You could take Aun… Edna for a little retail therapy. We'd pay for everything, of course."

"_I'd offer to help, but I don't have any of my cards with me."_

"You've already done enough for us. We'll take care of this."

"_That doesn't seem fair."_

"You'll make Virgil happy knowing that his friends and former co-workers are being looked after. That's enough."

_"All right…"_ But Hamish still seemed reluctant. _"When can we visit the place, so we can get an idea what's needed?"_

"We're here now. Do you feel like a short walk?"

"_It'd be good to get out of this motorhome. We'll meet you in… say… Ten minutes?"_

"Sounds good. Turn left out of the hospital gates, and it's the property with the 'Sold' sign over the 'For sale' notice on the other side of the road. We'll meet you behind the main house."

"_See you soon."_

John handed the phone back to Scott. "Right, so we've got ten minutes. Show us the tennis courts."

Scott led the way through some dense undergrowth which opened into a large open expanse. "Should be big enough."

Gordon peeled away a bit of greenery that had adhered itself to his sleeve. "Big enough for what?"

"A TA-Odonata."

"A _what_?"

After ten minutes; a discussion where Alan and Gordon both demanded that to keep it fair they all pay a quarter of every expense associated with this disaster; and an agreement that everyone would repay Scott for the Odonata later, the four brothers were back in the courtyard bordered by the motel units. They heard footsteps coming down the driveway and were relieved to see that Hamish Mickelson, although still wearing a sling and dishevelled like his wife, was striding out unaided.

"First thing you guys are going to buy are some new clothes for yourselves," John told them.

"Only if you let us pay you back when we can access our bank accounts," Edna scolded.

"Deal." John gave her a kiss on the cheek. "And that seals it."

"Right," Hamish rubbed his hands together. "What do you need?"

"Let's see…" John led the way into the first unit. Not expecting a result, he flicked a switch. The light illuminated. "Hey! The power's on. That's good service."

"The power of the Tracy name," Alan guessed. He went through to the kitchen area and turned the tap. There was a gurgle, the tap coughed, and brown liquid flowed free. "Looks like the water's been reconnected too." He waited until the water flowed clear before turning the tap off.

"Guess we'll have to do that with every facet," Gordon said from the bathroom. He turned the taps over the hand basin and in the shower. "Yep."

Edna made a face at the brown liquid staining the shower tray. "The whole place is going to need to be cleaned."

"We'll get someone in to do that," John told her.

"You'll do no such thing! If ACE is going to stay here, the least ACE can do is make sure it's liveable!" Edna saw John about to protest. "It's not like we have anything else to do." She borrowed his tablet computer and made the first entry on the shopping list. "Cleaning products."

"Vacuum cleaners," her husband added.

"A couple of communal ones will do." Edna cast an experienced eye around the room. "Towels… Soap…" She returned to the main room. "Dishwashing… Linen… Beds… How many will we need, Hamish?"

"Let's see. The Harrisons, Winston, Rex and Alicia, Bruce, Olivia, the Crumps…"

"What about Butch's father? Is he staying?"

"Lisa doesn't seem too keen on the idea. Especially in the same location as Ginny."

"We can't just toss him out into the street."

"Why can't he have one of the other units?" Alan suggested.

"He's a member of the Skulz," Hamish told him. "We don't want any of his cronies turning up and causing problems."

Alan goggled at him. "You mean he's one of the guys who got Virgil and Bruce beaten up at the Crumps' party?"

"From what Lisa told me, I think he was invited to the party and he tried to turn the rest of the gang away." Hamish shrugged. "You know how successful that was."

"He hasn't caused any trouble so far," Edna added. "I think he's grateful for a warm place to stay and some food in his stomach. He's getting past the age for sleeping rough." She turned to the Tracys. "They found him sleeping outside when they were inspecting this place."

"Okay," John said uneasily. "We'll let him have one of the units, for Butch's sake."

Edna was doing a quick tally. "And we've also got to get beds for Max and his family if they arrive, and Freddy and his parents… Do you want us to get enough furnishings for the house as well?"

"Yes, please…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_4:18 p.m._

The figure on the bed stirred.

"Virgil?"

Groggy, Virgil cracked open his eyes. "Fa'er?" He blinked against the bright lights.

"Hi…" Jeff smiled into those brown eyes.

"I' 'live?"

Jeff experienced a sense of déjà vu. "Yes, Virgil, you're alive."

"An' th' guy'?"

"All well. They're waiting to hear that you're getting better…"

But Virgil's grogginess had overtaken him, and he'd fallen asleep again

The next time he awoke, he frowned and then repeated his question. "How'r th' guy'?"

"They're fine."

"Gwan'ma?"

"You know your grandma. Nothing stops her."

"Wh'r…" Virgil looked around him. "Hos'tal?"

"Yes. Bearston General."

Virgil had dozed off again.

He awoke again ten minutes later.

Careful not to disrupt any of the lines draining into the only healthy limb, Jeff picked up his son's hand. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

Virgil frowned as he thought. "ACE?"

"That's right."

The frown deepened a few millimetres. "Furn'ce 'n…" Virgil slept.

When he awoke, he carried on speaking as if there hadn't been a break in communications.

As the evening wore on, Jeff came to realise that Virgil, still not totally in touch with his surroundings, was unaware of his short naps. Their stilted dialogue, coupled with his son's slurred and indistinct speech, made Virgil's train of thought sometimes hard to follow. After a while his father found that the only way that he could keep track of their conversation was to concentrate hard and write down the last words uttered.

But as far as Virgil was aware their exchange was as seamless as it would have been days earlier. "…b'm cwush'd me."

"Yes."

"Ho'."

"Yes."

Virgil was silent for a time and Jeff wasn't sure if he was asleep or awake. "M' firs' day a' ACE," he suddenly announced. And his father would have sworn that he saw an attempt at a wink.

Immediately feeling happier, Jeff smiled.

"_I still one…?_" Virgil's eyelids drooped.

_5:03_

"…_piece?_" he asked,"_Can't feel legs._"

"That's because you've been given pain relief. It's blocking all signals from here down." Jeff indicated his own lower ribcage.

Moving his head slightly, Virgil looked down his supine body. He saw the sheet-covered frame. Then he looked to his left. Cautiously he raised the arm, grimacing as he did so.

"Don't," Jeff warned. "You don't want to hurt yourself."

Exhausted by that one simple move, only millimetres off the bed, Virgil allowed his arm to rest and he fell asleep.

And Jeff waited.

_5:11_

Virgil awoke, regarded his bandaged hand again, and then looked across at his father. "_International Rescue __amputate?_"

Jeff hesitated. "No."

But Virgil had noticed the hesitation. "_Did something? What?_"

"They saved your life, Virgil."

Jeff felt his son's fingers tighten about his own, and figured Virgil was testing them out. "This one works just fine."

Virgil looked back, once again just managing to raise his bandaged arm off the bed.

_5:20_

"_This one doesn't?_"

"No. That one's been injured."

"_Did they operate?_"

"Yes. They had to operate."

"_Do what?_"

"To…" Jeff couldn't bring himself to give a full answer. "To save your life. That's what matters."

_5:33_

After another quick unacknowledged doze, Virgil realised that his father was unwilling to answer his pressing question. "_The gu… International Rescue almost had to amputate to free me._"

Jeff responded with a heartfelt: "Thank heavens they didn't have to."

"_So, I know it's not…_"

_5:37_

"…_okay... Doctors did something to it?_"

"Yes…"

"_What?_"

"Virgil… They did what they had to do to save your life."

"_Not gonna be same as was?_"

Jeff hesitated again. "No… I'm sorry."

_5:45_

"_Nerve damage?_"

"Ah… We don't know yet. The doctors haven't had the opportunity to give you a full examination."

"_What they did… Permanent?_"

Virgil saw his father's reluctant nod.

_5:51_

"_What__?_"

"Virgil…"

"_Tell me. I'll find out sometime._"

Jeff, remembering the last time Virgil was given a variant of this news, didn't want to ever tell his son. He thought neither of them would want to go through that again.

"F'th'r?"

"Will…" Virgil's falling asleep, yet again, did nothing to ease Jeff's mind. The nap was only delaying the inevitable.

_5:56_

Virgil's brown eyes seemed to bore into him, and Jeff took a deep breath. "Will you promise me that you'll try to keep calm? Remember that this was done to save your life."

He saw his son's expression tighten. "_I understand._"

Jeff, his right hand holding Virgil's good hand tightly and his left resting on his son's shoulder, ready to resist the slightest movement, finally told him the worst. "They had to amputate two of your fingers."

As had happened last time, his son's eyes widened. But unlike last time, there was no self-destructive reaction. "_Which two?_" Virgil felt his father's grip tighten a fraction as he waited for the answer.

"Your thumb and forefinger."

_6:06_

Virgil looked across to the disfigured hand.

This time Jeff didn't see anguish and despair, but acceptance and a touch of sadness. "I'm sorry, Virgil. We delayed it for as long as we could in the hopes that Brains could come up with an alternative, but when it came to either losing your fingers or your life; and please forgive me if this seems selfish; your life was more important to me."

Virgil let go of his father's hand and raised his good arm, Jeff supporting it so he wouldn't disengage the multitude of IVs that drained into it. He wriggled his fingers as if checking that they were still attached and working as they should, and then folded the little, ring and middle fingers in as if reminding himself that their opposite number were still useful digits. Then he managed a small smile. "_At least I can still play the melody._" He claimed the security of his father's grasp again. "_Guess I'm going to have to start writing…_"

_6:20_

"…_some pieces for eight fingers._"

Jeff managed to relax…

A little…

Virgil regarded the frame that hid his lower torso. "_What about down there?_"

"You know how big the earthquake was. The doctors have been flat out trying to treat everyone. They haven't had the opportunity to fully evaluate you."

"_They had time to amputate my…_"

_6:28_

"…_fingers. What else did they do?_"

A little buoyed by his son's calm reaction to what he'd assumed would be the more devastating news, Jeff felt confident in telling him the rest. "You must realise how seriously you were injured..."

"_Yes..._"

"They had no choice. Gangrene had set in. They had to amputate your legs."

Virgil swallowed. "_How much?_"

"The right above the knee."

"_The left?_"

"It's…" Jeff's newly formed confidence hadn't lasted long. "It's no longer there, Virgil…"

In an attempt to come to terms with the news, Virgil closed his eyes.

"The good news," Jeff burbled, trying to sound bright and cheerful, "is that Brains has found a treatment that may possibly help the rest of you make a full recovery. We'll find out in…" he checked his watch… "about four hours?"

He wasn't sure if he'd been heard. Virgil was asleep again.

_6:47_

Virgil regarded his father. "_You look tired._"

Jeff suppressed a yawn. "I'm okay," he lied.

"_How long you been there?_"

"This time…?" Jeff looked at his watch. "Twelve… Fourteen hours?"

"_Get rest._"

"I'm all right," Jeff growled.

But it was Virgil who'd fallen asleep.

-F-A-B-

"Brains…" Tin-Tin, with nothing better to do than sit on the hard, wooden stool checking the weather forecast on her phone, saw the three men hunched over the computer look up. "I've been thinking."

If she'd been addressing one of the Tracys she might have expected a humorous: "That's dangerous." Instead he just stared at her with a quizzical expression.

"The cyclone's moved on and has almost dissipated," she told him. "We can start making a move for the airport."

A frown creased his forehead. "We?"

"Yes. I think you should come with me. I'm sure Bearston have surgeons capable of looking after Virgil, but someone should be on hand to watch over the robot. And as the visas _still_ haven't been authorised, that only leaves you capable of being on hand in case something goes wrong."

"J-John would be capable."

"He would. But I doubt that he would want to watch his own brother being operated on."

Brains considered what she said, then he looked at his two associates. "What do you think?"

Bryce pursed his lips. "I would be happier having someone, ah, on the ground, as it were."

"I think you should go, Brains," Timoti told him. "Don't forget this is still an experimental procedure."

"And the Tracys would be happier knowing that you're there to keep an eye on things," Tin-Tin reminded her friend. She slipped off her stool. "Are you coming?"

"You're right, Tin-Tin," Brains admitted. "W-When do you want to leave?"

She looked at the time on her phone. "If we leave now, we will have time to collect my father on the way, and you will be there before the operation is due to start."

"All right," Brains nodded. "But first…" He got out his cell phone…

-F-A-B-

_4:18 p.m._

The Tracy boys, having been back to the hospital to spend the afternoon awaiting further, hopefully positive, news, returned to the hostel to show off their newly acquired home to their grandmother. The first stop was to present her with her bedroom, which Edna Mickelson had ensured would be furnished in pastel shades designed to please her friend, and with a bed guaranteed to give a good night's sleep.

The next port of call was the kitchen with its gleaming pots and pans and freshly installed appliances.

"Oh!" Grandma clapped her hands together in delight. "This is wonderful! A home away from home!" She hugged Scott, who'd had a beaming grin on his face almost since they'd stepped foot onto the property. "This is wonderful!" she repeated.

"I'm glad you think so."

"Edna!" Grandma released her eldest grandson and rushed over to give her friend a grateful hug. "This looks wonderful!" She took a step back and admired the new dress. "And so do you."

"I feel much better now that I've been able to shower and change," Edna admitted. "Any news on Virgil?"

"He's getting stronger," Scott told her. "Brains is hoping to start the operation tonight."

"Good." Edna gave a satisfied nod. "We haven't finished tidying up in here yet, but we thought you'd be staying in the motorhomes until Virgil's through his operation. And we thought you'd want some input into what we buy, but we have your beds due any time…" She took a step towards the back door. "There are some people out here who want to say thank you to you boys."

Outside, the motel units looked much the same as they did before, with the garden just as weed infested as when they'd left.

They barely had time to take this in before, with a "John!" the Tracy in question was nearly flattened.

"Thank you!" Lisa Crump exclaimed, almost crushing him with an embrace that made him wonder if she wasn't Butch in disguise. "For the rooms, and the clothes, and the showers, and…" She smelled clean and when she took a step back, and he could see she was wearing new jeans and a blouse. "We can't thank you enough."

"Yeah. Thanks, pal." And John discovered just how powerful her husband was when he received what was supposed to be a friendly thump on the shoulder.

"Virgil would want everyone to be comfortable," John told them, thinking that his shoulder had no chance of ever being comfortable again. "And it's thanks to you that we've found a place that has the room to accommodate everyone."

Gordon felt something wrap around his leg.

"I gotta new dolly," Ginny told him as he picked her up and sat her on his hip.

"Have you? Pretty dolly?"

Ginny gave a head nod.

"What colour is her hair?"

"Black."

"Aw..." Gordon pretended to be disappointed. "Not red?"

Ginny shook her head. "Where 'ncle Virgil?"

"He's still not feeling very well, but he's talking to Uncle Jeff."

"If we can do anything about the place," Bruce was saying, as he shook Scott's hand, "you guys just need to ask. It'll give us something do and let us pay you back in some small way."

"Just do what you need to do to be comfortable," Scott told him. "And leave the tennis courts as they are. We have plans for them."

"You do?"

"Yep." And Bruce was treated to a beaming wink.

"You've done your father proud," Greg told Alan. "How is he?"

"Happier now that he knows that Virgil's got a chance."

"Aren't we all," and Alan received a more restrained thump of his own. "And thanks for the replacement glasses. You've no idea what it's like to not be looking at the world and seeing double."

Winston and Rex were as delighted by their new accommodation as the rest of the group; Winston hugging each of the Tracys, including Grandma, and Rex offering them all a more restrained handshake.

"This is heaven, _heaven!_" Winston gushed. "Decorating this room has given me all sorts of ideas for home… Once we're allowed back."

"Freddy would be here too," Rex added, "except that he and his parents don't want to leave Angela."

"We can understand that," Gordon sympathised. Ginny squirmed, and he put her down.

Rex's Auntie Alicia gave a guilty smile. "They're going to stay in the motorhome, but we're keeping a room for them so that they can shower when they need it and will have a place to stay when Angela's stable enough for them to leave her. We hope you don't mind."

"That's not a problem," John told her. "We've got some idea what they're going through."

The newest member of the group took a self-conscious step forward.

Mr Crump senior had made as much of an attempt to clean himself up as the rest of the group had at cleaning their new accommodation. So much so that his left cheek looked as if it had been scrubbed raw in an attempt to remove the tell-tale tattoo. "I… erm… 'preciate tha' ya'll givin' me a room," he admitted. "But I ain't tellin' the Skulz where I is. Don' wan' them 'round 'ere… Spoilin' things."

"Thank you, Sir," Scott acknowledged. "We appreciate that."

Crump senior looked astonished that someone would call him "Sir".

"Where's Mr Watts?" Alan asked.

"At the refugee centre, trying to locate his family." Hamish Mickelson looked more like his old self. He was still wearing a sling, but his shirt and trousers were spotless, his hair combed, and his shoes well buffed. "He'll spend the night with Edna and me and we'll get his room ready, hopefully for his whole family, tomorrow."

"I hope he finds them," Grandma said. "I can't imagine what it's like having no information about those you care about."

Hamish cleared his throat. "John…" he began. "A little birdie told us that this enterprise was your idea… and that you've recently lost something important to you…"

John glanced at Scott, who was grinning like a lunatic.

"And, with a bit of assistance from the aforementioned birdie, who will be repaid, we've got you something to say thank you."

Ginny was given a brightly coloured parcel by Lisa and pushed in John's direction. She held it out shyly. "This for you," she told him.

Smiling, he crouched down to her level. "Thank you, Ginny," he said, taking the parcel from her. He opened his arms. "Do I get a hug too?"

To the accompaniment of adult laughter, Ginny ran back to her mother.

Gordon sniggered. "He has that effect on every girl he meets."

John ignored him. "Thank you… Actually, some of the credit goes to Virgil. When Gordon had just had his accident and we didn't know if he was ever going to wake up, Dad insisted that Virgil, Alan, and I go back to work. He knew that Gordon wouldn't have wanted us to give up… Especially Alan…"

"He'd got that right," Gordon grumbled.

"But that meant that everyone else was trapped in Gordon's hospital room with little stimulation and a heck of a lot of worry. Because Virgil visited only at the weekends, he could see how the stress was affecting the family and he knew that sooner or later something catastrophic was likely to happen. But, because he was diligently working at ACE," John grinned at the company's General Manager, "he didn't have the time to come up with a solution. So, he asked me if I could think of something, since I was spending more time at the hospital than he was able to. If it hadn't been for that, I would never have taken the time to think about what we Tracys need. Which, I decided…" He threw out his arms "…was huge expanses of space!" He looked over his shoulder at the monstrous building looming over them. "Though I may have over-catered this time."

Everyone chuckled.

"If Virgil hadn't been awake to what was happening to us all, we may not have come through the last calamity as well as we did. Ultimately it's thanks to him that we've all still got our marbles and everyone here's got running water and a solid roof over our heads."

"In that case," Gordon told him, "give your present to him."

"Ignore Gordon," their grandmother instructed, "and open your present, John."

Obeying his grandmother's wishes, John unwrapped the present. The paper fell away to reveal a late model cell phone, similar to the one he'd damaged. "Primo!" he exclaimed, sure that he was beaming as much as Scott had been the last few minutes, he held up the phone, so his family could see. "Now I don't have to borrow the birdie's phone anymore." He slipped his old phone's card into the new model and quickly set it up.

Everyone was surprised when, almost as soon as he'd finished, the phone played a tune, announcing an incoming call. "Excuse me," he apologised and moved away. "What can I do for you, Brains?"

Upon hearing the name, his family turned to listen; the rest of the group remaining quiet in respectful silence.

"Uh, huh… I broke my phone and I haven't had the opportunity to get a new one until now…" He winked at his listeners. "I've been borrowing Scott's, so I can check my messages… Sounds like a good model… Delivered to the hospital…? In that case I'd better head back over there… Yes, we were just checking out our new accommodation… We'll make sure your room's ready for afterwards… We appreciate this, Brains… See you soon… Give our best, and Alan's love, to Tin-Tin…"

Alan turned scarlet.

"Bye…" John hung up the phone, turning back to the group. "The researchers' visas still haven't been granted, so Brains and Tin-Tin are going to fly out now so that he can oversee Virgil's operation. Because he wasn't able to get hold of me, he's ordered a videophone, but he wants me to set it up in Virgil's room, so he can explain to him what's going to happen."

"What if Virgil doesn't agree to it?" Alan shoved his hands into his pockets. "We've gone through all this planning and preparation and we haven't told Virgil anything about it or asked his permission. We've just assumed that he's going to be okay with it. What if he says no?"

"He'll approve," Scott reassured him. "He won't give up."

"He hasn't so far," John grinned. "If you need me, you can get me on the phone." Giving everyone a wave, he turned and jogged back down the driveway.

_To be continued..._


	27. Chapter 27

_7.03 p.m._

His new phone secure in his pocket, and Brains' recently acquired videophone in his hands, John approached the hospital room's door. Last time he'd seen his brother it had been to say goodbye. This time…

A broad grin on his face, he pushed the door open.

The first bed held a stranger, the second a woman, and he bypassed both of them to get to the bed at the far side of the room. There he found his father squashed into the seat beside the bed, holding Virgil's hand. "Hi," he whispered.

Jeff looked around and, despite his exhaustion, smiled. "Why are you here?"

John patted the box he was carrying. "Brains wants me to install this so that he can explain to Virgil what's going to happen."

"Good. He'll do a better job than I could."

"H', Joh'."

"Virgil!" Jeff saw his elder son's face light up. "That's the best music I've heard from you in ages."

If Virgil had been more awake, he might have responded with: "that's the only music you're going to get for a long time." Instead he tried to reach out to his brother.

"I'll get out of the way," Jeff offered. "I need to stretch my legs anyway."

"_Get rest,_" he was told. "_Not going anywhere._"

"Virgil…" Jeff reached down to caress his son's hair. "For a time there, we thought you'd gone for good."

Ignoring Virgil's confused frown, he slid out from beside the bed, stopping next to John. "He frequently falls asleep," he whispered, "but he doesn't realise it. So, don't be surprised if wakes up and keeps talking as if he hadn't stopped."

"Like a delayed radio feed," John responded. "Understood… So, Virgil…" He claimed his dad's seat. "How're you feeling?"

"_Like run over with steamroller._"

John worked the phrase through his mind, reached an understanding, and laughed. "How come it's always a steamroller? They can't have been in use for over a century."

But there was no response. Virgil was asleep.

And John was content to sit and watch him doze.

"_Steamroller?_"

John laughed again. "What is it with you and big machines?" He saw a small smile behind the oxygen mask. "I was just saying that a _steam_roller is an odd choice of vehicle these days."

"_Did the job._"

"Yeah, I guess so. And I'm here to do a job, so I'd better get started."

"_What you do?_"

"What I always do. Open up lines of communication."

Virgil watched as John opened the box and removed the page sized screen contained inside, confused at how his brother seemed to have gained an almost mystical ability to jump from one location and pose to another…

-F-A-B-

Jeff retired to the storeroom, only to discover that it was empty. He considered checking out the most logical places, namely the motorhomes and the catering caravan, and then decided that he didn't have the energy.

He got on the phone. "Where is everyone?"

"Over at John and Scott's new place," his mother told him. "Has John kicked you out while he installs the phone?"

"There's not enough room for more than one there. I'd only be in the way."

"Why don't you come over and see your new bedroom? You can give Hamish some suggestions about what colours and furnishings you want in it."

"No, I'll get something to eat and then head back to Virgil's room."

"Edna or I can make you something much tastier here at the house or her unit."

"I know you can, but I don't want to stray too far."

"Jeff…"

"I'm all right, Mother."

Jeff fancied he heard an exasperated sigh. "When is the operation going to start?"

He checked his watch. "In three hours? If Virgil's strong enough and Brains gets here in time."

"He and Tin-Tin are going to collect Kyrano from Tracy Island and then fly to Barduq. The boys will pick them up from there in a helijet."

Jeff hung up the phone with some misgivings. Even in the fastest craft in his family's aeronautical fleet, a three-hour trip to the U.S., including a detour to Tracy Island and then Barduq, seemed impossible.

It wasn't until he had obtained something from the catering caravan and had fed his sleep-starved brain, that he finally deciphered the full plan.

He grinned.

-F-A-B-

John lined up the camera on the videophone that was attached to the side of the bed by an articulated arm. Then he showed Virgil his new phone. "I broke my old one and ACE bought me this as a replacement to say thanks," he explained.

"_Nice of them._"

"The four of us have bought a place and we're letting them stay there until they can return home…" John noticed that Virgil had dozed off, so he stopped talking until the brown eyes opened again. "I told them it was as much your idea as mine."

"_My idea?_"

"Yes. After Gordon's accident you were the one who warned me I was going to deteriorate like the rest of them if something wasn't done. You're the one who…"

_7:25_

"…made me think about what we were going to need to maintain our sanity."

"_How are Bruce, Butch, and Mr Watts?_"

"I've just left Bruce and Butch at the house. Mr Watts is fine…" John was going to add _but he's worried sick because he hasn't found his family yet,_ and then decided that Virgil had enough to concern him. "You don't need to worry about any of them."

_7:32_

"Did Dad tell you that Butch's father turned up out of the blue?"

"_No."_

"Apparently he was sleeping rough in the house's gardens. Did you know he was one of the Skulz invited to Butch and Lisa's party?"

Virgil managed a raised eyebrow of surprise.

"He says he tried to get the gang to leave, but they didn't listen."

There was a tiny nod. "_Remember that._"

"Virgil…" John had to wait until the brown eyes regained their focus. "We're letting him stay at the house. Have we made a mistake?"

"_What Butch and Lisa say?_"

"I think Butch is pleased to see his dad. Lisa… I don't think she's so happy. And I don't think Ginny knows what to make of him… Oh, well…" John attempted an unconcerned shrug. "If we all get mugged in our beds, at least the hospital's not too far away." He dialled a number on the new videophone and his mobile rang. He accepted the call, regarded the sleeping figure on his phone's screen, and nudged the camera a fraction.

Finally satisfied, he switched his phone off. "I promised Brains that I'd give him a call as soon as this was set up, but I think there's someone else who'd like to talk to you first." He pressed a speed dial number on Virgil's screen…

-F-A-B-

_7:25 p.m._

"I demand to see the manager of this hospital!"

Jeff, having finished his meal in the darkening air outside, recognised the tone of the speaker, if not the voice. Trying not to be obvious about it, he hung about the foyer in case the person was an unwanted, yet expected, visitor.

Somehow, after all that she'd been through over the last two days, the receptionist was still remaining calm and polite to the stiffly-suited man. "Mr Eden is on the way, Sir."

The man made an angry huffing noise, shifted his briefcase to his other hand, and stared at his watch. The hat on his head, as stiff as his suit and his manner, slipped forward a little.

The hospital's manager, when he appeared, wasn't as relaxed about the visitor as the receptionist had been. He did, however, attempt to be polite. "Good evening." He greeted the man with an outstretched hand. "I'm Colin Eden."

"Jonathon Kay. FDA."

"Good to meet you, Mr Kay of the FDA… Ah…" Colin reddened.

Jeff pulled his wallet out of his pocket. His various organisations had dealings with this type of individual before, and this man had all the hallmarks of being one of the more officious officials; from the tip of his hatted head, to the toes of his blindingly shiny shoes.

The visitor gave a handshake that was more perfunctory than cordial. "I am here about a severe breach of FDA regulations."

Bearston General's manager looked sick. "Shall, ah, shall we go to my, erm, my office? To, um, talk?"

Judging by the man from the FDA's expression, Jeff didn't think this talk was going to be to Colin's liking.

He stepped up. "Good evening," he said cordially and with more assurance than Colin had shown. He took the newcomer's hand and shook it, making sure that his grasp was firm and that he'd twisted the grip so his hand was uppermost. He too knew how to play the power game. "My name is Jefferson Tracy…" He held one of his high-powered business cards out to the man from the FDA. At this rate he'd have to get another twenty printed to cover him for the next ten years.

The man from the FDA looked affronted by the intrusion into what he had confidently expected to be a quick, painless (to him), satisfying meeting. He glanced at the card and then took a longer look; little alarm bells going off in his mind.

Attempting to reposition Colin in his position of authority, Jeff turned back to him. "I'm sorry that I've interrupted, Mr Eden. I understand that you were both about to have a meeting in your office. Would it be acceptable if I were to join you?"

He wished that manager hadn't looked at him with such relief and gratitude and wondered, not for the first time, how he'd managed to get such a high-powered job. "Th-Thank you, Je… ah… Mr Tracy. That would be most acceptable."

"I don't think…" Kay began, but stopped when Colin Eden pulled himself together.

"If you gentlemen would follow me…" He led the way down the corridors to his office.

Jeff followed behind, trying to decide on how to walk the delicate line between usurping Colin Eden's power and making sure that the man from the FDA didn't squash the flustered hospital manager. As he walked behind the government employee and watched it wobble, he wondered how comfortable such a stiff and unforgiving (like its owner, he mused) hat was to wear.

Colin shut the door behind his two visitors. "May I take your derby, Mr Kay?"

Kay removed his bowler hat, which, for lack of any place more appropriate, was placed on the large, messy desk. "I am an assessor with the Food and Drug Administration."

"R-Right," Colin stammered. "Please take a seat."

Kay regarded the proffered chair with some distaste, as if it had been contaminated by an infectious disease from the isolation ward. Then he sat down, placing his briefcase parallel with the side of the chair. "We have been informed that an unauthorised operation is scheduled to take place on these premises at some point in the future."

"Oh… Ah… Um…" Colin stammered.

"Yes," Jeff confirmed. "On my son."

Now Kay didn't know which way to look. He decided to resume his attack on Colin Eden, whether because he'd decided that the manager was an easy target, or because he was the person in authority, Jeff wasn't sure. "The FDA has not given its approval for such an operation to proceed."

"No," Jeff agreed, "but I have. And I am my son's next of kin. I also have power of attorney over what happens to him. The only person with the authority to override my authority is my son. And, now that he is conscious and is communicating with us; thanks to the excellent work of the staff of Bearston General, he will be asked if he wishes for this operation to proceed. I confidently expect that, once the procedure has been explained to him, he will give his approval… In writing."

He hoped he was right.

So did Colin Eden. "We had thought that… In light of the unexpected situation we find ourselves… After all a major earthquake has disrupted so many lives… And as this procedure will help so many hurt in the earthquake… and in the future… We hoped that the FDA would overlook the need for such regulations."

"That is not possible. This operation will not be allowed to proceed."

Colin glanced at Jeff. "But…"

"This is an untried, untested procedure," Kay continued, as if the General Manager hadn't spoken and Jeff wasn't there. "There are reasons why the FDA expects years of trials and testing before it allows any new medical process to be used on people."

Jeff decided that it was time he took control. "And there are reasons why this procedure is going to be used to save my son's life and the lives of many others. The main reason being that a catastrophic earthquake has injured those people. There are many processes being circumnavigated because of the disaster and the resultant State of Emergency declaration by the authorities."

Colin, having decided that the best thing he could do was to say nothing and let Jeff handle the situation, nodded frantically.

Kay thought he'd found a weak link in Jeff's argument. "The State of Emergency only exists in the city where the earthquake occurred. There is no State of Emergency in Bearston."

The hospital's general manager found something he could contribute. "Because the local hospitals were unable to cope, part of that State of Emergency has included the transportation of wounded to other urban centres. Bearston General has in effect come under the banner of the official emergency declaration." He just managed to hide a smile of satisfaction at Jeff's approving nod.

Much to both men's regret, it wasn't enough to discourage Kay. "That does not give _any_ hospital, within the main disaster area or, as you claim, acting as an extension of it, to proceed with _any_ procedure that has _not_ been approved by the FDA!"

"Is that your opinion, the FDA's opinion, or legal opinion?" Jeff asked.

Kay spluttered for a moment as he tried to make up his mind. "Legal opinion!"

"Good." Jeff pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Then you won't mind if I ask for a second opinion." He slotted the phone into Eden's desk unit and dialled, making it obvious that he was making use of the speed dial programme.

As he waited for the call to be answered, he checked his watch. "It's late there… He won't be happy that I'm waking him up…"

"_Good evening, Jeff."_

Jeff acknowledged the man on his phone's screen. "Good evening, Carter. I have a little problem I'm sure you would enjoy finding a resolution to."

If "Carter" was annoyed at being woken at an inhuman hour by one of the world's wealthiest men, he gave no sign of it. He smoothed the collar of his silk robe. _"A problem? I am intrigued. Please tell me more."_

"You have heard about the catastrophic earthquake?"

"_I have."_

"One of my sons was injured in it. His injuries are severe enough that, if he does live, his life will be irrevocably changed."

"_I am sorry to hear this, Jeff. How can I help?"_

"My scientific advisors have told me of a medical procedure that will not only save his life, but will give him back much of the life he had before the 'quake. This operation has not been through the regulatory procedures required by the FDA. I'm satisfied that the operation is worth attempting, however the FDA," Jeff indicated the man to his right," are refusing to let us proceed."

"_And you want me to convince the FDA otherwise?"_ Those listening heard the delight in Carter's voice.

"I do. Firstly, we are at Bearston General, which I have been reliably informed is covered by the existing State of Emergency. Can you confirm this?"

"_It will take a few calls to confirm the facts, but yes I can."_

"Secondly, I want you to call the FDA off and get them to allow the operation to proceed."

"_I can do that too." _To those listening, Carter sounded as confident as if Jeff had asked him to look outside and tell him if it was day or night. _"Do you have the 'gentleman' of the FDA's card?"_

Jeff glanced at Colin who handed over the small rectangle that had been thrust at him earlier. "Here it is." He placed the card face down on his phone's screen and an inbuilt reader sent a digitised version through to the lawyer.

"_Thank you, Jeff."_ Carter was entering something into his computer. _"You can tell Mr Kay that he can expect a call from his supervisors soon, and that if he values his job, he will not go anywhere near anyone with the Tracy name and will leave Bearston General's premises until he is cleared to return… Or should he have a need for their services himself."_

Jeff looked at Kay who'd opened his mouth to protest. "He's heard you, Carter. And he's just leaving."

"_Good. If I have further questions, may I email you?"_

"If they're important, yes. But I have other things I need to concentrate on."

"_Of course."_

"But if you need information of a medical nature, you can email the General Manager of Bearston General Hospital, Colin Eden." As Colin gave a half-hearted wave, Jeff picked up a business card off the desk and placed it face down on his phone's screen. "Got that?"

"_I have. I am sure that Mr Eden is very busy, so I will try not to disturb him any more than I need to."_

"I will also authorise him to release any information you need about my son's condition to you." Jeff glanced at Colin, who nodded. "I know I can rely on your absolute discretion."

"_I appreciate your trust, Jeff."_

"And I appreciate the fact that Cyval Law is working for me."

The man from the FDA blanched. The name Cyval Law was well known, and feared, in governmental circles. The company had a reputation for its tenacity, its encyclopaedic knowledge of American law, and its delight in taking on federal departments and winning. Its wealthiest clients paid the Earth for the honour of using their services, while its poorest clients paid next to nothing. The only thing you needed to make Cyval Law take your case was to have run into a mare's nest of bureaucratic nonsense and red tape.

Kay had to be thinking that for Jeff to ring up the legal firm's founding father in the middle of the night, he must have been willing to pay an exorbitant amount for the privilege.

Jeff pretended not to notice as he continued his conversation with Carter Cyval. "…I know that the operation will proceed without interference from the bureaucrats thanks to you and your team."

"_And I trust that your son's operation will proceed smoothly and successfully. Now, if you will excuse me, Jeff, I have work to do."_

Jeff removed his phone from the desk one with a satisfied grunt. "Cyval Law," he mused, still not acknowledging Kay. "An excellent piece of nominative determinism as I've ever heard." He looked up at Colin Eden. "You won't have any more problems. Carter Cyval will see to that."

Colin tried not to look too relieved. "Thank you, Mr Tracy."

"Carter has a hotline to all the heads of governmental departments. We should be hearing from the FDA any time soon..."

There was a ringing sound and Kay from the FDA fumbled with his pocket. As the phone was pulled free, Jeff wondered if the man already had a suspicion as to what its message was going to say, and if that was the reason why Kay had chosen to break all accepted rules of etiquette and read it whilst in a meeting. He felt his own phone vibrate an alert, but chose to ignore it.

Trembling, Kay pocketed his phone and stood up. Trying to claw back some dignity he extended his hand to the general manager. "Thank you for your time," he said. "We will be in contact again over this matter, but not…" he looked sick, "for some time."

"Thank you for your understanding," Colin told him. "I'm sure you agree that these are extraordinary circumstances that we are working under, and I know that the FDA and all the medical establishments operating under this unexpected pressure are working for our patients' greater good."

"Indeed." Kay claimed his bowler, balanced it on his head, gave a stiff nod, which sent it slipping back down towards his nose, and then, with an abrupt "I hope your son recovers, Mr Tracy," he turned on his heel and left.

"So do I." With an "excuse me, Colin," Jeff pushed a button on his phone.

The screen read: "I'm sorry that one of your boys has been injured, Jeff. Which one? We'll be praying for him. Carter."

Jeff sent a six letter reply and then looked up at Colin Eden. "You won't need to worry about the FDA. Not now that Carter's on the case. They'll be wishing they'd never heard of Bearston General Hospital."

He received a heartfelt "Thank you," in response.

"I don't like playing the heavy like that," Jeff admitted. "But when it comes to the welfare of my sons, nothing and no one will get in my way."

Colin gave a wry grin. "So I've learned."

Jeff gave an embarrassed chuckle, and put his phone away as he stood. "Guess I'd better get back to Virgil."

"Ah… Before you go…" Colin held up his hand to stop Jeff from leaving. "While we've got the chance, I've got one or two things that I want to discuss with you about the operation… and I hope you won't feel that you have to play the heavy."

Jeff reclaimed his seat. "What do you have in mind?"

"Firstly… Thank you for all you've done for Bearston General and all the other medical establishments you've helped. A lot of people wouldn't be alive now, or looking forward to some semblance of normality, if it hadn't been for your generosity."

Jeff gave a modest nod.

"We've made good use of the medical teams you've brought in to assist, and having the extra staff has meant that my own staff has been able to pace themselves… But they're all tired… And I'm not willing to risk Virgil's life with any of them…"

Jeff looked surprised.

"I know the robot's going to do the hard work, and that, ah, Brains will assist as necessary, but we're still going to need an anaesthesiologist and, I think, to be safe, another person with surgical skills more advanced than that of an O.R. nurse. Virgil's going to be under anaesthetic for many hours and I don't want that time to be longer than necessary, just because an extra pair of hands were needed and no one was available. I want the people who start the operation fresh, awake, and strong enough to last however long it takes."

"Do you have these people in mind?"

"Yes, I do… But you may not be comfortable with who I have selected."

Jeff sat back in his chair, said nothing, and waited.

"My daughter, Ana, is in her final years of surgical training at medical school. She already has the skills to be able to carry out simple operations, but has yet to sit her final exams to allow her to qualify as a surgeon permitted to operate without supervision."

Jeff nodded slowly. "And you think she'll have the skills to be able to assist Brains if something goes wrong."

"I'm sure of it."

"Will she be allowed to operate? I don't want her career curtailed because of my family."

"She has already assisted with many operations and has progressed through her studies in the top five percent of her class." Jeff heard the voice of a proud father. "So long as she is supervised by an appropriate professional, it is quite legal and ethical."

"And the appropriate professional will be?"

"Me."

Jeff looked surprised.

"Until four months ago, I was the head anaesthesiologist of Bearston General," Colin admitted. "And I loved my job. But when I finished medical school I had a debt the size of Niagara Falls and just as precipitous. Soon afterwards Daniella and I were married; she was as much in debt as I was; and then we bought a house, got a mortgage, and had Ana. It's taken all this time to get our heads above water financially."

Jeff nodded his understanding.

"We'd only just become debt free when Ana decided that she wanted to become a doctor too. She's done all she can to reduce the burden on us, but once she decided that she wanted to be a surgeon, her studies took over everything and she had to give up all her part time employment. Daniella and I have been working to support her as much as we could, but I didn't want Ana starting out in the world with an even greater debt than the one we left school with. So, when this job became available, I applied for it. No one was more surprised than I was that I was successful…" Colin indicated his desk. "Would you believe that I get paid three times as much for pushing paper around as I did helping to save people's lives?"

"It's a screwed up old world," Jeff agreed. "Are you happy with your new job?"

Colin shook his head; a sad and pathetic gesture. "I'm not cut out to be a desk jockey. I can deal with literal life and death decisions, but ask me to decide how much of the budget should be spent on disposable cups for the water dispensers and I'm lost. I may get more money, but I'm never at home. Daniella complains that she's rarely seen me in the last four months; aside from videophone calls. I haven't left the hospital since the earthquake…" He shrugged. "But then neither has anyone else."

"Is getting your old job back an option?"

"My replacement may have to retire because of ill health, but whether the hospital board would be willing to re-employ me…" Colin sighed. "If only Ana didn't need the money…"

"The things we do for our children." Jeff gave a sympathetic smile. "I had a job that was out of this world – and then my wife died and I discovered that I had the sole responsibility of five young boys. Mother helped where she could, but I knew I had to be there for them, and so I quit."

It was days later before Colin Eden thought of looking up the name _Jeff Tracy_ on the Internet. He got a shock to realise that the job that Jeff had loved had been quite literally, and not just figuratively, _out of this world_. "Do you regret it? Having to quit?"

"I did initially. But after years of struggle I found that I enjoyed my new role and, luckily, I was good enough at it to be able to make a few dollars."

"More than a few?" Colin guessed, and then looked embarrassed.

Jeff chuckled. "Maybe there's another job out there that will supply you with the financial income to be able to help support your daughter, but you'll find just as enjoyable?"

"Maybe… Except that I loved being an anaesthesiologist. That's why Ana's called Ana. It's short for Anaesthesia…" Colin looked embarrassed again. "And she'll be mad at me for telling you that. She hates the name."

"It's… unusual," Jeff admitted. "Although I'm the last person who should comment about what people call their kids. I named my sons after the early space pioneers."

"I was never interested in space," Colin admitted. "I couldn't see the point on spending billions of dollars exploring the unknown up there…" he pointed skywards, "when there's so much we didn't know, and still don't know, about the human body." He indicated Jeff and himself. "Anaesthesia an art form; you have to ensure that you deliver enough anaesthetic so the patient is relaxed and unaware of what's happening to them, yet not so much that they suffer complications." His face lit up. "Did you know that red-headed people need on average 20 percent more anaesthetic than people with another hair colour?"

Jeff managed a rueful smile. "The number of times that Gordon's had to be operated on, I'm more than aware of that fact."

"You…" Colin stared at his hands, appearing to be even less sure of himself than he had been in front of Kay from the FDA. "You said earlier, when Virgil was in the coma, that you'd been through a similar experience before… Gordon?"

Jeff nodded. "Gordon was in a high-speed accident. He suffered critical brain damage and was in a coma for days. He says that he remembers hearing us talking to him."

"Ah. So that's why he didn't want Virgil left alone."

"Yes. I'm not sure who was the more surprised at how upset he got: Gordon or us."

"He's clearly made a good recovery."

"Yes, thank heavens."

Colin brought the conversation back on track. "Are you agreeable to allow Ana and myself to assist with Virgil's operation, Jeff? We've both had plenty of sleep over the last few days," he indicated the couch at the side of the office, "more than the regular surgeons, and we will do our best for him."

"I have no doubts about that. Do you want me to sign something that will absolve both of you from any blame should something happen?"

Colin looked surprised. "I wasn't expecting that."

"I'm sure you weren't, but I don't want either yours or Ana's future careers ruined because of me."

"Thank you. I… Ah… I'll have something drawn up for you to sign before the operation."

"Good."

Jeff got to his feet, just as a young woman bustled into the office, her attention on the file she held and not the room and its occupants. "Dad… Do these people realise that if they go ahead with this operation and it's not successful, he'll lose any chance of independent locomotion?"

"Ah… Ana…" Hearing the cringe in her father's voice, Ana looked up. "This is Jeff Tracy… Virgil Tracy's father."

"Oh." Ana didn't look embarrassed when she shook Jeff's hand. "Hello."

"Hello, Ana. Your father tells me you're going to be assisting with Virgil's operation."

"Yes, that's right."

"Thank you."

Ana appeared surprised; as if she had accepted the role as a right and wasn't expecting any thanks.

Jeff turned back to Colin. "You won't forget to give me that form to sign before you begin?"

"I won't. Thank you."

This time Ana waited until Jeff Tracy had left the room before she turned back to her father. "Well? Do they?"

"I'm sure they do, Ana."

"Really? He…" She jabbed her thumb at the door that Jeff had just passed through. "…must be loaded. Are you sure he's not expecting his money to perform a miracle. I mean," she indicated the file, "a reconstruction of this scale with the hopes of a 'full' recovery is almost unprecedented and highly unlikely."

"I know. But Jeff has faith in the medical team that he's got behind him… And that includes us, Ana, so don't go antagonising him."

Now she looked surprised. "Antagonising?"

Colin groaned. "Didn't they teach you anything about bedside manners at school? You don't go and tell a patient's father that he's potentially condemning his son to an uncertain and restricted future."

"You agree with me that the whole idea's got the potential for disaster?"

"It's also got the potential to transform the lives of thousands of people."

"_If_ it works."

"If it works." Colin held his daughter's hands. "Just be nice to them. He's got five extremely good-looking sons."

She pulled her hands free. "Are you trying to marry me off into money?!"

"No, of course not."

"I should hope not." She hmphed. "They're probably all spoilt, lazy, and with no personalities."

"I can't comment on that, I haven't had the chance to have a real talk with them, but what I've seen makes me think they're good people, Ana. All of them. They're doing what they can to help everyone affected by the earthquake; not only Virgil. Don't judge them until you've got to know them."

She folded her arms and glared at the door. "Who does he think he is, anyway? International Rescue?"

"He's a man who is trying to do his best for his kids… Just… Just think of this as… an experiment. If it's successful, you'll be at the beginning of one of the biggest medical revolutions this century."

"And if it's not?"

"Jeff Tracy won't hold it against you, and neither will I. Now…" Colin gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek. "Do you have any questions about the procedure…?"

-F-A-B-

_7:35 p.m._

Everyone, ACE and Tracys, were sitting in the communal area of the big house, enjoying what seemed to be the first opportunity to relax in days. The comfort of the brand-new easy chairs and the warmth and aroma of the first coffee brewed in the new kitchen, were like a refreshing elixir after over 48 hours of stress, hard chairs, uncomfortable beds, uncertainty and fear.

"When do you want to leave?" Alan asked.

Scott looked at his watch. "They won't arrive at Barduq for two point five hours. We've got twenty minutes before we must leave for the helijet hire company. Long enough," he raised his steaming mug, "to enjoy this."

Bruce was reclining on a soft settee, revelling in the chance to relax with his arm about Olivia with no concerns about what anyone else thought about their proximity to each other. "Will he start the operation when he gets here, or wait until he's had a rest?"

Gordon lowered his mug. "Knowing Brains, he'll want to get started straight away. It'll be up to the doctors to decide whether Virgil's up to it."

Butch's father sat a little away from the group, somewhat surprised that he'd been invited in, and unable to relax in such refined company. The occasional glare from his daughter-in-law, a warning that he was to be on his best behaviour, wasn't helping.

And then, much to his astonishment, Ginny wandered over to his chair, climbed onto his knee, and showed him her new dolly. He saw Lisa make a move, and Butch put out his hand to stop her.

But nothing was said.

However, everyone was surprised when four phones rang in unison.

Wary, as they remembered the last time they'd had a conference call, and not recognising the ring as an identifier for someone they knew, the four Tracys removed their phones from their pockets and bags.

Gordon read out the digits on screen. "Anyone know the number?"

"Nope," Alan told him. "But my call's from the same phone."

"So is mine," Grandma admitted. "Do you know who it's from, Scott?"

"I can make a guess, but there's only one way to find out for sure."

As one they pushed receive.

"Virgil!"

There was a sudden dash by those without phones to the side of those who were holding them.

Mr Crump senior looked bemused by the sudden activity… That was until Ginny went to climb down off his knee so she could satisfy her curiosity about what the adults found so fascinating. He diverted her attention, by asking what her dolly liked to eat.

Ginny informed him that dolly liked to eat what everyone liked to eat… Double chocolate ice creams with a double helping of sprinkles.

On the other side of the room everyone crowded around the four mobile videophones.

Seeing the multitude of faces on one large screen, Virgil managed a smile that was seen by all despite the oxygen mask. They also saw his shoulder move as he also attempted a wave.

They heard a "Careful, Virgil."

Virgil made a face.

Gordon chuckled. "Big Brother's watching you, huh, Virgil?"

"L'k' a g'rd'n an'l."

The words were barely audible, but still everyone smiled. They heard John say something about his halo had slipped.

"We're all watching out for you, Virg," Scott told his injured sibling. "We're going to get Brains soon, so he can start the operation that's going to make you better."

No one knew if Virgil had heard all that his eldest brother had said, as he appeared to have dozed off.

John switched a secondary camera on so everyone could see him. "Give him a few minutes," he advised. "Just talking tires him out. He'll wake up in a moment unaware that he's been asleep."

"Has he spoken to Brains?" Alan asked eagerly. "Has he given his permission for the operation to proceed?"

"I haven't connected the two of them yet," John admitted. "I thought seeing you guys would be just as beneficial in the short term… He keeps worrying about Bruce, Butch and Mr Watts."

"We appreciate the sentiment," Bruce glanced at the other two men, who nodded their agreement, "but tell him that we're fine and he's not to worry about us."

"Tell you what," John had noticed a movement from the bed. "Tell him yourselves." He switched the camera back to the primary unit.

Bruce grinned. "Hey, Virgil. You're looking better than the last time I saw you."

"_So are you._"

Bruce glancing at Lisa and others, reminded himself that he was in mixed company. "The three of us owe _all _the members of International Rescue a huge debt of gratitude for getting us out of ACE alive."

"Four of us," Olivia added, slipping her arm through Bruce's.

"Five," Winston piped up, unaware of the unspoken meaning in Bruce's message.

"Don't we mean six?" Greg enquired. "International Rescue saved Virgil too."

Max Watts took the rare step of agreeing with the Charge Hand. "Yes, six. We are grateful for all the lives that International Rescue saved."

"Yeah," Butch added, looking awkward as if he felt he should say something, but wasn't sure what. "Ev'ryone at ACE."

"We're all okay, Virgil," Bruce continued, "so you're not to worry about us. Okay?"

Virgil had dozed off during the exchange, but woke again in time to hear his friend's suggestion. "'K."

Hamish decided it was time for a tactful withdrawal. "Perhaps the rest of us should return to our units and leave the Tracys to enjoy their home?"

"Good idea," Lisa agreed. "We'll come and visit when we can, Virgil… Thanks for the coffee, Mrs T." As the rest of ACE offered their goodbyes, she collected Ginny off her father-in-law's knee and the three of them followed the rest of the group out the back door.

Only the Tracys were left.

"How're you, Virgil?" Alan asked.

"_Can't say in one piece._"

Gordon gaped at his phone's screen. "Did you just make a joke?" He saw Virgil's cheeks nudge upwards. "Nice one!"

"_You okay?_"

"We're all the better for talking to you, Virg." Scott looked at his watch. "I don't want to, but we'd better wrap this up. The longer Brains takes to explain to you what the procedure is, the longer it will be before he's able to leave Australia. The later he and Tin-Tin fly out, the later the operation starts. Likewise, we're got to pick up the helijet we've hired and then fly to Barduq to pick up those two and Kyrano and we don't want to be the ones responsible for any delays in your getting better. And I know everyone would like the chance to wish you good luck in person before you have the operation."

"Which we are sure will be a complete success." Grandma smiled at the phone in her hands. "You'll listen to Brains carefully, won't you, Darling? And then you know that his plan is what's best for you."

"Y's, Gwanm'. Trus' Brain'."

"Good. We all trust Brains too. That's why we want you to approve what he's suggesting."

Virgil managed a minute nod.

"Goodbye, Virgil. We'll see you soon."

"By'."

Virgil had to endure several more goodbyes from his family before the phone was disconnected.

"Okay?" John asked.

Virgil nodded. He swallowed.

"I'll give y… I think this camera needs a tweak. It'll only take a moment." John pretended to busy himself at the back of the phone, out of his brother's line of sight.

Over at the house, things were quiet. That was until, after downing the remainder of his coffee, Scott launched himself to his feet. "Gonna get my jacket."

No one commented that his voice had cracked as he'd said it.

-F-A-B-

_7:41 p.m._

"Ready to talk to Brains?" John asked. He'd waited until Virgil had had one of his regular micro-sleeps before declaring the videophone A-OK.

"Ye'."

"Good." John didn't waste any time making the connection, nor greeting the man at the other end of the phone. "Be aware that he falls asleep regularly, Brains. You may have to repeat yourself."

There was a touch of nervousness to Brains', "I-I u-understand," but when he saw his patient he smiled and appeared more confident. "It's good to see you, Virgil."

"H'."

"Tin-Tin and I are going to fly out to assist with your operation as soon as you and I have finished this phone call, but I wanted to ensure that you understand what is going to happen and, just as importantly, give your approval for it to proceed. I need you to be aware that this is an untried procedure and that you will be, in effect, the, ah, guinea pig to prove Bryce Dower and Timoti Bailey's theories."

"D' y' truz'm, Bra'?"

Brains blinked. "Ah. S-sorry, Virgil. Could you repeat that?"

"D' y' 'rus' 'm?"

Brains looked bewildered. "Ummm. Pardon?"

Virgil looked frustrated. "Truz'm?"

"Tell me if I'm wrong Virgil," John interrupted, "but are you asking Brains if you trust the two researchers?"

"Ye'."

Brains saw the small nod. He also saw his friend's eyes close and stay closed. "Is he asleep?"

"Yes," John confirmed. "Give him a couple of minutes to recharge."

"Will you remain to act as interpreter?"

"I'll stay for as long as you need me to." John gave a wry grin. "Or until Dad kicks me out."

"Where is Mr Tracy?"

"He said he was stretching his legs, but he's hopefully taking the chance to take a break and get something to eat. As far as I'm aware, he's been here with Virgil for about 15 hours."

"Th' l'ng?"

John looked back at the figure on the bed. "Roughly. Carry on, Brains."

"Yes, Virgil, I trust these two men. I have been following their research and it looks promising in lab tests."

"I' l'b ra'?"

John chuckled. "You'll be a lab rat if you start squeaking."

"'f y' truz'm, Bra', I truz'm. I truz' y'."

"We all…" John began, but his brother was asleep again.

"W-What did he say?"

"That if you trust the researchers, then he's willing to trust the researchers, because he trusts you." John smiled. "We all do, Brains."

"Oh…" Brains blushed slightly. "Thank you. I, ah…" To avoid further embarrassment, he switched topic. "You don't appear to have too much trouble understanding him."

"I find that if I pretend he's talking through a wall of static I can guess what he's saying."

"Wh' y' sa' Jo'?"

"That we all trust the researchers because Brains trusts them, and we trust Brains."

'Ye'." Virgil redirected his gaze to the figure on the video screen.

Who was blushing again. "C-Cutting a v-very long story short, and thanks in part to your brothers' efforts…"

The gaze flicked across to John and back again.

"…and based on scans that that I've taken over the years, a printer has been producing replicas of all your bones, nerves, and tissues that will need replacing and repairing. The replicas have been made from a polymer based on spiderwebs, which will allow your real tissue to grow through and eventually replace the polymer."

"Spi'rw'b?"

"Yes. The technology's been around for some years. It's only through Timoti and Bryce's research that regeneration has become feasible."

"Gr'w n'w b'n?"

There was a pause.

"Virgil's asking if this procedure will grow new bone."

"Oh, ah, thank you, John… Yes, Virgil, we believe that in time new bone will completely replace the polymer."

"Ho' l'n'?"

Brains made an educated guess. "That is undetermined, but we are talking months confined to a hospital bed. Considering the amount of damage to your abdominal region, initially we will restrain your upper body to ensure no unnecessary movement compromises the healing process. Fortunately, there was no damage to your diaphragm apart from some compression from the weight, but to ensure limited movement to the healing structures, we will paralyse all involuntary respiration."

"Hold on, hold on…" John frowned, mimicking his brother. "What do you mean _paralyse all involuntary respiration_? I'll admit that my medical knowledge isn't as extensive as yours, but that sounds suspiciously like stopping him from breathing."

"It is…"

"Brains! We've been trying to avoid that for the last two days!"

"_T'o da?_"

Ignoring the startled echo, Brains directed his answer to Virgil. "For the initial period after your o-operation, you will be on artificial respiration. There will be some unavoidable movement to your abdominal structures, but it will be defined and can be managed. You will feel nothing," he added. "We do not want you to experience any more discomfort than you already have."

"What form will this artificial respiration take?" John asked.

"This has not been ascertained yet. It could take the form of negative p-pressure ventilation, or positive pressure ventilation."

"Meaning?"

"A negative pressure ventilator uses a similar system as the old iron lung or the more recent biphasic cuirass ventilator. The negative pressure produced outside the body c-causes the ribcage to expand. This in turn creates a negative pressure inside the lungs, drawing air in through the nose and mouth. The advantage is that this is similar to the normal breathing systems. The disadvantage is that it restricts access to the patient's body."

"And the positive pressure ventilation?" John checked his brother, but Virgil had fallen asleep. "Hold on, Brains. I want him to be well aware of what he's going to have to deal with."

"We _all_ want him to be aware," Brains corrected.

"You realise that you're going to have to repeat all this to the rest of the family."

"I know, John. But I am sure that you will be able to supply your family with enough information to keep them happy until I am free to explain."

"_Wha' th' di'vant'g'?_"

"The disadvantages are that the doctors won't be able to check you over because of the machine," John paraphrased. "Tell us about the positive pressure ventilation, Brains."

"This is more common nowadays. It relies on the having a positive flow of air forced into their lungs via a tracheal intubation tube or tracheotomy tube."

Behind his oxygen mask, Virgil made a face.

"Advantages? Disadvantages?" John queried.

"Keeping to the most basic facts… The advantages of tracheal intubation: Prevention of asphyxiation due to airway obstruction. Disadvantages: Reduced ability to communicate."

"And…" John glanced at Virgil, "tracheotomy?"

"Once again the simplest answer. Advantages of a tracheotomy tube: Less cumbersome. Disadvantages: It is an invasive procedure with the associated complications, such as risk of infection."

"Right." John didn't comment on the way that his brother's grip had tightened about his fingers as each option was described. "And the advantages and disadvantages of the… was it positive or negative ventilation? The iron lung-type option."

"Negative," Brains offered. "Advantages: Closer to the processes associated with natural breathing, which will help prevent muscular deterioration. Disadvantages: Your torso," again he was addressing Virgil, "will be encased in a kind of chamber. To be able to check your healing wounds, the chamber will have to be removed, leaving no source of ventilation."

"But you can manage that?"

"Of course." Brains saw that his patient had fallen asleep. "Do not worry, John. Whatever we do, it will be done with Virgil's, ah, best interests at heart."

"I've got no doubts about that, but it all seems rather… drastic."

John saw Brains' sympathetic look. "B-But not as drastic as the alternative."

"I know… He's waking up."

Brains waited until Virgil seemed to have regained focus on the video screen. "Any more questions about ventilation?"

"'M'm'b'r I n'd t' ta'g."

Brains frowned.

"Sorry, Virgil," John apologised, "but neither of us understood that."

Virgil tried again. "I n'd t' b' 'bl' t' ta'g," he repeated, trying to make his brother understand. "Sp'k… W'r's. B't'r th'n th'."

But neither of his companions could understand him.

"I n'd t' ta'g t' y'u." John felt Virgil's fingers tighten about his as his frustration grew. "C'm'un'c't."

Finally, he saw realisation dawn in his elder brother's eyes. "I'm an idiot," John admitted. "I'm an idiot for not considering that myself, Virgil. And you're right…" He turned back to the screen. "We've got to ensure that he's got some way of communicating with us. If he's not going to be able to move, he can't write or type." He felt the grip on his fingers lessen. "We can't just block his airway without giving him some way of letting us know how he's getting on, Brains."

"I-I'm s-sorry, Virgil," Brains stuttered. "I should have thought about this. The need to communicate is one of human beings' basic needs." He managed a reassuring smile. "Some t-tracheotomy t-tubes have a valve to allow speech," he informed the two brothers. "And of course, while there isn't the variation in breathing that allows free flowing speech, at least the larynx remains unrestricted when negative ventilation is used."

"So, he could talk with either system?"

"Initially neither will allow for easy speech, but with some practise that will improve."

"What system do you favour?" John asked. "And I'm hoping that intubation's no longer an option."

"I can't answer that yet. Not until I see how the operation progresses." Brains smiled at the patient. "Do you have any more questions about ventilation, Virgil?"

Virgil shook his head.

"Good, but feel free to interrupt if you think of anything… As I said, you will be immobilised for weeks, if not months. Until your abdominal structures are strong enough to withstand the pressure, you won't even be able to sit up."

"Are you talking pressure from breathing or pressure from gravity?" John asked.

"G-Gravity," Brains confirmed. "And the natural compression of internal organs that occurs when an individual is in a sitting position…" he continued. "We won't contemplate any attempts at walking until your legs are strong enough to withstand your weight. What a premature break would mean is an unknown factor at this time. An attempt to stand before your legs can take your weight could result in permanent bowing to the bones."

John smiled down at the figure on the bed. "We'll do our best to keep you entertained," he promised.

But Virgil had dozed off.

"Do you think he understands?" Brains asked.

"I think so. We seem to have more trouble understanding him, than he does understanding us."

"I'm amazed at how strong he is, after how low he'd been."

"I'm just happy he's got the chance to live."

"Same here."

"L' 'n f'n'rs?"

"Sorry, Virgil," John apologised. "What was that?"

"L' 'n f'n'rs? R'pl' l's 'n f'n'rs?"

"Erm…"

"What did he say, John?"

"Ah…" John appeared to be reluctant to interpret this time. "He wants to know… if… the procedure will… replace the… Reinstate his…"

"F'n'rs 'n l's?"

Finally, Brains was able to do his own interpretation. "Yes. If this procedure works as I believe it will, then we will be able to replace your limbs and phalanges."

"What!" John stared at the image on screen. "We all thought there was no way of replacing them. We didn't know how we were going to tell him…" He glanced at the figure on the bed. "Or how he'd take it."

Brains blushed again. "I-I'm sorry, John. Clearly my explanation was not, ah, clear enough."

"Pla' p'no?"

"That will be dependant, as much on your determination to play, as the success of the procedure."

"No worries there," John declared. "He's probably itching to get his fingers on a keyboard again, right, Virgil?"

But Virgil was asleep.

When he awoke again, Brains went into more detail about the procedure, doing his best to ensure that Virgil knew exactly what was going to happen and what the likely outcomes would be.

Finally, interspaced with several nap stops, Brains came to the end of his recitation. "Do you have any questions, Virgil?"

"Wha' 'pshon?"

"What other options are there?" Brains saw a small nod. "Follow the normal course of treatment. As the Bearston team is still under huge stress, this will involve a risk that further digits have to be amputated, or you could lose what remains of your leg with a resultant loss of independent mobility without external aids. Your internal organs still need to be operated on and, after all this time, there is almost a guarantee of a reduction of function. With grit, determination, and luck, there is always a chance that things won't be as bad as I say, but overall my prognosis is a degraded quality of life."

"'N I wo't ge' m' fi'grs bag."

"No. There is no other procedure at this time capable of reinstating missing digits without side issues such as loss of function or the body rejecting the new tissue… And the other thing, Virgil…" Brains had to wait until the end of a micro-nap. "Your life isn't out of danger. An infection, toxic shock, and your body could shut down again."

"A…g'n?"

"Don't worry about that now." John advised. "Think of the future, not what's happened over the last couple of days." He was aware that Virgil was holding his hand as tight as he was able. So tight that his younger brother's arm was shaking. Not wanting Brains to see how the decision that had to be made was scaring the patient, he covered Virgil's hand with his own.

Virgil looked straight at him. "No' mu' o' ch'os."

"No," John agreed, wishing there was. "It's not much of a choice, but at least it's a chance."

"N' gw'ntee'?"

"No. No guarantees."

"A-Any other questions?"

Both brothers looked back at the video screen.

Virgil shook his head.

"John?"

"Nope. If we think of anything later, we can call you up on your flight over here."

"I'll be trying to get some sleep…" Brains hesitated. This was the moment of truth. Although he thought he knew the answer, he knew he still had to ask the question. This was either the birth of a miraculous new medical procedure, aligned with the even more important recovery of a friend…

Or the death of a technological breakthrough, aligned with the possible death of…

He banished that thought. "Do, ah, do you want us to proceed with the operation, Virgil?"

It took all of John's will power to not anticipate a positive response and say yes on his brother's behalf.

He held his tongue as Virgil managed a tiny nod. "D' y' wan' m' t' sig' 'cept'c' f'm?"

"Do I want…?" Brains guessed.

"Do you need him to sign anything to say that he fully understands what the operation entails and that he agrees for it to proceed?" John paraphrased.

"Ah… In light of the experimental nature of this procedure, it would be wise. I shall ask Timoti and Bryce to draw one up while I'm in the air. You can sign it when I get there, Virgil… And we'd better get moving. We'll see you boys soon."

"By'.'"

"Bye, Brains," John echoed, and disconnected the call. He looked at his phone's time. "I wonder what's holding Dad up. I thought he'd be back by now."

"Y' st'y?"

"I wish I could stay with you," John squeezed his brother's good hand, "but there isn't enough room in here for Dad and me, and he's not going to be happy if he's the one kicked out into the cold. Besides, I want to double-check that the robot's communication systems are in full working order before it starts the operation."

"R'b'?"

"Yeah. Apparently, it's going to be exacting work stitching you back together again and we want it done properly, right?" John grinned what he hoped was a light-hearted grin.

"R'b'!?"

"Don't tell me you don't trust ACE's tools!"

"A's?"

"I'll have you know that four fifths of the Tracy Boys nearly wound up shot for looting when we stole it from ACE. Wouldn't the media love to hear that?"

Virgil's eyes widened.

John wasn't about to satisfy his brother's curiosity. "A lot's happened over the last couple of days that you're unaware of, Virgil, and I'm not going to tell you any of it now. It'll give us something to talk about after the operation when you can't do anything else."

Virgil accepted this suggestion. "I see oth'rs bef'r' op?"

"I know they'll be just as keen to see you." John looked at the time on his phone again. "Do you want to ring Dad now and tell him he can come back?"

What Virgil wanted was for this whole nightmare to be over and done with.

_To be continued…_


	28. Chapter 28

_7:58 p.m._

Virgil was asleep when Jeff finally returned to the hospital room.

He laid a hand on John's shoulder. "How is he?"

"Given the go ahead to have the operation."

Jeff closed his eyes for a moment, and John saw tension leave him. "Thank heavens." He opened his eyes again. "Your brothers have already left to get Brains, Tin-Tin and Kyrano. I'd hate for it to be a wasted trip."

"Just having the family together will mean it's not wasted."

Jeff smiled. "True."

"I guess you want to sit here?" John stood and stretched. "Any idea where Grandma is?"

"At your place."

John started the sideways shuffle between the bed and the wall. "Maybe I should head back over there."

"Good idea. It's dark and I don't like the idea of your grandmother walking the streets on her own."

"Why? Do you think the local muggers wouldn't know what hit them?" John waited until his father had squeezed himself back into the chair. "I set up a conference call with the guys and Grandma. ACE was with them in the lounge at the house, so Virgil was able to talk to them all. I think he feels better now that he's actually seen that everyone's okay."

Jeff looked down at his bedridden son who, aside from the wonderful sight of his chest rising and lowering, hadn't moved. "That's good."

"He wants to see the family before he goes in for the operation."

"We'll have to see if we can make that happen." Jeff looked back over at John. "I thought you were going to save the local louts from your grandmother's wrath."

John nodded, but seemed reluctant to leave. "Have you seen the house yet?"

"No. I've been in a meeting with Colin Eden. The FDA showed up."

Alarm showed on John's face. "They didn't try to stop the operation, did they?"

"They did. Carter Cyval stopped them."

"Good."

"Once the FDA had gone Colin told me that his daughter Ana is going to assist Brains."

"That's a good way of phrasing it. I don't think Virgil's that keen on the idea of a machine performing the operation, and it sounds better to say that, rather than she's going to assist Brains assist the robot."

"I'll talk to him," Jeff promised, "and make him understand that the robot's going to be under human control all the time. Also, Colin Eden's going to be the anaesthesiologist."

John stared at his father. "What!?"

"He's only been G.M. of this place for the last four months. He was the head of anaesthesiology before that… And his daughter's in her last years of training to be a surgeon."

John was frowning. "No offence intended to either of them, but neither of them sound like the best people to be performing an experimental operation."

"They won't be performing the operation," Jeff reminded him. "Ana's assisting and Colin's returning to his passion."

"Knocking people out."

Jeff chuckled. "If I could find two other doctors willing and able to fly here to assist, and they had the time to prepare that those two have had, then I wouldn't hesitate to employ them. But I honestly don't think that will be possible. I think we've got to trust Colin to make the right call."

"Do you trust him?"

Jeff held up his phone. "I did a bit of research before I came in here. Colin Eden was top of his field and Ana's consistently scored in the top 5% of her class. I don't think we're putting Virgil's life any more at risk by letting them assist."

There was silence.

"Are you all right, John?"

There was a pause as John thought. "I don't know, Dad… I don't know if I'm steaming mad or ridiculously happy."

"John?"

"Did you know that they're going to replace his fingers and his legs with fully functioning limbs?"

Jeff's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"Brains just told Virgil that they can replace everything and that, with luck, they'll be as good as new. We've been stressing over how Virgil's going to react to finding out that he's had his fingers amputated…"

"Having nearly killed him when we tried to prevent it."

Although he didn't understand what his father was alluding to, John continued. "All along Brains has known that the amputations are reversible! He even believes Virgil will be able to play the piano again! How come he didn't tell us!?"

"Calm down," Jeff advised, with a worried glance at the sleeping figure. "Things have been as stressful for Brains as they have been for us, just in a different way. We've always relied on him to come up with the technological answer and, for many hours, the one time that we needed him to pull something out of a hat, he couldn't. And since then he had to deal with people he only knew by reputation and trust them to save Virgil's life. And remember that's before he tried to fly to the States through a cyclone; and then believed that even though he had the solution he was too late to help." He glanced down at his son, but Virgil was still asleep. "I think I can excuse Brains from assuming that we'd realise that when he said this operation had the potential to lead to a complete recovery, that he meant a _complete_ recovery."

"I don't want to be mad at Brains," John stared at his hands. "But I'm not sure that I can excuse him."

"You're tired, John. You're tired, and you're worried, and you're stressed. We all are. Once the operation's over and you've had a rest, I'm sure you'll be able to forgive him."

"I hope so."

So did Jeff. "I thought you were heading back to the house."

"I want to check the communications link."

"You can't do that standing there."

Jeff's son's blue eyes regarded the sleeping figure at the other end of the bed. "I don't want to leave him. Not without… Not without saying something to him. What if I never get the chance again?"

"John…"

"And even if the operation is a success it's going to be months before he'll be able to get out of bed, let alone come home. Brains says they're going to have to paralyse his body, including his lungs, and make him breathe artificially to reduce the stresses on his abdomen." John stared at his sleeping brother. "He's scared, Dad, and I promised him that we wouldn't leave him alone."

"And we won't," Jeff declared. "The only thing you need to worry about is making sure that there aren't any issues with the radio link between Australia and here… and that your grandmother makes it back to the hospital safely."

"_W'r' sh'?_"

John grinned down on his brother. "At the house?"

"_H's?_"

"The one the four of us bought. I told you… remember?"

Virgil frowned. "_W'r'm I?_"

"At the hospital."

Virgil's frown deepened.

"Don't worry about it." John tried to sound light-hearted. "You're in the best place to get better. And when you're feeling better we'll give you the grand tour. We've already got a room set aside for you."

"_R'm?_"

"Bedroom. You can decide what colour you want the walls and we'll paint it so it's ready when you're ready to move in. And now…" John pushed himself away from the end of the bed. "I've got to go and check that the robot's got a clear line of communication with Australia."

"_R'b'?_"

"The one that's going to… that's going to assist Brains with your operation."

"'_Pr'sh'n?_"

"The one that's going to give you back…" John received a warning glance from his father. "…Make you feel better. Brains would be here now, but he couldn't fly through a cyclone. Do you remember Brains telling you about the operation?"

Virgil's frown deepened. "_N'. W't do?_"

"It's going to repl… Repair…" John realised that he was beginning to sound a bit desperate. He took a steadying breath and shared a look with his father. "It's going to make you better, Virg, that's all you need to remember. Now I've got to go and collect Grandma, so we'll see you later. Okay?"

"'_K'._"

John glanced at the status board above the bed, noting that his brother's temperature had gone up a few points. Deciding, or at least hoping that this was what was causing Virgil's confusion, he resolved to mention it to the nurse as he left. "See you guys later."

"Bye, John."

"_B'._" Virgil's eyes drooped.

After informing the nurse of his concerns, John finally left the room, with the fear that the raised temperature would cause a delay to the start of the operation.

Virgil didn't awaken when the nurse came over to check on him. "His temperature's up a little," she confirmed, pulling a screen around the bed.

"He seemed more confused than he was earlier," Jeff told her. "Is that why?"

"Probably. I'll see what we can do to get it down again. We don't want anything to stop the operation, do we?"

Jeff agreed with all his heart.

"Sorry, but I need to get closer to examine him, Mr Tracy. Could you excuse me for a moment?"

"Of course," Jeff squeezed his way out until he was standing at the foot of the bed.

The nurse went to lift the sheet and then stopped. "You may not be comfortable seeing this. Perhaps if you were to stand on the other side of the screen?"

Jeff was about to tell her that, if anything, he'd seen worse in the past. That was until the sheet was pulled back and a single bandaged stump exposed. Then he went and stood against the far wall; out of sight of the nurse's examination, but where he wouldn't intrude on the other patients' space.

The man in the bed at the far side of the room still didn't have someone to sit with him and Jeff wondered what his story was. Was he alone in the world? Was someone missing him? Were his family frantically trying, and failing, to reach him?

Squashed in between a blood filtration machine and the middle bed, Billy Eagles held Angela's hand and talked to her.

There was a sound at the door and Amelia Eagles stepped into the room, looking just as frightened as she had earlier. Seeing her hesitate, her husband left Angela's side and took his wife by the arm, guiding her to their daughter's bed. Then Billy kissed Amelia on the temple, told Angela that her mother was there and that she was to behave herself, and left.

Once again Jeff's heart went out to the couple. No one could say that Virgil was out of danger, but at least they had some hope. All the Eagles had was fear and the vast yawning abyss of the unknown.

-F-A-B-

_8:26 pm_

Grandma Tracy was standing at the kitchen sink when John arrived at his house.

She turned upon hearing him enter. "Hello, John."

"Hi." John realised that she was up to her elbows in soapy water as a plate was carefully balanced against a cup. "Are you washing dishes?"

"Yes. The dishwasher isn't plumbed in yet."

"Oh." Without saying another word, John picked up a tea towel and started drying, only speaking to ask where a dish or piece of cutlery went.

Finally, her chore was finished, and Grandma wiped down the sink and taps. "You're quiet."

John grunted.

"Is something wrong…? The saucepan goes in that cupboard over there."

Her grandson obediently put away the pot.

"John?"

John regarded the tea towel in his hands. "I think I need a hug."

Grandma wiped her hands on a towel and then took both of his, leading him to the foot of the stairs. She stood on the bottom step, turned, and faced him, opening her arms. "Now it'll be easier for both of us… Come here, Honey," she said, pulling him into an embrace.

John held her tight; not saying or doing anything, just absorbing her love and the feeling of security.

Finally, he moved back. "Thanks." He looked down at the platform beneath her feet. "I shall always think of that as Grandma's step."

"Then we'll stay here." Grandma sat on one that was a convenient height, pulling John down next to her.

He sat on a step two lower, so they were at the same eye level.

Grandma took his hand between hers. "Why did you need a hug, Darling?"

"Lots of things. Because I'm worried about Virgil. Because in that short time that I was with him he seemed to deteriorate and I'm worried that when Brains gets here he won't be strong enough for the operation… Because… Because I'm mad at Brains and I don't want to be mad at Brains."

Surprised, Grandma chose to ask about her grandson's most unlikely concern. "Why are you mad at Brains?"

"I set up the phone so that he could explain to Virgil what the operation entailed, so Virg could make an informed decision about whether or not he wanted to take the chance."

"Which he did want."

"Not really. I got the impression that he was feeling like he was caught between a black hole and a supernova and that neither option was palatable. He was scared, Grandma, so scared that he was shaking. He seemed more scared in that hospital room, being given a chance of a new life, than he was under all that steel and metal, convinced he was going to die."

"And you're mad at Brains because he scared Virgil?"

"No. I'm mad at Brains because we've all assumed that once Virgil had the amputations that was it; his legs and fingers were gone forever."

Grandma's eyes were wide behind her spectacles. "Aren't they?"

John shook his head. "Virgil asked him straight out if he'd get them back. I thought I was going to be sick, thinking that I knew the answer and that Virgil wasn't going to like it… And Brains, calm as you like, said that if things progress as they should, Virgil would walk and play the piano again. Despite all the stresses we've been going through, Brains never thought to tell us not to panic if Virgil had to have major surgery to save his life." Dropping his grandmother's hands, John got to his feet and began pacing. "The last conversation I had with Virgil, back at ACE before everything turned pear-shaped and I cracked my head, was about how he was limping because he'd stubbed his toe. To most people that's nothing, but for the last, I don't know how many hours, I've been stressing because… assuming that he lived… _I_ thought Virgil was never going to feel the pain of a stubbed toe again. It's been looping over and over in my mind how his life is going to change; be irrevocably changed; and how he would never be able to do the things that he loves, ever again… How he'd never be able to repair stuff again. How he'd never be able to engineer anything again. How he'd never be able to play the piano again… Yet Brains knew it wasn't an issue!"

"John…"

"I _know_ it's been difficult for Brains, trying to find a solution from half a world away. I _know_ he's worried about Virgil. I _know_ he's having to put his trust into something that hasn't been fully tested. I _know_ he probably assumed that we'd realised the full extent of the cure; he may have even thought that he had told us when he hadn't. I _know_ I'm tired and that once the operation's under way and I've had some sleep I won't feel like this, but I do! And I don't like _it_! I just keep thinking about how sick I've been feeling over Virgil's future, and what Dad had to go through authorising the amputations, and what not having Virgil as part of the team means to International Rescue… If Gordon's going to be piloting Thunderbird Two, he can't pilot Thunderbird Four as well…"

A throat was cleared behind him. "Ah… John…"

John blanched and turned. "Oh… Ah… Hi, Bruce… Grandma and I were just discussing, ah…the… the chores that Virgil's not going to be able to do for a while. You know? Like…" He thought frantically. "Ah… The tennis courts' ride-on mower? We call it Thunderbird Two. And Thunderbird Four is… um…"

"John," Bruce repeated. "I've been to your place and I know the courts have artificial grass. I also know you guys are International Rescue… Remember? You saved my life."

John groaned. "Of course, you do." Feeling a fool, he slumped against the back of the newly installed sofa. "I'm so tired I forgot."

"When you're more awake I think you'll need to come up with a better excuse than the one you just gave me."

John managed a wry grin. "When I'm more awake I usually can. My brothers would probably tell you that I'm at my _speak first, think second_ stage of tiredness…" He saw his grandmother nod. "And you don't have to agree!"

"At least you've answered one question for me," Bruce smiled at Grandma as John assisted her to her feet. "I wasn't sure if you were aware that they were International Rescue or not. I couldn't see how you couldn't know, not when you live all on the same small island, but I didn't want to risk saying something I shouldn't." He jerked a thumb at John. "Like your grandson here."

He fancied that he saw her swell a little with pride. "Jeff told me about his plans before he told the boys."

Bruce chuckled. "Wanted his mother's seal of approval first, huh?"

"He needed to know that he wasn't losing his mind in thinking that it was possible, and to get a second opinion about whether I thought the boys would want to join the organisation. I thought they were a little young to make such a decision, Alan and Gordon especially; Alan wasn't even a teenager; but I also thought that Jeff needed to tell Scott before he got so entrenched in the Air Force that he wouldn't dream of leaving. We both agreed that without Scott leading the way in the field, International Rescue was a non-starter."

"And Scott was the one of us who was the most convinced that the idea was stupid, impractical, and doomed to failure," John admitted. "Dad must have thought his dream was over before it had begun."

"My understanding was that you weren't that keen either," Grandma reminded him. She raised an eyebrow. "Something about not being able to put a satellite into space and keeping its location secret?"

John laughed. "I've never been so glad to be so wrong."

"What did Virgil think?" Bruce asked.

"He loved the idea; or at least loved the idea of seeing those machines that were only drawings on paper come to life. I don't think he thought International Rescue was a starter either."

"So, none of you were keen?"

"I wouldn't say we weren't keen. We could see the merit in an international rescue organisation, but I don't think that any of us in our wildest imaginations so much as dreamed that Dad would be able to make it work. And then he told us about this guy he was bankrolling who'd promised that he'd make Dad's dream into reality… And we all thought that Brains was a conman trying to scam Dad out of his millions."

Grandma snorted. "That boy? Your father would have seen through him right away." She turned to Bruce. "Don't forget to help yourself to some coffee."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be awake all night if I do."

"Well the machine's always on. Tell the others that any of you can come in and help yourselves whenever you want it."

"Thanks… But…" Bruce became serious. "I know we all appreciate the fact that you've made this part of the house a communal area, but maybe you should consider keeping ACE away? In case you ever need to have a meeting about something that some of us don't know about?"

John shook his head. "We'll make Virgil's bedroom into a family lounge. Hopefully by the time he needs to use it, you'll all be back in your own homes."

"Not wanting to appear unappreciative of your generosity, nor wish Virgil a slow recovery, I hope we're back in our own homes well before he becomes an outpatient… Is everyone else at the hospital?"

"Dad is. The guys have gone to get Brains. Once he's here to oversee things then the operation will start." John remembered Virgil's confusion. "We hope."

"Well, I'm here because I've got some news that Virgil might like to hear. Mega… erm, I mean Mr Watts has heard from his family. They're okay."

Grandma clapped her hands together. "That's wonderful news! He must be so relieved."

"He's pretending that he hasn't been concerned, but we can tell that it's a weight off his mind. Even Greg's happy for him. He said that Mr Watts should let Mr T know his good news, but Mr Watts reckons that Mr T doesn't want to be bothered with something as insignificant as his Production Manager's family."

"But he should tell Jeff," Grandma stated. "He'll be delighted. Are they in Bearston?"

"No. At a medical centre not far from their home. From what I understand, George was in a recording studio when the quake hit. The building was old and made of bricks and couldn't withstand the shaking. It collapsed."

"Oh, my!"

"He's okay," Bruce soothed, "apart from some scratches and bruises, but he was trapped for some hours until a rescue team was able to get to him, and they've kept him under observation overnight. I think the worst injury he suffered is disappointment that his guitar was crushed in the 'quake… Maybe you'd better not tell Virgil that part," he added quickly. "It's probably not something that another musician would want to hear."

John nodded. "You're probably right."

"And Mrs Watts?" Grandma asked. "How is she?"

"Mr Watts didn't say, so I'm assuming she's okay."

Grandma turned to her grandson. "There must be some way we can reunite the family."

John thought. "We can't send Penny and Parker to get them. The roads are probably impassable in places and the last thing the local emergency authorities will need is a big car making a bad situation worse." He ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe Scott's got some ideas? I've got something I need to tell them anyway…" He raised his arm and then lowered it. "We are alone, aren't we?"

Bruce ducked back to the door and looked out of it. "I can't see anyone."

"Good." John raised his arm again. Then he winked at Bruce. "Thunderbird Five calling Thunderbirds One, Four and Three."

Bruce heard Gordon's voice closely followed by Alan's.

"_Reading you, John."_

"_Strength Five, John."_

"_Scott's listening, but he's concentrating on flying the helijet. Who are you showing off to, Johnny?"_

"Bruce."

"_Yeah? Hiya, Bruce."_

John twisted his arm so that Bruce could see his watch's face. But instead of the standard dial, Bruce saw two Tracys. "Hi, Guys."

"_What can we do for you?"_

John reclaimed his watch. "A couple of things. Firstly…" he glanced at his grandmother, who was taking her powder compact from out of her pocket and allowing Bruce to watch the larger image. "Brains has been thinking about Virgil's operation…"

"_I should hope so,"_ Alan said. _"We don't want him thinking about anything else apart from getting here on time."_

"He told me, well, he told Virgil, that he's come to the conclusion that there's a chance that the operation will be able to reinstate the amputations."

Gordon gaped at the tiny screen. _"Virgil will get his fingers back?!"_

"Yep. He'll even be able to play the piano."

"_Legs too?"_

"Apparently."

"_Will they have enough material?"_ Alan asked.

"_What do you mean?"_

"_Well… They're supposed to use the patient's own bones, and muscles, and nerves to start the rebuilding process, right?"_

"_Right."_

"Right."

"_But __they've__ hacked off a heck of a lot already…"_

"_Alan!"_

"I've got Grandma here, Alan, so watch what you're saying."

Grandma huffed. "I don't know why you boys think I'm about to faint at the merest mention of something unpleasant."

"_Sorry, Grandma. But you know what I mean. Will there be enough, ah, tissue remaining to, erm, seed the framework?"_

"I don't know," John admitted. "Brains must think so, otherwise he wouldn't have got Virg's hopes up."

"_Maybe they'll do bone grafts or something?"_ Gordon suggested.

"_He's going to look like a patchwork quilt."_

"_Alan!"_

"Alan!"

"_Sorry."_

"We can ask Brains how he did it after the operation is over," John suggested. "The second thing I wanted to discuss with you guys is that Mr Watts has finally contacted his family."

"_Great!"_

"_Wonderful!"_

"_Where are they, John?"_

"Is that you, Scott? Still in the earthquake zone with no way to get out. Dad would want to reunite the family, but I think FAB1's not an option this time."

"_I'd suggest that we collect them in this helijet once we've dropped Brains off at the hospital, but I don't want to leave there until after Virgil's operation. Also, as I don't think any of us have had a lot of sleep over the last two days, piloting's going to become dangerous soon."_

"That's what I thought."

"_Has Penny got her helijet licence?"_

"You know she has. You helped train her."

"_Give her a call, John, and see if she'd be willing to take this girl. We've hired it for 24 hours. And you'd better check if Penny's going to be happy night flying."_

"Okay."

"_It could work in our favour. It'll mean that Penny can collect the helijet at Bearston, go and get the Watts, drop them off at our place, and then return the helijet to the hire company. Parker can meet her there in FAB1. We won't have to worry about the helijet and can concentrate on Virgil."_

"Suits me. I'll give Penny a call and see if she's willing."

"_Thanks, John."_

"When do you think you'll be back in Bearston?"

"_We're approaching the coast now. Brains and Tin-Tin are about point eight three of an hour away from Tracy Island. All things being equal, we should all arrive at Barduq at about the same time. We'll be back in Bearston about midnight."_

"About midnight? Don't you want to attempt a Virgil and give me your ETA down to the nearest second…?" John realised the tactlessness of his words. "Forget I said that."

"_Go get some sleep, John."_

"I'll get some sleep when we all can get some sleep. How are you holding up? Maybe you should get Tin-Tin to fly you back to Bearston?"

Silence on the airwaves told everyone what Scott thought of that suggestion.

"We'll talk to you guys later," John promised. "Call us when you get to Barduq."

"_Will do."_

"_F-A-B, Thunderbird Five. Thunderbird Four out."_

John chuckled at Gordon's pronouncement and relaxed his arm, giving it a shake to reinstate the circulation. "See, I told you International Rescue would have never got off the ground without Scott organising everyone."

Bruce was goggling at the watch telecom. "Now that's more convenient than a cell phone. Any chance I could get one? Then I could keep it with me at work without the brass knowing…" He grimaced. "…which is not the thing to say to my boss's mother and son."

John chuckled. "We'll have to see if we can make you into one of our agents, then Hamish won't be able to complain about you wearing it… I'd better call Penny." He raised his arm again. "John to Lady Penelope…"

FAB1's drive to the helijet hire company had been made in near silence. Lady Penelope, recognising her friends' preoccupation, had decided that it was not her place to try to make idle chitchat. She was therefore glad to hear from one of the Tracy Boys. _"How may I help you, John?"_

"Do you feel up to a bit of night flying, Penny?"

"_I should enjoy it tremendously. In which craft?"_

"The helijet. Sorry we're only using you as a taxi service."

"_That is quite acceptable. Whom shall I be transporting?"_

"The wife and son of ACE's Production Manager. George was trapped in a building and Mr Watts has only just regained contact with them."

"_Then we shall not keep them apart for longer than is necessary. Where are they at present?"_

"Erm…" John glanced at Bruce who shrugged. "We don't know. We'll know by the time the guys are back with Brains. We'll let you know in plenty of time."

"_The helijet can comfortably seat six. Perhaps I can effect a rescue of my own and release some other poor souls from the continuing aftershocks."_

John grinned. "That sounds like a plan. Once we've found out how you can contact the Watts family, can we leave you to make all the arrangements?"

"_Of course."_

"We won't need the helijet once you've finished your mission of mercy. So, we were thinking that you could return it to the hire company and Parker could pick you up from there. That way we'd fuel two Thunderbirds in one hangar."

Lady Penelope made no comment on the weakness of his metaphor. _"This has the hallmarks of a Scott Tracy plan."_

"That's because it is one. I'll get back to you when we've got more information, Penny."

"_I shall look forward to it, John."_

John lowered his arm and grinned at Bruce. "There y'are. Thunderbirds are go."

"Shall I ask Mr M. if he knows where George and his mother are staying?" Bruce asked. "We could make it a surprise for Mr Watts."

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

Grandma drew her Grandson's attention away from more frivolous thoughts. "Weren't you going to check on the communication link with the robot?"

John lost his grin. "Yes, I was. I'd better grab my computer and get back over there. See you later, Bruce." He headed in the direction of his room.

Bruce started walking backwards towards the door. "Will you let us know when the operation's going to start, Mrs T.?"

"Of course, I will," Grandma promised. "And we'll tell Virgil you're all thinking of him."

"Thanks."

Bruce disappeared through the back door, just as John descended the stairs again. "I'm sure everything's okay, I just want to double check."

"I know… John…"

"Yes, Grandma?" John was surprised when he received a peck on the cheek. "What's that for?"

"That's for not upsetting your brothers. Brains has enough to worry about without enduring a tense ride before surgery."

-F-A-B-

Far away and growing farther, a not too dissimilar conversation was occurring.

"Isn't that great news about Virgil's fingers?" Alan exclaimed.

Gordon nodded his agreement. "I'll say. Home wouldn't be home without his piano playing."

"We'll have to dig out some recordings to inspire him. It's going to be a long time before we'll hear him again."

"I can live with that, just so long as he lives."

"It's almost unbelievable. Do you think he'll be able to re-join International Rescue one day?"

"I hope so. Then he can take control of Thunderbird Two leaving me free to pilot Thunderbird Four. I hope Brains is right with his theory."

"Passing over the coast…" Scott looked up from the GPS. "The way you guys are talking, I'd almost think that you think that this is something that Brains has only just thought of."

The two younger Tracys looked at the helijet's pilot. "What do you mean?" Alan asked.

"I mean: Do you honestly believe that Brains has pulled the theory that they are going to be able to grow two legs and two fingers out of thin air? Something like that has got to have been thought about long and hard. They won't have had time to print out the appropriate bones and tissues if those researchers have only just concluded that it's feasible."

Gordon gaped at his big brother. "You mean Brains knew! And he didn't tell us?"

"He probably thought he had, or reasoned that, based on what the operation entails, we'd make that assumption. These last two days must have been nearly as stressful for him as it has been for the rest of the family."

Alan was frowning. "John must be really tired if he didn't realise."

"I think John knew, but he was trying to keep it from us. He didn't actually say when Brains came to the conclusion. He didn't want to upset us, because he didn't want us to upset Brains."

Alan flopped back on his seat. "I must be really tired if _I_ didn't realise."

"We're all tired, Alan."

"Tired enough that you're going to let Tin-Tin fly us back to Bearston?"

Scott rotated his shoulders, trying to loosen the muscles. "Maybe."

Gordon grinned. "Tired enough that you're going to let Penny collect the Odonata?"

"No chance."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_9:44pm_

Back at the hospital Jeff had reclaimed his seat next to the bed; experiencing relief as the temperature gauge on the wall had fallen and Virgil's conversation had become more coherent and less rambling.

"Did Brains explain everything to you?" he asked.

"T'in' so."

"In that case, could you explain it to me? It all sounds like black magic." Jeff checked his watch. "They should be reaching Barduq any moment. Two hours after that and Brains will be in Bearston and they'll be able to start the operation." He felt the weak fingers tighten about his own. "Don't worry," he soothed. "Brains wouldn't put you through this if he didn't think it was for the best. Besides, you'll be sleeping right through it. You'll have one of the best anaesthesiologists in the country looking after you." He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Next thing he knew, something electronic had started screaming.

Jeff's immediate reaction was to look down at his son to ensure that he was all right, but Virgil appeared just as bewildered as he was.

"Angela!"

Jeff's head snapped around to the bed next door. The amount of activity there had increased and, from Amelia Eagle's agonised cry and the purposeful way that the nurse was scurrying about, it hadn't happened for a good reason.

"Get out of the way!" the nurse demanded of the wailing mother as another nurse rushed into the room to assist.

"Angela!" Amelia cried again. But she didn't move from her daughter's side.

Jeff decided that it was time for action. "Mrs Eagles…" He stood, hurried around Virgil's bed as quickly as he could and gently, but firmly, took her by the arm. "Come with me. Let them do what they need to do." He guided her to the foot of Virgil's bed, so she could still see what was happening, but wasn't intruding on the frantic activity.

Angela's bed was pulled out into the centre of the room to allow the medical staff greater access to their patient.

"Angela," Amelia keened. "My baby."

"Your daughter's getting the best care possible," Jeff told her, and averted his eyes as more skin than he considered acceptable was exposed.

Amelia released a sob.

"Surgical team to triage room four. STAT!" someone told the radio. The radio responded with unintelligible noise.

"Angela!"

As she made a lunge for her daughter, Jeff struggled to hold the young woman's mother back. "Please… Let them do their job."

The sheet was withdrawn from over the injured leg and at the sight of the blackened foot, Amelia let out a little scream before burying her face into Jeff's shoulder so she couldn't see. "They're going to amputate!" She looked up at Jeff. "Aren't they?"

"I don't know," he responded; trying to be tactful even though he thought she was probably correct. "Is your family in the motorhome? You should be with Mr Eagles and Freddy now. Why don't I take you there?"

"I should be with Angela!" She pushed away from him. "She needs me."

Jeff caught her by the arm. "Angela needs the care she's getting," he told the distraught woman, as various pieces of equipment were hung off Angela's bed and it was manoeuvred towards the door. "You and your family need to be together."

"You don't know what I need!" Amelia hissed.

"I understand…" Jeff began.

"You don't understand!" Amelia pointed at the patient in the bed against the back wall. "Your son's still alive AND in one piece!"

Jeff, glad that Virgil was in the middle of one of his many micro-naps, didn't correct her.

Angela was being wheeled out into the corridor, and Amelia attempted to follow her. Once again, Jeff held her back.

"Let me go!"

"_No_!" Jeff softened his voice. "No, Mrs Eagles. I'm not going to let you go. Not until you agree to let the surgeons do what's best for Angela."

She let out another sob and all the fight seemed to go out of her. She nodded.

"Good." Jeff relaxed. "Now… How about I take you out to the motorhome?" He found a discarded box of tissues and handed it to her.

Pulling a couple of tissues out of the box and dabbing her tears with them, Amelia Eagles nodded again.

Jeff looked over to where a pair of brown eyes were watching him. "I'm going to take Mrs Eagles to her family. Will you be okay for a few minutes, Virgil?"

This time it was Virgil who nodded and Jeff, vowing that he was not going to waste any time, led her towards the door. Keeping a gentle, but firm grip across her shoulders, he turned the sobbing woman away from the theatres and towards the exit.

Despite the number of days that they'd been at Bearston General, Jeff still wasn't sure of the best way to the motorhomes. It was only by recognising and following a few directional signs that he found the most discreet way out into the carpark where the temporary accommodation resided. Walking through the darkness of night and hoping that he was heading towards the right one, Jeff stopped outside a door. He knocked.

There as a scuffling sound inside and the door cracked open a fraction. An eye appeared before, with a "Mr Tracy!" the entrance was exposed.

At the sight of her son, Amelia Eagles burst into tears.

Billy Eagles appeared at the door. "Amelia?"

"Angela's been taken into surgery," Jeff said quickly, mindful that the worst possible scenario was probably playing through the Eagles' minds. "I thought you would all prefer to be together until she's back in her room. I'm heading back there now," he added, "so I can call you when she's ready to hear you again."

Freddy's face was white under his black hair, but he nodded his thanks. "I don't have my cell phone. Can I give you Dad's number?" He dictated a series of digits.

Jeff entered them into his phone.

"How's Virgil?"

"Better than we could have hoped," Jeff admitted. "But he's not out of the woods yet. We're hoping that he'll be operated on in a couple of hours and that once that's over we'll have a better idea of his prognosis."

"I hope it works," Freddy admitted.

"And I hope Angela's okay," Jeff said truthfully.

Freddy managed a minute smile. "Thank you, Mr Tracy. I appreciate all you've done for my family; especially in light of what you've got to deal with."

"If we all do what we can for each other, we'll make this ordeal much easier to bear," Jeff told him. "I'd better get back to Virgil, but I'll contact you if I hear anything about Angela."

"Thank you."

Jeff was hurrying back to the hospital room before the motorhome's door had even closed.

"Shall I make us a cup of coffee?" Freddy offered.

His mother burst into tears again. "We should be with Angela!" she wailed.

"There's nothing we can do," Billy told her. "She's getting the best care possible under the circumstances."

"You sound like _him_!" Amelia flipped her head in the general direction of the departing Jeff Tracy. "He's got all his money and all he has to do is snap his fingers and the hospital comes running. All I could do was sit there and hope. And now Angela's going to lose her leg and maybe her life. I don't need _his_ platitudes. Not when _his _son's still alive and in one piece."

Freddy, a steaming kettle in his hand gaped at his mother. "You didn't say that to him, did you?"

Amelia lifted her chin in defiance. "I did."

"Amy!" Billy scolded. "It's thanks to Jeff Tracy that we're here with Angela… And Freddy," he added belatedly.

Freddy put the kettle on the bench top. "Do you know how sick Virgil Tracy is?"

Amelia lost some of her defiance. "No."

"There's a reason why he's in the same room as Angela." Freddy sat down so he was facing his mother. "He's on amputation watch as well."

"But he seems to well, comparatively speaking. He was having a conversation with his father."

"I think they've adjusted his medication," Freddy admitted, "but I do know that he's sick… Really sick."

"He can't be that sick," Amelia persisted stubbornly.

Leaning forward, Freddy took his mother's hands into his own and held them tight. "The Tracys were told that Virgil had died."

Both of Freddy's parents were astonished by the revelation. "What?"

"But he's alive!" Amelia stated. "I just saw him!"

"I know. I think there was a computer error that happened when things were at the most hectic at the hospital. The Tracys were told that Virgil had died, and I was there when Mr Tracy told us… At least he tried to. He was too upset."

Amelia was beginning to lose some of her animosity towards Jeff Tracy. "How horrible!"

"It was after that that the family were told that Virgil was in a coma and _was_ dying, and that each of them had only a limited time to say goodbye… I had to listen to Mr Tracy say goodbye to his son."

"Oh, that poor man! But he didn't die…? Virgil?"

"No… But when he'd come out of the coma, Mr Tracy had to tell him that he'd had both legs amputated."

Amelia Eagles stared at her own son. She now had an understanding of what Jeff Tracy had gone through and had to admit that that her fear of losing Angela had made her lash out at the nearest target; even though that target hadn't been deserving of her animosity. She reflected that there were some situations when all the money in the world couldn't help those you loved. "Both legs?" she whispered.

"And he's lost two of his fingers… so far."

Horrified by the scenario, and what she'd said to a man who had every understanding of what she was going through and more, Amelia's hand went to her mouth. "Oh… Freddy…" She resolved to apologise to Jeff at the first opportunity she could.

"I was there when Mr Tracy told Virgil that they'd amputated his legs. Virgil just…" Freddy grimaced at the memory. "He went crazy. I had to help Mr Tracy calm him down."

Amelia burst into tears once again. "Poor Mr Tracy. And here I go accusing him of not understanding! What must he think of me?"

"I don't know him that well," Freddy admitted, "but what I do know makes me think that he won't hold it against you. He knows that this is a tough time for everyone."

-F-A-B-

Jeff was thinking along those lines when he returned to Virgil's room. He looked at the recently vacated space and hoped that things weren't as bad as they feared. Then he walked past the machinery to the bed at the end of the room. "That wasn't too long, was it?"

He thought he saw lines of stress lessen behind the oxygen mask. He did see a hand lift off the bed as if his son was reaching for him. Taking the hint, Jeff struggled back to his seat and sat down, picking up the hand as he did so.

"I' she…" Virgil glanced at where the neighbouring bed had been.

"They're going to operate to try to save her life."

"Amp'ta'?"

"I don't know."

Virgil frowned. "Wom'n 'pset."

"Yes, she was. That's Amelia Eagles. Freddy's mother. Do you remember Freddy from ACE?"

Virgil gave a tiny nod. He glanced back over to the vacated area. "Fr'dy?"

"Freddy's sister. Angela. I think she's going to lose her leg."

"Bra' 'lp?"

"Could Brains help her? I don't know, Virgil. His focus is on you at the moment."

"Th'n 'lp 'er."

"We'll see," Jeff patted his son's hand. "We'll see."

-F-A-B-

_9:44p.m._

"Barduq dead ahead," Scott announced.

Alan pointed at the radar. "Looks like we've got an escort."

A bright beam shot out of the darkness and lit up the runway. "Thunderbird Two to helijet," Tin-Tin's voice announced. "You can land first."

Under normal circumstances Scott wouldn't have any issues with landing the helijet in the darkness, but this time he felt tired enough to appreciate the chance to land in almost full light. "Thanks, Tin-Tin." He landed the aircraft, taking care to ensure that he left plenty of room for Thunderbird Two to land and then reverse into shelter.

The two groups met in the hangar, Tin-Tin hugging each of the Tracys in turn. "You look exhausted," she told Scott.

"Maybe not exhausted, but close," he admitted. "Have you had enough sleep to consider flying this girl?"

"I have."

"Would you mind?"

Tin-Tin knew that he wouldn't have made the request if he didn't have concerns over his own flying abilities. It made her glad that she'd made a point of getting regular naps over the last few days. "Not at all."

"Thanks."

"H-How was Virgil when you left?" Brains asked.

"Awake… Communicating…" Alan shrugged. "We, personally, haven't seen him since we had to… Were told to…" Just as tired as Scott, his voice caught as his emotions relating to the last words he'd spoken to his brother surfaced. Tin-Tin put her arms about him and held him close, and for once no one made a comment or thought anything of it.

"I am sure that they will permit you to see him before the operation," Kyrano offered.

"Even if they don't, we'll make 'em," Gordon folded his arms defiantly. "But I'm sure he'll want to see all of us, you guys too, before they take him in."

"And how is Mr Tracy? Mrs Tracy?"

"Grandma's happier now she's got a kitchen to keep her occupied. Dad… We haven't seen him for as long as Virgil's been awake."

"Mister John?"

"As tired as the rest of us. He was going to check the communications relay one last time to make sure everything's A-OK."

Scott indicated the big transporter. "Do you need anything out of Thunderbird Two, Brains?"

"N-No." Brains indicated a case in his hand. "I have, ah, everything I need here."

Scott turned to the Kyranos. "How about you two?"

"We have our bags, Scott."

"I require nothing more, Mister Scott."

"Okay. Let's get this show on the road." Out of habit, Scott almost climbed into the pilot's seat, veering off towards the rear door of the craft at the last moment. His brothers climbed in beside him, leaving the front seats for Brains and the Kyranos.

_To be continued…_


	29. Chapter 29

Jeff Tracy looked up from his seat beside Virgil's bed. "Colin?"

Colin Eden was wearing what appeared to be full surgical gear, including a clear full-face mask, and gloves. "I've just received word from Brains. They're about an hour away and I thought I'd better check on my patient."

"I'll get out of your way then." Jeff stood. "Virgil? Have you met Colin Eden yet?"

Virgil shook his head.

"He's…" Too tired to remember if he'd told his son about Colin's present position at Bearston General, Jeff thought he'd play it safe and not mention the anaesthetist's four-month sabbatical from the role. "He's going to be your anaesthesiologist."

Virgil nodded and drifted into one of his micro sleeps as Jeff shuffled out and Colin shuffled in. He awoke wondering how the two men had managed to magically change places.

The anaesthetist did a few tests and, apparently satisfied, made some notes on his tablet clipboard. "Anything you need to know, Virgil?" he asked the patient, when the brown eyes had opened and refocused.

Virgil thought for a moment. "N'."

"Anything you think we need to know?"

"N'."

"Good. Now you don't need to worry about a thing. If I do my job correctly, it'll be over before you know it."

Jeff found himself wishing that someone would make him the same offer.

Virgil remembered a question that had been plaguing him. "'Ngla?"

Colin frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"He said Angela," Jeff translated.

"Angela?"

"Angela Eagles. She was in the next bed. Any word on how she is? I told her family I'd keep them posted."

"Ah…" Colin consulted his tablet. "According to this… she's… in recovery."

"Good." Jeff held up his cell phone. "Would you mind if I sent the Eagles a message?" he asked Virgil. "They're desperate to know something. I'll be back soon."

Virgil nodded, and Jeff hurried away.

"Now that your father's gone," Colin smiled at his patient, "do you have any questions for me?"

"Wha…" Virgil made an effort to enunciate clearly. "Wha' d' y' thin' m' ch'nc' 'r'?"

"What do I think your chances are?"

Virgil nodded. "'Nest'y."

"Honestly?" Colin glanced towards the door. "If I'm honest, Virgil, I don't know. I only learnt about this new technique a few hours ago and I haven't had the time to study it in detail. If it works, it's going to be the miracle that many have prayed for."

"'F do'sn' worg?"

"Your father seems to have a great faith in Brains," Colin prevaricated. "And Brains seems to believe that this is the cure that will help you regain your life…" He hesitated. "Do you have doubts? We don't have to proceed. The backlog has nearly gone, and we'll be able to offer you more, erm, traditional options."

"N' choi'."

"No choice?"

Virgil nodded.

"There is a choice, but…" Colin reflected on what would happen to this young man if he chose the "traditional option".

"N' choi'," Virgil repeated. Then, with an obvious effort, he lifted his good hand off the bed. "Th'g y'… F'r 'v'yth'n'."

Feeling the same sense of surprise as when Alan Tracy had offered him his thanks, Colin Eden shook Virgil Tracy's hand. "You're welcome…"

But Virgil had dozed off again.

Jeff bustled back in, just as Virgil re-awoke. "I can't say that they're happy, but the Eagles are relieved to have some news."

Two orderlies followed him into the room wheeling between them something coffin-sized and not too dissimilar in shape. They donned extra protective gear and began removing the 'coffin's' cover, revealing a long, hemispherical, clear, hollow object.

Colin turned back to Virgil. "We are going to put a quarantine chamber over you. I know it's only an hour, but we don't want to take the risk of you picking up an infection from an external source; especially when we take you through the hospital to the theatre outside."

Jeff thought he detected a momentary panic in Virgil's eyes. "Can't the family see him first?"

"I'm sorry, but not without this layer of protection. Because this is such an experimental operation we should have done it hours ago, but the hospital didn't have the time or facilities to make the arrangements." Colin gave a guilty grimace. "Even you and I are threats, Jeff."

Jeff saw the panicked look again as the quarantine cover was wheeled closer to Virgil's bed. "Wait!"

Colin stared at him. "This is necessary."

"I know, but…" Jeff took a deep breath. "Can't I… Can't we… One last handshake?"

Colin hesitated. "Get Mr Tracy a gown, a mask, and some gloves," he ordered one of the orderlies, before looking down at his patient. "I'm sorry."

Virgil nodded.

Colin turned back to see that Jeff already had a gown on and was submitting to having a pair of gloves pulled up his arms. He shuffled back down between the bed and the wall. "I am sorry, Jeff," he apologised.

"You say it's for the best," Jeff growled, and placed the mask on his head. Taking Colin Eden's place at the side of Virgil's bed, as the other men did their best to pretend to not be there, he picked up his son's hand. "Keep strong, Virgil," he commanded, wishing he could think of something more meaningful to say and that there wasn't the latex barrier between them.

"Wo' see f'mly."

Jeff softened his voice. "I know. If there was any way…"

Virgil nodded.

"At least I'll get the chance to get the rest you're so desperate for me to have." Jeff forced himself to smile behind the mask. "We can all catch up on our sleep while you're under the anaesthetic."

Virgil nodded again.

A throat was cleared. "Jeff… I'm sorry."

"Okay, Colin…" Once again Jeff found himself wishing that he could say something profound and reassuring. All he could think of was: "Remember the family motto."

Virgil mouthed the words along with him.

"Never give up."

Jeff squeezed Virgil's hand. "None of us have given up so far, Virgil, and none of us will."

"I 'no'."

"Including you?"

"Y'."

"Good." Jeff extricated himself from beside the bed one last time and tried to stand well clear as various machines were eased into the space where Angela had lain, and Virgil's bed was rolled into the middle of the room. The quarantine cover was positioned parallel to the patient and the whole unit lifted up and over.

Virgil's eyes were closed, and Jeff hoped that he was enjoying a micro-nap and not trying to stop himself from freaking out by blocking his view of the whole experience. He'd seen that panicked expression once again as he'd released his son's hand.

"I can't get over how calm he is," Colin whispered. "After all that's happened and with all that's going to happen, he seems totally unfazed. Everyone's commented on it."

Jeff disagreed with the analysis, but said nothing. If Virgil wanted the world to see a calm façade, he wasn't going to blow his cover. Those panicked looks, the hand that trembled, those little glimpses of a less than serene countenance were all probably so fleeting that someone who knew him as only a father could know his son would be able to pick them up.

The quarantine cover was locked down and a light mist pumped in.

"Disinfectant," Colin explained.

Jeff indicated his protective gear. "Can I take this off now?"

Colin began removing his own quarantine suit. "Of course." He looked at his watch. "Brains will be here soon. I'd better go and get ready. Don't worry, Jeff. I'm sure everything will be fine."

Jeff managed a tight smile. He wanted to believe that all would be fine, but the knowledge that this was an experimental operation kept on nagging at him. What if he'd doomed Virgil to even less of a life than he would have had if he'd allowed Bearston General's surgeons to operate two days earlier?

With a "Don't worry, Virgil, you'll get to see your family again," and a "see you soon," to both Tracys, Colin Eden left the room.

Deciding that it was time to be extra positive and to be relieved that he no longer had to squeeze himself flat to get to his son's side, Jeff smiled down on Virgil. "Not long to wait now."

"Th… T'an's f'r stayin' wi' m'."

Jeff pretended to be surprised. "You don't think I'd leave you alone, do you?"

"Ho' Sco'?"

"Scott? I haven't seen him for hours. But I think he's flying the helijet that's picking up Brains, so he must be okay. You know your brother. As much as he loves it, he wouldn't do anything risky when flying…" Jeff gave a wry grin. "That was unless it was absolutely necessary, of course."

Virgil made an expression that could have been a grimace or an equally wry smile.

"Don't worry about Scott. He knows that you're being looked after and that will steady him… It's steadying all of us."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_11:51pm_

The helijet lightly touched down in the fields next to Bearston General; a landing so light that not everyone on board was jolted awake.

Alan ran his hand over his eyes. "We're here?" He elbowed Gordon.

"I'm awake," the latter complained, after a snort that made everyone think that he hadn't been.

"Good landin', Tin-Tin," Scott congratulated, and opened the helijet door, wakening his brothers even more when the cold evening air washed in. He jumped down to the ground.

Gordon shuffled over into the vacated space and stretched. "Is Brains awake?"

Tin-Tin looked at the individual slumped in the seat next to her. "No." She smiled at Scott when he opened the door and accepted his hand as he assisted her out. "What would you say if I was this chivalrous to you?"

"I'm so tired I probably would've let you."

"Didn't you sleep on the flight?"

"Not 'cause I don't trust you," Scott reassured his friend. "Too many things goin' through my mind."

Two figures approached from out of the darkness. "Good evening to you all."

Scott turned and managed a smile. "Even'n', Penny. Parker."

Lady Penelope regarded Scott dishevelled appearance. "You look exhausted, dear boy."

He ran his hand through his hair, roughing it up even more. "Wonder how many more people are goin' to say that."

Trying to wake up, Alan had jogged around the back of the helijet. "Not many more. Soon you'll be able to get a good sleep. That's if Brains wakes up for the operation."

"The guy's a marvel." Gordon climbed out of the passenger compartment and looked into the cockpit to where Brains still snored gently. "He's either awake or he's asleep. There're no half measures."

"You'd better wake him, Kyrano," Alan advised. "The main event can't start until he's ready."

"Of course." Kyrano laid a gentle hand on the sleeping man's arm. "Mister Brains?" There was no response, so he increased the pressure and his volume. "Mister Brains."

Brains' eyes opened. He looked around; awake, bright-eyed, and leaving the Tracys feeling even more washed out. "Are we here?"

"We are here, Mister Brains."

"Good!" Brains followed the older man out of the cockpit and collected his bag from the hold.

"We have made arrangements with the Watts' family," Lady Penelope was telling the Tracys. "We have shall also airlift a family of three to Bearston. They are finding the continuing aftershocks most distressing."

Alan grinned. "You're a lifesaver, Penny."

"You can stay with us until it's time to collect Penny, Parker," Gordon told the chauffeur. "You can check out your rooms in the house."

Parker was trying not to be too relieved that he wasn't expected to undertake a flight in such a small aircraft. "Thank you, Mister Gordon. H-I'll h-enjoy that."

Two more figures materialised out of the darkness. "Good trip?" John asked. He examined Scott. "You look exhausted! You didn't fly back, did you?"

Scott was about to reply, but Brains had his own pressing concerns. "Are the communications systems in place, John?"

Grandma, listening for any signs of aggravation, was relieved when her second-eldest grandson answered with an even, "I've just double-checked them and they're working perfectly."

"Good." Brains peered into the darkness towards the nearest lights, which happened to be a nearby residential area. "Which way do we go?"

Gordon pointed in the opposite direction, behind the helijet. "That way."

Grandma slipped her arm through Scott's. "Are you sure you'll all right, Honey?"

"I'll be fine once I know that Brains has seen Virg."

Lady Penelope smiled at Tin-Tin. "May I have the keys for the helijet, please?"

"Do you have to go right away, Penny?" Alan asked, as Tin-Tin handed them over. "If there's a chance you can, I'm sure Virgil would like to see you and Parker."

"We should not like to intrude on what must be family time."

"You're almost family," Gordon reassured their friend.

"And I am sure that Virgil will appreciate the chance of seeing you," Grandma added. "Please stay."

"Then I should be honoured to do so."

The nine of them started walking towards the hospital.

"How is Mr Tracy?" Kyrano enquired.

"Last time I saw him he looked as exhausted as Scott," John admitted. "But he's hanging in there."

Lady Penelope walked onto the cracked paving that was supposed to be a concrete path with a step that was as cautious as her question. "And, ah, how is Virgil?"

"Communicating relatively well, although he's a bit hard to understand."

"That is good."

"He made a joke about feeling like he'd been run over with a steamroller."

"Virgil?" Gordon exclaimed. "Make a joke?! He must be feeling unwell." His brothers shared a weak laugh.

One which John didn't join in. "You won't get him to admit it, but yeah. He clings to you with his good hand like he's scared that you're going to leave him alone. What I found scary was how weak his grip was. That and when his temperature went up."

Brains stopped walking and stared at him, his gaze even more owl-like as his spectacles magnified his eyes in the dark. "Temperature increase?!"

"He seemed to lose focus and forgot everything I'd told him about ten minutes earlier. I'd told him that we'd bought the house and that we'd set aside a room for him and that he had better start thinking about what colour scheme he wanted, and ten minutes later he'd forgotten all about it. He even didn't know where he was and why he was there. And don't tell him the robot's doing the operation, 'cos I think he finds that idea the most scary of all. If Brains wasn't going to be assisting I think he would have been running for the door… If he had the legs to run… As I was leaving I told the nurse and she said that she'd do what she could to bring it down again. His temperature, not his legs."

"And did she?" Brains dropped his case onto the footpath and hauled a tablet PC from out of it. He started tapping the screen with frantic urgency.

"Did she what?"

B-Bring his temperature down," Alan snapped.

"I dunno. Dad had only just come back from doing battle with the FDA and so I…"

This time it was Scott who interrupted. "The FDA!? You never mentioned that!"

John looked blank in the dim light. "Didn't I?"

"No."

"No." Grandma shook her head. "You didn't tell me that either."

"Oh… Well Dad said this guy from the FDA turned up… And that's pretty much all he said, aside from the fact that he'd contacted Carter Cyval of Cyval Law to call him off. Which I supposed must have worked, 'cos everyone knows that the bureaucrats are scared of Cyval Law."

Lady Penelope and Parker, who had never even heard of Carter Cyval nor Cyval Law, declined to set John right with his assumption.

He, unaware of his inaccurate generalisation, continued speaking; his tongue seeming to have found a life discrete from his brain. "I didn't ask Dad anything more about the FDA because that was when he told me that Colin Eden's daughter's going to assist Brains with the operation. He said she's in her last years of surgical training. I was worried about this, but not as much as when Dad told me that Colin Eden's going to do the anath… anas… put Virgil under. Apparently, he used to be the head of the… that department until he became the G.M. of Bearston Genr'l 'bout four years ago."

Alan exploded. "Four years!?"

"No, no, no…" John shook his head. "Four months."

"You said four years."

"I said four months."

"You didn't."

"I did."

"You…"

Scott did some exploding of his own. "Alan! Shush!" He turned to his next youngest brother. "John. Is there anything else important that you think we need to know?"

"Important?"

"Yeah. Anything relating to Virgil and his operation."

"Ah… No?"

"Good. Then shut up until you've had some sleep."

"Sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

There was a moment's welcome silence. Brains put away his tablet and started following the path again.

Grandma fell into step beside him. "How's Virgil?" she asked.

"H-His temperature has dropped. It's higher than normal, but not so high that it's going to delay the operation. And before you ask," he added, "I am aware of both Ana and Colin Eden's credentials. I have no issues with them."

Now that what she considered to a reasonable time had passed, Tin-Tin ventured a question. "How much sleep have you all had?"

"In the last sixty/seventy hours?" Gordon ran his hand through his hair and tried to do the calculation. "About five?"

"Apart from when I was knocked out," John chirruped, forgetting his agreement with Scott. "That was when I slept under Thunderbird One."

"John!" Scott ordered. "Be quiet!"

"Sorry."

Scott held his finger to his lips and John gave a mute nod. Then the eldest turned back to Brains with raised eyebrows.

"H-He's tired," Brains confirmed. "I gave him a full examination and scan before we left the island and there's nothing wrong with his head."

"Nothing physical anyway," Alan grumbled.

"Alan," Scott growled. "We're all tired. Don't make me order you to be quiet too."

"Order? What gives you the rig…?!"

"Alan…" Gordon grabbed his youngest brother about the shoulders and pulled him back from the group. "Don't start an argument now. Do it once this is over. Do it once Virgil's in surgery. Do it once we've all had some sleep and we're in a better frame of mind. But please… Don't start an argument now. Not when there's a chance we're going to see Virgil. He'll want to see us as a unified family, not snapping and snarling at each other."

Gordon's last sentence was enough to calm Alan. He knew they were all exhausted. He knew that they were all stressed and that none of them wanted to add to the others' stresses. He nodded and resolved to be as silent as John.

"Thanks." Gordon clapped his brother on the back and then stumbled on. He was as tired as the rest of them and it was only through conscious effort that he was able to lift his feet high enough to walk over the weed-infested concrete. He'd had this little sleep before, but that was on missions when they'd had adrenaline to keep them going. This time…

This time they arrived at the back doors of Bearston General Hospital and prepared themselves for the final chance to see Virgil before he became a guinea pig.

-F-A-B-

_11:59pm_

Two orderlies bustled into the hospital room. "Time to go to O.R.," the more senior one said, unlocking Virgil's bed's wheels.

"Has Brains arrived?" Jeff took a step away from the quarantined bed before seeing the panicked look. He stepped back up to the bed again.

"Brains?"

"He's, erm, the lead in the operation… Along with Colin Eden."

"Mr Eden's already in the O.R.," he was told.

"Will Virgil get the opportunity to see his family?"

"We're under strict instructions to take the patient straight there. We don't have time stop anywhere."

"Oh…" Jeff wished that Virgil had been asleep at that moment. His son looked distressed at the lost opportunity. "Can I walk with you?"

"If you want. We're under instructions that we're to go the back way… so we won't be seen by too many people."

Under normal circumstances Jeff would have approved of such precautions, even if the hospital staff weren't aware of the real reason why, but this time he hadn't even thought about security. Then he remembered the photographer that had pestered Alan and Gordon and decided that that was the reason why the care was being taken.

The less senior orderly handed Jeff a folded blanket. "If anyone gets nosey, throw this over the box so they can't see him."

There was the panicked look again and Jeff hoped that he wouldn't have to do as he'd been instructed. He didn't think he could stand seeing Virgil freaking out again. He thought that Virgil's body would be able to stand it even less.

It was later that he found himself surprised that he'd even considered the idea of Virgil freaking out at all. They were in a situation that was totally foreign to every member of the family.

The hospital corridors were almost free of human activity and Jeff wondered where all the bodies that had lined these halls two days earlier had been transported to. The few people they met were hospital staff and, without exception, they stood to one side to allow the patient to pass with looks that were either sympathetic or accepting. None were curious or threatening in any way.

That was until they passed a corridor that was an offshoot of the one they were traversing.

"Mr Tracy!"

Under normal circumstances Jeff would have stopped to find out who had called, but this time nothing was going to make him stray from Virgil's side. Not even manners or curiosity.

He heard the sound of running feet reverberating off the cold lino. "Mr Tracy!"

Trying to maintain his forward momentum, Jeff glanced behind him. "I'm sorry, Freddy, but we can't stop."

"My mother wants to apol…" Freddy looked, shocked, at the container before him. "Virgil?"

"We're going to O.R." Jeff told him.

"O.R.? Oh… Oh, good!" Freddy hurried to keep in step. "I just wanted you to know. Angela made it through the surgery. But they had to amp… Ah…" He glanced at the container again and censored himself. "We'll talk to you when it's all over."

"I'll be sure to call you when Virgil's out of surgery."

"Good… Thanks… Um…" Freddy stopped walking and stood, watching, as the procession exited through the door and into the night. "Good luck…"

The bed was guided down a ramp to ground level. Here, someone had laid a new path, ensuring that it was smooth, weed-free, and devoid of any bumps that would cause discomfort to patients making the journey to and from the prefabricated operating theatres.

Jeff glanced to his right and back before his brain registered that he'd seen something unexpected. Looking sideways again he saw something uplifting. "Virgil…"

Virgil had made most of the journey with his eyes shut. He was exhausted and unwilling to face what he was about to endure. Even hearing Freddy's voice hadn't encouraged him to attempt to make contact, but his father addressing him was enough to make him look up.

Jeff gestured towards their right and Virgil looked through the clear, plastic box. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement.

Standing about 15 metres away, illuminated by a security light, Bruce, Olivia, Butch, Lisa, Hamish, and Edna waved back.

Bruce allowed his hand to drop as the procession disappeared out of sight behind the first prefab. "I hope they're doing the right thing."

Olivia hugged him. "They wouldn't be doing it if they didn't think they were."

Butch let out a sniff that threatened to suck the grass from out of the ground. "He looks sick."

Lisa held him close; lying her head on his shoulder. "Like Olivia said, he's getting the best treatment he can hope for." Her husband returned her embrace.

"Jeff looks ready to drop," Hamish noted.

Edna tucked her arm through his. "He's loyal to his boys, but he's not stupid. Once the operation's underway he'll get some rest." She looked up at her husband. "You'll make sure of that, Hamish Mickelson."

Pleased that Virgil's friends had been able to wish him luck, even if it was in an unsatisfactory way, Jeff was even happier to see what lined one side of the path that led to the theatre building. A big grin broke out over his face. "I knew they'd think of something."

Surprised by the comment, Virgil looked up at his father and then down past his feet, but the frame protecting his lower torso blocked his view and he could see nothing in the darkness, but the lights reflecting off the interior of his cell.

Then he saw Lady Penelope and Parker.

Eager to make contact, he pressed his fingers up against the clear wall that surrounded him.

"Good luck, Virgil," Lady Penelope told him and pressed her hand against the plastic that protected his.

"Yeah, h-and Donald Duck from me an' h-all," Parker added, and was pleased to see the glimmer of a smile from behind the oxygen mask.

Virgil wanted to say something in reply, but was fearful that his words wouldn't carry through the shell… The truth about his fear, if he cared to admit it, was that he was scared full stop and he didn't trust voice to not betray him.

He'd only just allowed his hand to relax on the sheets when he was rewarded with the sight of Tin-Tin and her father.

Tin-Tin was fighting back the tears and Virgil wanted to tell her to be strong, and that if he knew she was strong then he could be strong too. Instead he pressed his hand against the wall that separated them and was rewarded with a watery smile as Tin-Tin's hand mirrored his.

Kyrano covered his daughter's hand with his own and bowed his head. "Nasib baik," he intoned. "Sembuh tidak lama lagi."

Virgil didn't know what he said, but he knew his friend was wishing him well. He tried to say "thanks", but only managed to mouth the word.

And then the Kyranos were gone and all that remained was the path to the theatre…

And…

And Virgil felt a strength fill him that had been missing for the last couple of days.

"Hey, Virg!" It was Alan. "You didn't think you could sneak away without seeing us, did you?"

Virgil wanted to tell him how glad he was that they'd proven him wrong.

"Yeah. You should know by now that we'd never let you do that." And Gordon treated Virgil to a wink and a cheeky grin as both brothers tried to keep their hands pressed against Virgil's while the bed continued its unstoppable journey to the surgical building. "And don't listen to John. He's so tired that he's past the rational thought stage."

"Am not." John pushed their hands clear and took over. "I've been told that I've got to shut up, but I'm not going to listen to them. I'm going to tell you to break a leg…" He grinned. "Until you've got them back again."

"John!"

John appeared bemused by the avalanche of criticism dumped on him. "What?"

Virgil didn't care what had been said; he was just glad he was there to hear it. John's hand slid away from his and Grandma's took over.

"Now you keep strong, Virgil, dear. And we'll see you after your surgery. And don't worry about your brothers or father. I'll make sure they look after themselves. We'll all have a good night's rest."

Virgil wanted to tell his grandma that he loved her, that he loved all of them…

Then he saw Scott...

Virgil's eldest brother was standing there; tall, staunch, and resolute, but Virgil could detect a vulnerability that wasn't usually present. He did his best to reach out, his arm trembling with the strain, needing to comfort Scott and let him know that he was still alive and that he wasn't about to give up.

Scott pressed his hand against Virgil's but said nothing as his eyes locked onto his brother's. He stayed like that even when the bed reached its destination and the two orderlies turned it around 180 degrees. The patient ascended the ramp and entered the building head first.

Unable to follow, Scott's hand slid away from Virgil's down the side of the quarantine chamber.

Virgil felt a desperate need to maintain contact, but now even his tenuous link with his family had been taken from him. Needing to say something to those he cared about most of all before they disappeared from view, only one phrase came to mind…

"N'er… give… up…"

He watched as his family disappeared beyond the door.

"I'm sorry, Sir," the senior orderly said as Jeff attempted to follow, "but you can't come in here."

"Oh…" Jeff responded, a little nonplussed and very disappointed. "Right… Good luck, Virgil!"

The doors closed behind his son.

Inside the building, Virgil felt drained and depressed. The journey, coupled with his efforts to maintain consciousness along with that link with his family, had exhausted him. He closed his eyes as the container was removed, and waited for the operation to be over.

"H-Hello, Virgil."

Virgil opened his eyes again and looked up into the blue spectacles above him. "Br'n'. G'd t' see y'." Using the last of his strength he raised his arm.

Fortunately for Virgil, Brains saw the gesture and understood. He grasped his friend's hand. "It's good to see you too. Y-You had us worried there a c-couple of times. Now… Do you have any questions for me?"

Virgil, feeling as if it was the last thing he'd ever do, shook his head.

"You don't need to worry. Colin Eden's one of the best anaesthesiologists in the country. You won't be aware of a thing."

"Br'n'." Brains had been going to move away and Virgil tightened his grip on his hand. "Thangs… Than's f'r 'v'rythin'."

Brains squeezed the hand that was clinging to his. "And thank you for trusting me and being my friend." He placed Virgil's hand gently on the bed and moved out of the patient's line of sight before either of them became too emotional.

Ana Eden entered the room. "We're ready," she announced; adding, "Is this the patient?" as if she'd been expecting someone else in an even more critical condition.

Virgil had given up his fight to remain conscious.

Concerned, Brains checked him. "He's getting weaker."

"Weaker? I'm surprised that he's survived this long."

"Ana!" Colin complained, entering the anteroom in time to hear his daughter's comment. "How is he, Brains?"

"Growing weaker," Brains repeated.

"Then we'd better get scrubbed up. Your two friends are eager to get started… As I'm sure you are."

Brains made a face. "They are colleagues, not friends… And I'd never met them prior to two days ago." He looked at Ana. "Will you stay with Virgil while we scrub up?"

"Of course."

Once all three were satisfied that they were unlikely to pass any unwanted organisms onto their patient, an automatic trolley system wheeled him into the operating theatre.

The robot stood, ready, waiting, and clad in sterilised plastic sheeting. Two serpentine arms extended from its frame. The arms reached towards the patient and pointed down, the cameras on the end of each arm examining him.

"Can't you wait until we've prepped him?" Brains complained.

The arm closest to him twisted so the screen below the camera was facing him. "We want to see what we're up against," Bryce Dower's video image told him.

"I haven't seen _what we're up against_," Brains reminded him. "Why don't you both, ah, stand back for an overview until he's fully anesthetised?"

The Australian and the New Zealander must have seen some merit in what he said, because both robotic arms snaked back and up.

Virgil opened his eyes. Confused, but too weak to move his head, he tried to look around him. "B'n'?"

Keeping his sterilised and gloved hands clear of everything, Brains leant in closer so that Virgil could see the distinctive spectacles behind his masks. "I'm here, Virgil."

A serpentine arm snaked in and a video screen was thrust at Virgil's face, visibly startling him. "Hello. I'm Timoti Bailey. Good to finally meet you."

"You can make conversation after the operation," Colin told him. "Now can you get out of the way, so I can anaesthetise my patient?"

"Sorry." The arm retracted to the robot's side.

Virgil watched it withdraw. He saw the robot. On the side of the robotic torso he saw a logo that he knew well from a year's employment. His eyes widened. "A'?"

"Lie back, relax, and take deep breaths," Colin told him, holding the anaesthesia mask close by.

"R'b't?"

"I told you about the robot," Brains reminded the patient. "It is going to assist us while we repair your injuries."

"Assist!?" an Australian accent complained as a robotic arm swooped into Brains' field of vision. "The robot's going to…"

Brains elbowed the camera away and it retreated almost in indignation. "Like Mr Eden said, relax and take deep breaths, Virgil."

Virgil did his best to obey and not think about the robot as the anaesthesia mask was placed over his nose and mouth.

"That's good," Colin soothed. "You'll be awake again before you kn…"

-F-A-B-

Virgil awoke again.

At least he thought he was awake. Struggling to make sense of where he was and what was happening to him and desperate to let those operating on him know that the anaesthesia wasn't working, he attempted to speak.

Something was wrong with his breathing.

He couldn't make a sound.

He couldn't swallow.

He couldn't move.

He couldn't see.

Trapped inside his own body Virgil began to panic.

"Relax, Virgil," he was told; the voice familiar and reassuring. "Don't try to fight it."

"He can't feel you there, Father."

That voice was just as familiar, and Virgil felt a hand against his face and fingers run through his hair. It was a touch that brought back memories of childhood when he was safe, secure and free from fear.

"Relax, Virgil," the first voice repeated and, reassured, Virgil attempted to obey. "That's good. Just relax and when you're stronger we'll tell you everything. A lot has happened in the last ten days…"

_To be continued…_

_And if anyone's interested, the idea of using spiderwebs as the basis of Virgil's polymer came later in the piece. (This is why I like to complete my stories before posting.) Christmas 2017 I visited Weta Workshop's Bug Lab exhibition (Awesome! If you get the chance to see it, go!) and one of the displays said that there was a possibility that spider silk could be used for implants. I just enlarged on the theory so that it was the basis of some rather extensive replacement body parts._

_And as for medical uses of 3D printing… I don't know how many times real life's overtaken fiction since I started writing A Quiet Day._

_:-) Purupuss_


	30. Chapter 30

_12:30am_

The patient was completely anesthetised.

Before the bandages that had been applied after earlier procedures were removed Virgil was transferred to a surgical table, his torso placed inside a clear polymer mould that precisely matched his original body shape. Or at least the shape he'd been before two days of total inactivity and a couple of dramatic surgeries had ravaged his musculature.

The two robotic arms with their video cameras zipped around, supervising the placement of their test subject.

Finally, the Australasian scientists were satisfied. "That should hold him together," Bryce grunted.

"While allowing us to see the healing progress," Timoti added, as the other arm scooted until it was directly above Virgil's torso. "Let's see what we've got left to work with."

Together Brains and Ana Eden began the painstaking process of removing the bandages.

Ana sucked in her breath when she saw the abdominal injuries. "What a mess!"

"Anaesthesia!"

One of the arms scooted into Colin's face. "Anaesthesia? Has something gone wrong?!"

"Nothing's gone wrong," Colin told Bryce, exasperated by the closeness of the latter's screen to his face. "That's Ana's full name."

"Anaesthesia!?"

Brains examined the recent surgical scars. "Very neat," he complimented. "Your team does good work, Mr Eden. It almost seems a shame to undo it."

As the camera on the end of the arm moved down to see what had earned Brains' admiration, Colin took a moment to enjoy the praise. "I know," he admitted. "And sitting here is the best place to appreciate Bearston General's surgical teams in action."

Ana glanced at her father, her eyes showing sympathy and gratitude.

He tried not to notice. "You'd better call me Colin, Brains. There may be moments when we don't have time for formality later."

The robot moved in…

-F-A-B-

_12:30am_

They had done all they could. Now all they could do was wait. Wait an interminable number of hours.

But still no one moved. They stood staring, at the door through which the focus of all their energies for the last two days had passed.

Gordon was the first to speak. "Did I look tha' terrified when I 'ad my op'ration?"

"Yes, you did," his grandmother told him. "Bu' your operation was one hundred percent successful and we' got to believe that Virgil's will be too."

Jeff sighed. "I guess it's time to get some sleep. Where's this house?"

But no one appeared to have the energy to show him.

"Parker."

"Yes, m'Lady?"

"I think the Tracys may need some assistance. Will you see to that while I rescue Mr Watts' family?" Lady Penelope looked at her jewel encrusted watch, "I am already behind schedule."

"Yes, m'Lady."

"Lady Penelope."

Lady Penelope turned at the sound of the voice and smiled. "Good evening, Mr Mickelson."

"I think it's going to take more than Parker to get the Tracys moving," he admitted and indicated his team behind him. "We'll help."

"I am sure that your assistance will be most invaluable... I shall return as soon as I am able, Parker."

"Very good, m'Lady. P'rhaps you'll call me when you would like me to h-escort you 'ome h-in the Rolls Royce."

"A splendid plan… Good…" Lady Penelope looked at her watch again, noting the time, "morning to you all." She glided away into the darkness leaving even Lisa Crump feeling wilted and inelegant.

ACE and Parker moved forward to help their friends. However, they weren't the first with the goal of getting the Tracys moving.

Kyrano gave a slight bow to his long-time friend. "It is good to see you again, Mr Tracy."

Jeff looked at him with bloodshot eyes. "Good t' see you too, K'rano."

"You look tired. It is time you slept."

"Sound'z like a plan." But Jeff didn't move.

"Mr Tracy?"

"K'rano?"

"Where is the house?"

Hamish approached the pair of them. "Hello, Kyrano."

Kyrano nodded his head. "Mr Mickelson."

Hamish regarded his friend, noting how Jeff's head drooped and his normally upright carriage sagged. "You look dead on your feet. Time you went back to your place."

"Not mine. Ne'er been there. It' the boys."

"Well it's time you went there. Kyrano and I will help you."

"Mr Mickelson," Kyrano began. "Please excuse me for saying this, for I do not wish to be rude, but are you capable of helping Mr Tracy?" He indicated Hamish's sling. "You appear to be injured."

"This," Hamish gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, one which sent his injured muscle twanging. "This is nothing. The only reason why I've still got it on is because it keeps Edna happy."

Edna, trying to get Mrs Tracy moving, overheard the comment. "And because that arm's still hurting you and you're too stubborn to see a doctor!"

Hamish ignored his wife… and the validity of her claims. Instead he looked across at Kyrano, "Have you seen Jeff as exhausted as this before?"

Kyrano shook his head. "I have seen Mr Tracy tired, but never so much as this."

"I have. Back when we were in the Air Force. There'd been a tsunami in the Pacific that had swamped islands and devastated communities. Jeff spent days co-ordinating supplying the locals with shelter, food, and water as well as flying missions himself. By the time he was stood down, he was absolutely shot. He was that exhausted…" Hamish indicated the man between them, "…this exhausted… that he would have slept in the debriefing room if I hadn't looked after him… I don't want to tread on your toes, Kyrano, but we've got more than Jeff to worry about this time. Will you let me take care of him while you look after his sons?"

Kyrano hesitated. His first loyalty was to Jeff Tracy, but he could see the validity in the other's argument.

"You can come back to the house with us and get everything set up," Hamish suggested. "I'll take care of Jeff and that'll leave you free to look after the rest of the family. I think they're going to need our help as much as he is."

Kyrano nodded his assent. "Thank you, Mr Mickelson."

"Good. And don't worry. I know Jeff and I know how to control him."

A voice spoke in the darkness. "I am 'ere y'know."

"Really?" Hamish gave a soft chuckle. "I thought I was standing next to a zombie."

Jeff didn't have the energy to even grunt.

Edna Mickelson regarded Grandma. "You look as tired as your son."

Grandma heaved a heavy sigh. "I am… We all are."

"Mrs Tracy?" Tin-Tin touched the elderly lady on the shoulder. "Then will you permit us to help you to the house?"

Grandma smiled. "Thank you, dear, but I'm not leaving until my boys leave."

As none of the menfolk in the Tracy clan looked in a fit state to move, Tin-Tin had a feeling that they were going to be standing in the cool night air for a long time.

"They're big boys and they can look after themselves," Edna Mickelson reminded the older lady. "But you've got to take care yourself."

"I'll worry 'bout me when I know m' boys are okay."

Edna and Tin-Tin looked at each other and grimaced.

Edna tried again. "Once you've had enough rest you can worry about your boys. You know Virgil wouldn't want it any other way."

There was the soft hum of an engine. A car braked, and its driver alighted.

Parker approached the knot of women. "Mrs Tracy?" he removed his hat. "P'rhaps you can 'elp me? H-I h-ain't never been to your place. Would you be willin' to sit h-in the front h-of the car with me to 'elp me navigate. H-I don't want to h-ask Mr Tracy. 'E's that tired we're likely to h-end up h-in Timbuctoo."

Whether or not she was aware that she was being conned, or if she was simply grateful for the offer of a lift without the need to show weakness, Grandma Tracy straightened. "Of course, I'll help you, Parker."

"Thank you, Ma'am. H-And you, Mrs Mickelson? Will you come with h-us? Mr Mickelson might need h-a 'and, since 'e's injured and h-all."

"Thank you, Parker, this is a splendid idea," Edna told him with a deliberate double-entendre.

"P'rhaps you'd better see to Mister John, Miss Tin-Tin?" Parker suggested. "'E looks ready to keel h-over."

"I think I will," Tin-Tin agreed. She leant close to the butler. "Thank you," she whispered.

He responded with a grin and a roguish wink and then extended his arm to Grandma. "Permit me to h-escort you, Mrs Tracy."

"Thank you, Parker." And with as much dignity as her tired frame could muster, Grandma allowed herself to be guided to the Rolls Royce, Edna Mickelson following two steps behind like a lady in waiting.

Having lost one charge, Tin-Tin approached another. "John?"

She was met by a huge yawn. "Hiya, Tin-Tin." He grimaced. "I'm not supposed to say anythin'. But we've been too busy worryin' about Virgil to say anythin' anyway, even when we said goodbye to him. Not that I mean it's goodbye, because I'm sure we'll see him again. After all, Brains is in the operatin' room with him, and Brains is clever, isn't he? I mean he's a genius. He'll look after Virgil and Virgil will get better, won't he? I hope he gets better, because when I saw him he looked really sick, Virgil I mean, not Brains. His temperature went up and he got all confused…"

Tin-Tin was of the opinion that Virgil wasn't the only one.

"…I don't mean just now, but the last time I saw him. I did see him just now, but when I saw him in the hospital he was all hot and confused. I guess they managed to get his temperature down, because Brains wouldn't operate if he was worried about that, would he?" John frowned. "Scott told me to shut up because I was talkin' too much, but I'm not talkin' too much am I? I mean I've hardly said anything since Scott told me to shut up and he's hardly said anythin' either."

Tin-Tin managed to get a word in when her friend stopped to take a breath. "John."

"Yes?"

"Senyap."

"Oh…" He looked sheepish. "Okay." And he was silenced.

Two steps away Lisa Crump slipped her arm through her friend's. "Gordon? How about if Butch and I walk you and Alan back to the house?"

He nodded his agreement. "D'ya know where to go?"

Lisa smiled. "I found the place, remember?"

"Oh, yeah…" Gordon rubbed his red eyes.

Eager to move on, Alan attempted a step forward. "Pity the elevator hasn' been install' yet."

"Yeah... Why'd we buy a skyscraper anyway?"

"Cos i' was there." Alan yawned. "Can' be bother'd climbin'. Think I'll sleep on th' floor in the lounge."

"No, you won't. Your rooms are waiting for you," Lisa reminded them.

"You'll be wi' me when I go to bed...?" Gordon's sluggish mind realised what he'd said and how it could be interpreted. "Lisa! I'm sorry! I didn' mean it like that."

"I know," she soothed.

"'m so tired I don' know what 'm zayin'. I mean' you an' Butch helpin' me... Us! I mean us! Me an' Al'n... I mean, Al'n an' me... Into bed... Our own beds... Alone."

"I know, Gordon," she repeated. "You don't have to explain anything."

"Y'ain't sleepin' on the floor," Butch told the brothers. "We'll get y'into your own beds. Even if I hafta carry ya up."

"Thank', but 'm sure we can manage the stairs," Alan said quickly, undignified visions swamping his overtired mind.

Gordon nodded. "Al'n' right."

"Come on." Lisa pulled gently on his arm. "Auntie Alicia's looking after Ginny and I don't want to leave them too long."

Alan, partially propelled by what was a Butch-style gentle guiding hand on his back, stumbled forward and started walking.

"Mr Tracy?" Parker walked slowly alongside the three eldest men. "Why don't you h-and Mr Kyrano h-and Mr Mickelson come back with me h-in the car?"

"I can walk, Parker."

Everyone doubted it.

Kyrano regarded the Rolls Royce's brightly lit interior and its two occupants. "I should like to get to know your house before your sons arrive, so I can help as they need. Travelling by car will give me more time to explore."

"Then go," Jeff grumbled.

"Your mother's h-already on board and she'll 'ave ya guts for garters if you don't go with 'er," Parker told him. "H-And 'er Ladyship will 'ave mine h-if I don't 'elp you."

"And woe betide anyone who goes agains' _'er Ladyship's_ wishes."

"H'Exactly."

"That's settled then. Come on, Jeff." With a gentle, but firm, grip, Hamish steered his exhausted friend across to the big car.

Bruce seemed to have inherited the hardest job of all, getting through to Scott Tracy. The eldest of the Tracy sons appeared to be even more exhausted and unresponsive than any of them. "Scott?"

A pair of dull eyes slowly turned on the other man, but there didn't seem to be any recognition, and nothing was said. Bruce had the impression that the last of Scott's strength had been drained away into his brother in a final attempt to get Virgil through the operation. "C'mon, Scott," he pulled at the unresponsive arm. "Let's go back to the house." Gingerly, unsure that he had the right to do so, he took the other man's pulse.

"Is he all right?" Olivia asked.

"It's a little slow, but nothing to worry about. I think he's just over-tired."

Seeing his brother's inactivity and Bruce's pulse taking, John disengaged himself from where Tin-Tin was guiding him back down the path. "Scott?"

"He's not responding," Bruce admitted. "Maybe I should see if I can get a wheelchair from the hospital?"

In the distance they heard the muted sounds of a helijet lifting off.

John laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Scott…?" he repeated and tried to look his sibling in the eye. "Look at me, Scott." This time he was the recipient of the blank gaze. "Time to head home."

"Maybe we'd better wait until the car comes back?" Olivia suggested.

"We've still got to get him in it," John told her. "C'mon, Scott, get movin'. I promised I'd look after you, but right now I'm too tired to do anything except find the nearest bed and crawl into it. Y'know Virg'l want you to look after y'self, and that means gettin' some sleep. An' if you don' let Bruce help you I'm goin' to stand here and talk and talk and talk until you tell me to shut up again."

It may have been a response to the threat, but a faint glimmer of life shone in the blue eyes. Then slowly, almost robotic like, Scott turned and started a slow walk down the path; Bruce on one side and Olivia on the other in case he should fall.

John took a deep breath and, Tin-Tin at his side, steeled himself to make the same journey.

"John…" Tin-Tin threaded her arm through his to encourage him to keep moving. "Who did you promise that you'd look after Scott?"

John kept his eyes focussed on the back of the figure in front. "Virgil."

-F-A-B-

The Rolls Royce meandered down the driveway and pulled up at the entrance of the imposing house.

"I'll open up," Edna Mickelson hurried over to the entrance. Soon a light bathed the courtyard.

"Nice little place you got 'ere, Mrs T," Parker remarked and exited his gullwing door.

Grandma didn't move out of her seat. "It's John's… Well, John and Scott's… Although I think I heard the other two talking about being part owners as well. I wouldn't be surprised if they shared ownership. We're so lucky the way those boys work together. Life would have been much more difficult if they'd been sniping at each other all the time. They do have arguments, but nothing serious, and rarely have a falling out, except for the time that Alan left us. That was horrible!"

Parker, who had missed most of her ramblings as he'd circled the car, stopped at Grandma's side and extended his hand. "Permit me to h-assist you, Mrs Tracy," he offered.

She accepted his assistance and was handed over to Edna.

Hamish, tired of waiting for Jeff to lever himself out of the car, pulled at his friend's arm with his good hand and managed to haul him free. The exhausted man leant against the car's body and tried to summon the strength to make the trek to the front door.

Hamish pulled at his arm again. "Come on, Jeff. You're nearly there."

"I'll move when I'm ready."

"Parker needs the car."

"H-I'll go back and get the rest of 'em." Parker traversed the Rolls Royce again. "H-I don't know that h-any of them 'ave the h-energy to walk this far."

Normally Jeff would have thanked him for his consideration, but tonight he was too tired to even speak. He simply let Hamish and Kyrano lead him away.

With Edna's help, Grandma had made her way into the house. Now she stood at the foot of the stairs as if she thought she should be doing something and wasn't one hundred percent sure what. "Would anyone like coffee?"

"Do not concern yourself with such things," Kyrano told her, privately thinking that coffee was the last thing any of the Tracys needed. "Should anyone require a drink I shall boil the kettle."

"You don't know where anything is," she reminded him.

"There's a coffee machine in the kitchen," Hamish said. "It's been brewing for much of the day."

Kyrano's silence revealed his disapproval of such a contraption.

"D'you want someone to show you your room, K'rano?" Jeff asked.

"I can do that," Hamish responded. "_After_ I've introduced you to yours and your bed."

"'M'all right," Jeff grumbled. "You go an' rest your arm."

"My arm doesn't need rest… Unlike you."

Edna was enduring a similar conversation with Mrs Tracy. "Let me assist you to your room."

"No," the elder lady stood resolute on the lowest step, one steadying hand on the lower balustrade. "Not until my boys return."

Deciding that to suggest anything else wouldn't get her friend to bed any quicker, Edna didn't comment. "What if I were to go and lay your things out on your bed?"

Grandma's head drooped a little. "Thank you, Edna. You're a dear."

There was the sound of a quiet motor and the scattering of pebbles outside. Then they heard a voice. "C'mon, Mister Alan, sir. H-Outcha get."

"Thank', Parker." A moment later Alan walked through the door. "Isn' anyone in bed yet? It's ten past one!"

Gordon appeared at his shoulder. "More like ten past eternity."

There was silence as everyone tried to drum up the energy to get moving.

John regarded the steep climb skyward. "How long's the couch?"

Alan managed a glare. "I claimed tha' first."

"After all the work Hamish and Edna and everyone else put into preparing your rooms, you're goin' to use them," Grandma told them.

Gordon looked up to the doors that belonged to his and his brothers' rooms on the next level. To his exhausted brain they seemed to be as high and inaccessible as Mt Everest's summit. He sighed. "Guess better start the trek to base camp."

"If we don' Butch'll carry us up there." Alan looked over his shoulder at another sibling. "First thing do tomorrow, John, is order a' elevator."

"Was more conc'rned 'bout the roof," John admitted. Then, running his hand through his hair, he looked up through the central atrium to where his room was situated. "Think you' got the right idea, though."

"Worry 'bout that tomorrow," Scott told him, surprising almost everyone that he not only had spoken, but was awake enough to be tuned in to what was being said. "In the meantime…"

"In the meantime…" Grandma held her arms open to her second youngest grandson. "Come here, Gordon."

Gordon obeyed, wondering why she was expecting him to waste precious energy. His "Gran'ma?" was cut short when she wrapped him up in an embrace.

"Mmn…" he clung to her. "This'z the bes' energy tonic I could 'ope for. Can I stay here?"

Grandma chuckled. "No, you can't. Go to bed."

"'Kay." But despite his acknowledgement of her request, Gordon didn't move far, unwilling to leave the reassurance of the family group.

Grandma beckoned to another grandson. "Come here, Alan."

Alan also found himself enfolded in a warm hug, which he gratefully accepted and returned.

"Have a good night's sleep," she instructed. "Try not to worry too much."

"I'll do m' best… Once I ge' up there." Alan released her. "Night, G'ndma."

"Night, Darling."

John watched Alan as his younger brother started walking in the wrong direction; away from the vertiginous steps. "Where you goin'?"

"Gettin' a run up," Alan explained. He turned back… gave a frown of concentration… and then approached the stairs at speed. His family watched as he almost sprinted upwards before running out of steam. He stopped; regarding the last five obstacles to the summit.

"Alan!" Gordon called to him. "Here'z Butch. 'f he thinks you can' make i' he's gonna carry you." He watched in delight when the mild threat injected new life into Alan's tired limbs and his brother completed the ascent.

There was a moment's hesitation as the youngest Tracy reminded himself which room was his, before he turned to the right and disappeared through a door.

Gordon chuckled. "I can't believe he actually fell for that. He must be tired."

John looked through the front door. "Here's Butch, Gordon."

"Huh?!" His own threat coming back to haunt him, Gordon found a previously unknown supply of energy and fled up the stairs to the landing. Hearing laughter from below, he flopped over the bannister rail to glare down into the atrium. "What's so funny?"

"You," John told him. "Butch not back yet."

Annoyed at being caught out by his own prank, Gordon considered his retort. Then he shrugged, waved to the group below, and disappeared into the room next to Alan's.

"Your turn, John." Grandma held out her hand.

"Twice'n one day," he said as he felt her arms wrap around him. "Must be m' lucky day."

"It's not today, it' tomorrow."

"D'sn't matter. Still feels lucky." John gave his grandma an extra squeeze and stood back. "Your turn, Scott. C'me over to Gr'nma's step 'n give 'er a 'ug."

Grandma opened her arms to her eldest grandson.

They had embraced for longer than the others before Grandma loosened her grip, caressing the side of Scott's face. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Scott nodded. "I'm 'kay."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure, Grandma. You don' need to worry 'bout me."

"It's my job to worry. You boys don't do it often enough."

The sounds of a car pulling up filtered in through the front door.

Alleviating the younger Tracys' fears, it wasn't Butch who approached the house. Instead it was Tin-Tin who stepped inside with a, "Thank you for the ride, Parker."

"Qwite h-all right, Miss," he responded before stopping and gazing, open-mouthed, up into the atrium. "Stone me. H'It's like bein' h-at 'ome with all them stairs."

"Sorry, Parker," John apologised. "'Aven't got the elevator 'stalled yet."

"Don't matter to me. I'll kip on the settee h-until h-it's time to collect 'er Ladyship." Parker grinned.

"Where's Cyril?" Grandma asked.

The grin slipped. "Cyril?"

"Butch," Tin-Tin clarified.

"Oh… 'E h-and Mrs Crump wanted to check h-on Miss Ginny, so they've gone the long way h-around to their unit. Mr Sanders h-and Ms Annan will join us when Mr Watts' family h-arrive. They're qwite keen to see the fam-hily reunion."

"Aren't we all," Hamish agreed. "Once the Tracys are in bed. Maybe you should help Scott and John, Parker?

"We don' need help," John stated. "Scott an' I can help each other. Right, Scott?"

Scott managed a lethargic nod of his head.

Tin-Tin folded her arms. "I don't think either of you are in a fit state for helping anyone! Father and I will assist you to your rooms."

"Y' don' know where they are," John protested.

"You can show us at the top of the stairs."

"Le'me show you to your room, T'n-T'n. Y' don' wantto end up in Gordon's, or worse …" John giggled. "Alan's."

"Just give me the directions," she told him. "If I can navigate across the Pacific Ocean, I am sure that I can find my way to my room with a few simple instructions. What I am not sure of is that you can make it to your room unaided. Now…" she put her arm about his waist, "let me help you."

"'Ere! We can't 'ave that!" Parker protested. "Lemmee 'elp you, Mister John. Then you can give me directions to 'er Ladyship's and my rooms h-as well."

Kyrano approached 'Mister John's' big brother. "Permit me to help you, Mister Scott."

"I thingk I c'n make it," Scott stated, his pride not allowing him to accept any help. He placed his hand on the balustrade and began climbing.

Understanding Scott's need to be independent, but not convinced that his words rang true, Kyrano followed two steps behind.

Grandma watched as the five of them made their slow trip up the stairs. Then she stepped down off the bottom tread.

"What about me?"

Hearing the plaintive voice, Grandma immediately stepped back onto her step and opened her arms. "Of course, Jeff. Come here."

Mother and son embraced, holding each other close and battling fatigue and fear.

After a full five minutes Jeff loosened his grip. "I could get used to this," he joked.

His mother smiled. "I'm not complaining."

It was his turn to caress her face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm tired," she admitted. "But Virgil's alive, he's getting the best help available, there's a chance that he'll make a full recovery, and so I'm fine… But we're both keeping Hamish and Edna up. It was time we were all in bed."

And Jeff had to agree.

-F-A-B-

The helijet touched down.

Lady Penelope alighted and, zipping up her pink flight jacket against the chill of the night air, walked over to the knot of people waiting with nervous anticipation. "It is a little late to wish you a good evening, and too early for a good morning," she said, "so I shall merely introduce myself. I am Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward."

"Oh… Er…" One of the ladies stepped forward. "I'm, ah, I'm Ashley Watts and this is," she indicated the young man at her side who looked as battered as his clothes, "George."

Max Watts' son had one arm in a sling and the other hand and face covered in numerous adhesive plasters. Bruises coloured exposed skin and he shifted from one leg to another as if standing was painful. He said nothing.

"Delighted to meet you both," Lady Penelope purred.

"Please," Ashley looked worried, "Max tells us that he is unharmed, but we heard that International Rescue was called to ACE and I'm scared that he's been hurt and he's trying to protect us. Is he?"

"He is safe and well and eager to see his family again. Although he is unaware of your imminent arrival. I believe his associates want this to be a surprise." Lady Penelope turned to the other two adults holding a sleeping baby. "You must be the Reids."

"Yes," the young father confirmed. "I'm Dale, this is my wife Christy, and our baby Curtis."

"Such a sweet child." Lady Penelope hoped that Curtis would continue his slumber throughout the flight.

"I know," Dale confirmed with a proud smile. "But the earthquakes are upsetting him. Christy's parents live in Bearston and that's why we were selected to fly with you."

"I am sure that the continuing aftershocks are upsetting to you all, so we shall not remain here a moment longer than is necessary. Would you care to join me in the helijet?"

With an eagerness that was pitiful, the five refugees headed for the aircraft. Dale carrying the only bag between them.

A bag that went flying as he grabbed at his wife and baby when a rolling motion spread across the earth in a stark reminder of why they were fleeing.

The earthquake ceased as quickly as it started.

"Dear me," Lady Penelope murmured, as she arose from where she'd been rudely tossed to the ground. "That is a most uncomfortable feeling."

She could have been commenting on the coolness of the night air.

As Ashley and George Watts, the latter showing evident signs of stiffness, picked themselves up. Curtis, still unused to the unnatural sensation after three days of aftershocks and sensitive to his parents' stress, started bawling.

"Oh… Curtis…" Christy did her best to sooth him. "Shush, please… I'm sorry, Miss… ah… La," she hesitated, unsure how to address an English Lady, "but it's going to take hours to settle him again now."

This wasn't the news that Lady Penelope wanted, but she showed no signs of concern. "The little chap will probably find the flight unsettling too. And at least if he is already awake and crying, there is no chance of him giving me a fright mid-flight."

Her cool manner had everyone wondering if anything could give her a fright.

She checked that the helijet was safe for its return journey, ensured that her passengers were comfortable in their restraints, and climbed into the pilot's seat. "Estimated time of arrival at Bearston: 30 minutes."

The helijet lifted off the ground and much to everyone's surprise, Curtis stopped crying, gave a quiet gurgle, and went back to sleep.

"You may have a future pilot in the family," Lady Penelope commented. "One who is soothed rather than stressed by flight."

Christy gave a quiet sigh of relief. "He must like the noise."

"Now that we have the opportunity to converse," Lady Penelope made a slight adjustment to the flight path, "please accept my apologies for my late arrival. A close friend was critically injured in the earthquake and he went into surgery a short time before I departed Bearston. I offered him and his family support before I flew out."

"Virgil Tracy?"

Surprised Lady Penelope looked across Ashley Watts to where George was sitting in the front window seat. "Yes. It was Virgil."

George's mother looked at her son. "How did you know?"

George shifted in his seat; his restraints aggravating his bruises. "I saw a newspaper article. They said that one of Jeff Tracy's sons had been seriously injured at ACE. I thought Virgil might've been visiting his friends or something."

"George!" Ashley gasped. "You didn't tell me."

"I didn't want you to think that Dad had been injured too." George bit his lip. "You said Virgil's injuries were critical?"

"Very much so. There have been grave concerns for his life."

Tears welled up in Ashley's eyes. "And yet Mr Tracy arranged for you to collect us?"

"I believe that Mr Tracy is unaware of this journey," Lady Penelope admitted. "It was his sons who organised it."

"Then they must be wonderful, caring people. They take after their father."

Lady Penelope smiled. "They do indeed."

-F-A-B-

"Where are your pyjamas?" Hamish asked.

Sitting on the end of his bed, Jeff's bleary eyes were barely focusing on his surroundings. "Don' know. Never been here 'fore."

"I think your mother put them away…" Hamish pulled open a drawer. "Ah!" He held out an article of clothing. "Here's your top. Can you take your shirt off?"

Determined to retain some dignity, Jeff managed to comply, but he needed assistance sliding his arms into his pyjama jacket's sleeves.

"Let's get your shoes off." Hamish crouched down. "I hope you've washed your feet," he joked.

A joke that went completely over Jeff's tired head. "Not for coupla days. I've been with Virgil most of th' time.

"I know," Hamish sympathised. He tugged at a resistant boot. "Have you glued these on?" The boot came free and he fell backwards.

Even in his semi-somnolent state Jeff heard the sharp intake of breath. "Hamish?"

Getting to his feet Hamish tried to act nonchalant. "Geez, Jeff. Your boots don't smell any better than last time."

"Don' give me that. You hurt your arm again."

"A little twinge, it's nothing."

"It' not nothin'. You seen a doctor?"

"I did when I arrived here. And remember what happened after that."

"Since?"

"No. We've been too busy decorating the rooms and seeing to the roof."

"No one's goin' to think any less of you if you take time ou' to get that arm checked."

"And get given the same painkillers again? No, thank you."

"Last time there was too much goin' on an' the doctor didn' have the time to research what the painkiller was made of. This time you' make him 'ware of your allergies."

Hamish Mickelson sat on a seat and the boot slipped from his hands to the floor. "I can't afford to see the doctor, Jeff. I can't access my money to pay him. Everything we've bought, everything we have here, our clothes, our accommodation, our food, has been paid for by your sons."

Jeff could see that a lack of financial independence had injured his friend's pride. "If you wanna loan, we c'n make it formal. I know you'll pay back when you' got access to your accounts… Not tha' I 'pect it."

"I already owe your family more than I'm comfortable with."

"Have you b'n to bank an' told them your situashun?"

"Jeff, why are we talking about me? You're almost dead on your feet. Let's get that other boot off and get you into that bed." Jeff was about to respond when Hamish changed the subject. "Have you heard about Max's family?"

"Max?" So tired that he forgot the topic of their previous conversation, Jeff frowned. "Max Watts?"

"He's found them, but George had been injured in the earthquake." The second boot popped free.

"Serious?"

"No. But they were trapped in the city. Your sons arranged for Lady Penelope to take the helijet that they used to collect Brains to get Ashley and George." Hamish looked at his watch. "They'll be back in about forty-five minutes. It's a surprise for Max. Can you get your pants off?"

Jeff struggled to get his trousers down until Hamish was able to pull them free.

"You must be proud of your boys. Despite all that's been happening with Virgil they've done all they could to help ACE. There are a lot of people who owe them more than you could imagine… And I'm not only talking about International Rescue… Put your leg in that hole… No, the other leg." The necessary correction was made.

"I'm proud've them. They n'ver give up."

"I've seen that for myself… Can you stand? I'll pull your pyjama pants up."

Not really thinking about what he was doing, Jeff somehow managed to stand vertically, and a short time later was ready for bed.

Hamish turned down the sheets. "There. Lie down."

Zombie-like, Jeff obeyed.

Hamish tucked the sheets in, but Jeff Tracy was already dead to the world.

"Sleep, my friend. Sleep as long as you need to."

-F-A-B-

Parker was dozing on the couch when Hamish exited the bedroom.

The Englishman stirred.

"Sorry," Hamish apologised. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"H-It weren't you," Parker corrected as he sat up. He pulled a vibrating phone from out of his pocket. "'Er ladyship's sent a message to say that they're h-a 'alf 'our h-out. H-I'll get the Rolls Royce and collect her and the Watts."

"And the other family?"

"Their family's gonna meet them at the 'elijet 'ire company."

"Good. Having been in the first 'quakes, I don't envy them having to live with them for the past three days." Hamish turned when he heard a noise behind him and saw his wife exit another room. "How is she?"

"We had a few tears…"

Parker sat up even straighter. Mrs Tracy crying seemed as likely to him as the Palace of Westminster crumbling into the Thames.

"She's exhausted," Edna was explaining, "and she's worried about them all, not only Virgil. It took some time to get her changed, but she's finally in bed asleep. I don't think the family realise how much of a front she's been putting on these last few days." She turned to her husband. "How's Jeff?"

"Once I'd got him into bed he went out like a light."

"This is good."

Hearing Kyrano's voice Hamish smiled at Tin-Tin and her father, who were descending the stairs. "Everyone asleep?"

"I have checked the rooms of the Mister Tracys," Kyrano told him. "And they are all sleeping."

Tin-Tin gave a rueful shake of her head. "John was so tired that when he tried to take his shoes off he couldn't. He tried to tell me that they were glued to his feet."

Hamish chuckled. "Like father. Like son."

"I think he genuinely believed it," Tin-Tin continued, "so I had to take them off for him. If it hadn't been for Father and Parker, I think he would have slept in his clothes. I wasn't going to help him get changed."

"I hope they don't wake up for hours," Edna stated, "or at least don't _have to _wake up. Does anyone know how long the operation's going to take?"

Tin-Tin collapsed into one of the easy chairs. "Brains thinks about 24 to 36 hours… If there are no complications."

"Well, I hope the Tracys sleep through every minute. They are seriously sleep deprived."

"They'll miss the Watts' reunion," her husband reminded her.

"As far as that family's concerned, sleep is more important."

"You got that right." Parker got to his feet. "H-I'll be back h-as soon h-as H-I can."

Hamish looked at his watch. "What time do you think that will be?"

Parker checked his own timepiece. "'Bout 2.25 h-a.m."

"I'll meet you out front. Then we can escort them to Max's unit."

Parker gave a little bow. "Very good, Sir. H-After which 'er Ladyship will wish to retire to 'er bed." He grinned. "H-And so will I. Me body clock's h-all h-up the chute. I 'ope breakfast ain't h-at six h-a.m."

"We don't want to risk waking up the Tracys before they're ready, so you can have breakfast in our unit at whatever time you're ready," Edna offered. "That's if Lady Penelope approves."

"She'll h-approve. She's worried h-about the Tracys too." Parker put his chauffeur's hat on his head and gave a little salute. "Good h-evenin' to you all."

-F-A-B-

It had been a good flight. The weather had been kind, the helijet well maintained, and Curtis had pleased everyone by sleeping the entire time.

That was until the helijet touched down.

"Oh, dear," Lady Penelope said above the screams. "Perhaps my landing was not as smooth as I had hoped."

"I couldn't feel anything," Ashley Watts reassured her. "I think the engines lulled him to sleep and when you shut them down he started up."

Lady Penelope, having come to the same conclusion, exited the helijet and removed the sole case from the hold. "The office is over there," she said pointing with one hand as Dale Reid took the bag from the other. "I hope you will find your family inside."

"How can we thank you?" he gushed, pumping Lady Penelope's hand. "You're a life saver."

"There are so many others who justify that title more than me," she corrected. "But I trust that I have done some good."

"Oh, you have!" Christy was just as gushing, although her hands were too full of a wailing Curtis to force Lady Penelope to submit to another over-exuberant handshake. "We'll never forget your kindness."

"We had the spare seats on board, and it would have been quite selfish of me to have not arranged for someone to occupy them," Lady Penelope reminded her. "Ah, here is Parker."

A mauve-uniformed figure approached them and the Reids slipped away.

"Good flight, m'Lady?" Parker tipped his cap.

"Excellent. Scott Tracy knows how to choose the best aircraft."

Parker grinned. "Don't 'e just."

"This is Mrs Ashley Watts and her son George. They shall be travelling with us to the Tracys'." Lady Penelope turned to the Watts. "This my chauffeur – Parker."

"Pleased to meetcha." Parker tipped his hat again. "H-It's h-all laid h-on h-and h-it's gonna be a big surprise. Mr Watts don't know about the big reun-h-ion h-and h-everyone h-else h-is keen to see 'is reaction when 'e cops a h-eyeful h-of you two."

"We shall not keep Mr Watts waiting for any longer than necessary," Lady Penelope stated. "Will you escort Mrs and Mister Watts to the car while I return this fine craft to its owners?"

Parker tipped his hat a third time. "Yes, m'Lady." He led the Watts, wondering if they'd wandered into a production of _Mary Poppins_ or _My Fair Lady_, over to the bright pink Rolls Royce.

-F-A-B-

Ashley and George Watts sat stiffly in the Rolls Royce, afraid to move in case they did something disrespectful to the car's interior or the car's owner.

The car's owner was quite unperturbed by having two filthy, tired, and injured Americans sitting on her pristine upholstery. "How were the Tracys when you left, Parker?"

"H-Out like h-a light, the lot h-of 'em. H-Includin' Mr Tracy by h-all h-accounts. 'E looked like death warmed up when Mr Mickelson h-escorted 'im h'inside."

"I thought he looked terrible too."

"H-I dropped Mr Tracy, h-and 'is mother, Mr Kyrano, h-and both the Mickelsons orf h-at the 'ouse, h-and then went back for the boys. Normally they could've walked h-it no sweat, but they're h-all h-absolutely cream crackered."

"I thought they looked exhausted."

"Miss Tin-Tin was goin' to 'elp Mister John get ready for bed, but there h-are limits to what h-a young lady should do, so H-I h'offered to 'elp… Not that H-I think 'e would 'ave known 'oo was h-undressin' 'im. He kept saying that 'is tellyscope's lens was h-all foggy h-and 'e'd 'ave to clean h-it. H-I think h-it was 'is mind that was foggy, cause 'e don't 'ave 'is tellyscope with 'im."

"Oh, dear."

"Mister Scott asked me to chase h-away a mouse that was be'ind 'is curtains h-in 'is room. He was concerned that if y…" Parker glanced at the video screen that showed the passenger compartment and saw two strangers listening to his recitation and his mistress glaring at him. "Ah… That h-if some people saw h-it they might be scared h-of h-it."

Lady Penelope's lips thinned. "There is only one source capable of alerting him to that, ah, possibility… And if events hadn't dictated otherwise I would be speaking to that source about their indiscretion."

"Was there a mouse?" George asked, unaware of her Ladyship's displeasure.

"Nope. H'It was h-all h-in 'is 'ead…" Hoping to diffuse Lady Penelope's anger, Parker continued talking. "We tried to 'elp Mister Gordon, but 'e kept askin' me to feed his fish downstairs."

"And did you?"

"There ain't none. 'E was h-in la-la land like the rest h-of 'em. H-I 'ope 'is collection h-at 'ome's got a good feedin' system to keep 'em h-alive, cos H-I think it's gonna be a long time before 'e'll see 'em h-again."

"Unfortunately, I believe that you are right."

"Last one we tried to 'elp was Mister Alan. H-I think 'e'd fallen h-out of bed." Still wary of Lady Penelope's temper, Parker managed a realistic chuckle. "'E looked right through Mr Kyrano h-and me, saw Miss Tin-Tin h-and told 'er that she'd better get h-out h-of 'is room before h-either h-of their fathers saw 'em." He chuckled again. "Mr Kyrano didn't look best pleased. Miss Tin-Tin looked like she wanted to crawl down one h-of Mister Scott's h-imaginary mouse 'oles."

"They say that delirium is a symptom of sleep deprivation, and this seems to confirm it. Any word on how Virgil's operation is proceeding?"

"No, m'Lady. H-Aside from Miss Tin-Tin sayin' that Mister Brains 'ad said that 'e thought that the operation would take h-up to 36 hours, we ain't 'ad h-any news."

"36 hours! Goodness! I hope Brains has had plenty of sleep."

"Yeah. Me 'n h-all, m'Lady. Me 'n h-all."

-F-A-B-

The central atrium was quiet. Those who were waiting in there were treading quietly, determined not to wake any of the Tracys; although each thought that a Thunderbird landing on the house wouldn't have woken their friends.

A pair of headlights came down the driveway.

"Here they are." Hamish set aside his coffee and stood.

"Bring them to our unit first," Edna suggested. "In case they want to freshen up before seeing Max. I'll go and turn the lights on."

"Right." Her husband disappeared outside to greet the Rolls Royce.

Edna laid two wash packs on a chair in her bathroom. Hearing the sounds of voices and the crunch of footsteps on gravel she opened the door.

"Come inside," Hamish was saying. "The big house is the Tracys' residence, but they're letting the lounge and kitchen be a communal area for everyone staying on the property. So, feel free to come and go as you please. There's always coffee on the boil. In the meantime, we thought you'd like to freshen up first."

"Thank you," Mrs Watts stepped inside and was immediately embraced by Edna.

"Ashley! How are you?"

Ashley Watts tried to tuck a grimy strand of hair behind her hair. "Better now," she admitted as the hair escaped again. "I'm so glad to be far away from those earthquakes."

"Did I hear someone?" a masculine voice asked, and Greg and Mavis Harrison poked their heads through the door. "Good to see you, Ashley… How are you, George?" He shook the latter's uninjured hand. "You look like you were knocked about a bit."

George's expression wasn't as positive as his response. "'M okay."

Mavis hugged Ashley. "Max is going to be so thrilled to see the pair of you. We haven't told him that you were on the way, so it's going to be a big surprise. He's been so worried about you both."

"Do you want to surprise him now, or freshen up first?" Edna asked.

"Please, I'd like a quick wash and run a comb though my hair," Ashley admitted. "I don't want to meet Max looking like a bomb's exploded on me… The only problem is that I don't have a comb."

"Don't worry about that, we've got spare toiletries for both of you. And tomorrow we can go shopping for some new clothes. The Tracys have been very generous and we made sure we had some money left in the clothing budget for when you arrived." Edna indicated the door that led to the bathroom.

It was the quickest of washes, but Ashley Watts still wasn't feeling quite human when Hamish Mickelson led her between the motel units at the back of the house and gave the last unit a sharp rap on the door. Then he withdrew into the darkness.

It was ten seconds before a light was seen beneath the curtains. Ten seconds after that the door opened. "What!?"

"Max!"

"Ashley?" Max Watts barely had time to see who'd woken him from his fitful sleep when he was smothered in a loving and emotion-filled hug. Startled he could only stutter: "How did you…? When…? How…?"

"Oh, Max…" Ashley began to sob. "The Tracys… I was so worried… And George…"

"George?" Max looked over his wife's shoulder to where the young man was standing back, desperate to be included. He reached out.

George Watts only had time to choke out a "Dad…" before he found himself dragged into the embrace and wrapped up in a world of parental security.

Max hung on tight. "I've been so worried about you… So worried… Even when you called I was afraid to believe that you were okay. Especially when you said George had been trapped." After one last squeeze Max finally took a step back so he could see his family. "Are you all right, Son?"

George finally managed his first smile in days. "I'm all right, Dad."

"Are you sure? How long were you in the building for?"

"Now, Max…" Ashley's scolding didn't contain any anger. "It's late and we're tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"Of course… How did you get here?"

In the darkness, the pleased and relieved observers melted away into their individual accommodations, intending to give the newly reunited family some privacy as well as get some much-needed sleep themselves.

Caught up in their own cocoon of joy, the Watts didn't see or hear them.

_To be continued…_


	31. Chapter 31

_4:52am_

John had been sleeping soundly for he didn't know how many hours when something awoke him. Unsure if his hearing, attuned to listening out for cries of help, had actually heard a sound or if he'd dreamt it, he lay there and listened.

He heard a thump from the room next door.

Concerned he got up, discovered that he was wearing his pyjamas and that he had no recollection of putting them on, and cracked open his door.

The way to the stairwell was empty.

There was only one place that those as yet undefined sounds could have come from, and so he tiptoed out, tested the handle of the only room next to his and, without knocking, entered.

He was shocked by what he saw.

Scott was sitting on the floor, his back against his bed, hugging his pillow, and with tears streaming down his cheeks. Upon seeing the intruder, he looked away, trying to find a valid excuse for being caught in such an embarrassing situation.

"Scott?" Concerned, John crouched down next to his elder brother. "What's wrong?"

Scott pretended to look under his bed whilst attempting to wipe away his tears without making it obvious that he was doing so. "'S nothin'."

"It's something. What?"

Scott sniffed, his head still under the bed. "Mus' be allergic to somethin' here." He continued to peer under the blankets. "Migh' be the mouse that was 'ere."

"Allergic to a mouse? I don't believe you. You're not allergic to anything. Scott…" John pulled at his brother's shoulder. "It's Virgil, isn't it?"

Trying to keep his eyes averted, Scott sat back against the bed.

"He's getting the best care possible," John soothed. "You know that."

Scott wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Is there something I don't know? That I should know?!"

Scott took a deep breath. Then, after a reluctant nod, he spoke. "His heart's stopped."

John's heart nearly did the same thing when he heard the words. "What…?"

"Virgil's heart has stopped."

"Has stopped?! When? Why? How'd you know?"

"I felt it… I can still feel it… I'm cold… He's getting colder."

"For how long?"

"Feels like forever."

John fled the room.

He was back a moment later carrying his tablet computer. Sitting next to his brother on the floor so their arms were touching in what he hoped was reassuring contact, he switched it on.

Scott sniffed. "Watcha doin'?"

"I'm tapping into the radio feed to Australia…"

From the tiny speakers they could hear a rhythmic pumping sound.

"I can get video too."

"No!" Scott shook his head. "No. I don't want to see this."

"Me neither."

The both started when a familiar voice, with an unfamiliar authoritative tone, was heard. _"Everyone clear?!"_

"_Clear."_

"_Clear."_

The urgent conversation was silenced, and the two eavesdroppers waited. As they'd expected, they didn't hear a fictional bang as over 300 joules of energy passed across the patient's heart. Instead they saw a single blip on the screen before they heard Brains' voice. _"Anything?"_

"_Still no pulse."_

The rhythmic pumping began again.

Desperate for more information, John brought representations of the graphic outputs from the various machines monitoring the patient up on screen. The brothers saw straight lines that seemed to recede into the past for as long as infinity.

Sliding the flatlines across the screen with his fingers, John came to the last tiny beep. "One minute twelve."

"_Come on, Virgil. Don't give up. You can't give up! Remember our family's motto!" _

"Come on, Virgil," John echoed. "Don't give up. **Never** give up!"

"_Charging."_

"_No pulse. No blood pressure."_

Scott hugged his pillow tighter. "Don't give up," he whispered. "Please, don't give up."

Both brothers sat, listened, and held their breath as they heard the familiar voice, taut with strain, but without a trace of a stutter. _"Full charge. Stand clear."_

"_Clear."_

"_Clear."_

There was another breathless wait.

There was a single blip on the screen.

Then another.

And another…

"_I've got a pulse… It's faint, but it's there."_

The lines began a regular, still shallow, but reassuring jig.

"_Stronger."_

Not daring to move in case things took a turn for the worse, the two Tracys watched, listened, and waited.

"_Blood pressure's rising. Pulse is getting stronger."_

Doing their best to keep it quiet, to not wake the rest of the household, the Tracy brothers let out a whoop of delight and shared an ecstatic hug.

"Nice one, Brains!" John exclaimed and, as the lines danced further across the screen, he felt his brother relax. "Can you feel that?"

Scott nodded.

"_He's not checking out on us just yet."_

"_W-Well done, Virgil. You didn't give up."_

Scott let his head flop back against his bed. "That was bad." He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Bad?" John felt some of his exaltation leave him to be replaced by concern for another brother. "What happened or what you felt?"

"Both. I'm glad you came in."

"I heard you fall out of bed and wondered what was wrong… Are you going to be able to sleep now?"

Scott rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I'm still tired, but I'm scared that if I do manage to sleep, I'll dream that the worst will happen... And that it won't be a dream… I don't want to have to deal with anything like that again. Not alone."

"You don't have to go through this alone, Scott. Why don't we bring my mattress in here? That way if anything else happens you can let me know right away. I'll be here and so will this." John indicated the tablet. "We'll know exactly what's happening."

Scott hesitated. His pride rebelled against the idea of having a babysitter, especially in the form of one of his younger brothers.

But still… "Okay."

John got to his feet. "You'll have to help me. Mattresses are murder to move by yourself."

Scott followed John into the room next to his. Together, and whilst trying to keep the sheets and pillows in place, they attempted to manhandle the mattress through the door and out of the room.

Only to discover that they weren't alone.

Alan stared at his two eldest brothers with the mattress between them. "What are you guys doing?"

"Um…" John leant against the mattress, spilling his pillow onto the floor as he pushed Scott back into his room to hide the red and puffy eyes from their kid brother. "I've got a leak in the ceiling, so I'm moving in with Scott."

"That's what happens when you buy a sieve, John."

"That's why I'd tried to get the roof repaired before we moved in. Why are you out of bed?"

"Too many cups of coffee and I figured that if I didn't do something about it, I'd have more than a leaking roof to worry about. Not that I was in bed. I'm not sure if I fell out or I just fell asleep on the floor… Do you want a hand?"

John smiled a smile that he was sure looked false as Scott remained in the shadows. "No. We're okay. You can go back to bed."

"Once I've checked out Thunderbird Ten… Night." Trying to orient himself in the unfamiliar building, Alan wandered away down the hallway and through the door between Scott's and Gordon's rooms.

John let out a sigh of relief. "He's gone."

"You aren't going to tell him about what's happened?"

"At least one of us needs a good night's sleep. He doesn't need to worry just yet."

"The leaky roof was a good excuse. You must have got enough sleep to switch your brain back on."

John ran his hand over his tired eyes. "Not as much as I would have liked." He grabbed the mattress again. "Come on, let's get this thing installed and try to get some shuteye."

They'd nearly succeeded when Alan re-emerged from the central door to return to his room.

The youngest was frowning. "John?"

"Shhhh!" John hissed. "If Gordon's lucky he's asleep; and the rest of this place isn't that soundproof. What?"

Alan lowered his voice. "Tin-Tin's room's above yours, and the plumbing's nowhere near your end of the house. Where'd the water come from?"

Scott sighed. "Maybe neither of us have got enough sleep." He faced his youngest brother. "The fact is, Alan, this situation with Virg is getting to me. I don't feel like being alone, so John's going to keep me company tonight."

"Oh…" Rather than looking surprised or shocked, Alan appeared concerned. "Do you want me to sit with you too?"

Grateful for the unexpected, although unwanted, thoughtfulness, Scott smiled. "Thanks, Alan, but get some sleep."

"Are you sure? I don't mind. I'm not in a good headspace either and they say that misery loves company."

"None of us is enjoying this," John admitted. "But these rooms aren't big enough for a full-on slumber party. Once my mattress is in there, there won't be enough room for a mouse to run around, let alone to swing a cat."

"And," Scott added, "at least one of us will need a clear head tomorrow. Someone may have to collect the Odonata if it's ready."

Alan's face brightened. "And you'd trust me to do that?"

"Of course, I would." Scott seemed almost surprised that Alan had doubted him. "But you'd have to be in a fit state to do it."

"Okay," Alan agreed, but he was still reluctant to give up on his chance to be of some assistance. "If you need me, you know which room I'm in?"

Scott nodded. "We think so."

"Good. Then can you tell me, 'cos I've forgotten." Alan chuckled at his weak attempt at humour, flapped his hand in a wave to his two elder siblings, said "Night," and shuffled back to his room.

John waited until the door had closed behind him. "You didn't have to tell him that."

"It's close to the truth and at the moment I'm not in a fit state to think of a suitable lie. And," Scott gave John a light-hearted punch on the arm, "neither are you."

Together the brothers shoved the recalcitrant mattress into the undecorated room and dropped it onto the floor.

John busied himself tucking in the sheets and trying to make his bed as comfortable as possible. Then he picked up his tablet and swiped his finger across the screen. "They've barely replaced anything! At this rate it's going to take much longer than Brains' estimate."

Scott was already in bed, so he was able to keep out of his brother's way. "I don't care how long it takes, so long as it works. How much more have they got to do?"

"They haven't installed the legs bones yet and barely made a start on his abdomen." John swiped across the screen. "And they've done nothing to his hand yet."

"In that case we've got plenty of time to catch up on our sleep… Providing nothing interrupts it."

"Fingers crossed that it doesn't." John ensured that the lines were still snaking their way across the tablet's screen, turned up the volume so they could hear the reassuring beeps of life, and propped the computer against a chair so they could both see the readout from their respective beds. "How's that?" He flopped down on his mattress.

"Good." Scott pulled up his sheets and lay down. "Night, John."

But John was already snoring.

As much as he wished he could have done the same, Scott found himself unable to sleep. He lay there, trying to relax, hearing John's rhythmical breathing, and watching the lines that mapped out Virgil's life.

It was an hour before sleep finally overtook him.

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

_4:47 am_

The operation had been underway for nearly five hours and things were proceeding well, albeit slower than anyone would have liked.

Like a skilled baker helped by its human assistants as it created a layer cake, the robot laid layer upon layer of what theoretically was going to become human tissue into the clear mould that had been printed from the patient's scans. Then minuscule pieces of the original tissue were seeded within the synthetic layers in the hope that they would grow to fully functioning units. But, unlike a layer cake, the human body isn't made up of perfect slices. Nerves, blood vessels and other elements had to be woven through the stratum and joined together in tiny and exacting ways. It was this that was taking the time.

"His blood pressure's dropping," Colin Eden noted. He checked his adrenaline supply and the intubation tube that was supplying Virgil with life-giving gases. "Will you bring the spare oxygen closer, Ana?"

His daughter did as he requested.

A video camera-mounted arm scooted closer. "Are you going to need that?" Timoti asked.

Colin was pressing a stethoscope against Virgil's chest. "I hope n…" But all his hopes exploded about them when one of the many monitors started squealing; an overture to a noisy and terrifying chorus. "He's arrested!

The sounds sent Brains' heart leaping into his mouth. And the words made him feel ill. With an effort he swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat and told himself to remain calm and focussed.

"Administering adrenaline!"

The robot continued its serene work while the humans watched the anaesthetist inject the liquid.

"Come on, Virgil, don't give up," Brains chanted. "Never give up."

Preferring the physical action of using the stethoscope, Colin listened to the patient's chest. He looked grim. "No pulse." He checked the oxygen flowing into the tube and increased the rate of flow.

"I'll start chest compressions!" Ana climbed onto the table next to her patient and began pumping. "Com'on you!" She told the unresponsive Virgil. "I'm in at the beginning of something _huge_ and you're not going to ruin it for me!"

"Ana!"

But Anaesthesia, intent on her work, ignored her father's admonition.

Brains pulled a defibrillator closer and switched it on. "Charging!" Keeping a wary eye on the machine's gauges he moved closer to the patient's head. "Come on, Virgil!" he demanded. "Don't give up. _Never_ give up!"

Bryce's camera zoomed in close. "What's his status?'

"Get out of my way!" Using his elbow, Brains pushed the camera clear. "Approaching full charge. Get ready to stand clear."

Ana stopped her chest compressions. "Applying gel patches." She placed two gelatinous pads on the upper right and lower left sides of Virgil's chest and then jumped off the table. "I'm clear!"

"Colin?" Brains glanced at the head of the bed.

Colin stood, abandoning the oxygen feed. "Clear!"

"Applying electrodes…"

"Wait!"

"Wait?!" Brains glared at Timoti's video image. "We can't wait!"

"The robot's not clear!"

"Then get it clear!"

"We can't! It's connecting a synthetic artery to the femoral artery! If we get the robot clear before the seal is made, once his heart starts pumping he could haemorrhage to death. If you shock him before it's clear you could fry the machine and then you may as well stitch him up and send him back to his ward to die!"

Brains ground his teeth in frustration as Ana climbed back onto the table and restarted her chest compressions.

"How long?" she demanded.

"Give us a minute," Bryce suggested.

"One minute?" Brains stared at the robot's video screen.

"If there are no snags."

"He could die inside of one minute."

"Not if I have any say in the matter," Ana gasped.

Colin readied another syringe and injected its contents into an IV line.

Stuck for anything else he could do until the robot had finished its vital work, Brains crouched by his friend's ear. "We're not giving up, Virgil," he told the unhearing man. "Remember the family's motto. You've always lived by it and so have I. Don't give up, because I'm not going to. Do you hear me!? _Never_ give up! Think of your family! They've never given up on you. Don't let them down."

"Nearly finished," Timoti announced. "Get ready."

Ana jumped down off the table.

Brains held the two paddle electrodes millimetres above the gel pads that Ana had applied. "Tell me the _instant_ the robot's clear!"

"Understood."

"Final seal…" Timoti recited. "Removing clamps… Withdrawing…"

Everyone waited for his final command.

"Clear!"

Brains pressed the paddles against the conductive gel and tried to apply the necessary eleven kilograms of force. "Everyone clear?!"

"Clear."

"Clear."

Brains pushed a button, unleashing the volts into his friend's chest. "Anything?"

"Still no pulse."

Ana jumped back onto the table and resumed her chest compressions, trying to push the slowly deoxygenating blood around what remained of the body.

"Come on, Virgil," Brains implored. "Don't give up. You can't give up! Remember our family's motto!" He checked the defibrillator, knowing this could be their last chance. If he'd been aware that two of Virgil's brothers were listening in, he would have been sweating. "Charging."

"No pulse. No blood pressure."

"Full charge. Stand clear."

Ana jumped off the table. "Clear."

"Clear."

Brains stood over the patient, applied the necessary pressure to the paddles against the gel and pushed the button that unleashed the power. Breathless with nervous anticipation he looked at Colin Eden.

"I've got a pulse…" Colin gave a grim smile. "It's faint, but it's there."

Unable to relax yet, Brains waited.

"Stronger."

The wait was agonising.

"Blood pressure's rising." Colin's smile relaxed and broadened. "Pulse is getting stronger." He checked the first monitor again. "He's not checking out on us just yet."

Brains let out the breath he'd been unaware that he'd been holding. "W-Well done, Virgil. You didn't give up." The only response was a reassuring beep.

"Ready to move the robot back in?" Bryce asked.

Brains nodded. "Ready."

The robot moved back in.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

Scott awoke and checked his watch.

7:27.

Morning or evening he didn't know, and the low levels of light peeking around the curtains didn't tell him.

Memories of night-time events came back to him and he looked across the room to where the tablet was still propped up against its cushions, the lines doing their reassuring dance across the screen. Relieved he allowed his head to flop back on the pillow, but didn't feel inclined to try to go back to sleep. He felt he'd had enough to last him a lifetime.

He wondered whose.

Quietly he sat up and looked down at the mattress on the floor.

John, his sheets knotted around him as if he'd spent a fitful night tossing and turning, still slumbered and Scott was reluctant to awaken him. Making a decision, he crawled down his bed and off the end. Then, taking care not to nudge the mattress on the floor he pulled the door open and inched outside.

After a trip into the room next to his he descended the stairs. "I don't know whether to say good morning or good evening."

His father looked up from where he was relaxing on a couch, dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown, reading a paper. "Evening."

"Next question. What day is it?"

Jeff checked the date on the paper. "As the operation started after midnight; the same day."

"Third question. Any news?"

"No."

Scott headed into the kitchen area, intent of getting some coffee.

"Scott Tracy!" his fully clothed grandmother scolded at his half-dressed appearance. "This is a communal area! What if someone who wasn't family came in here? You should have put your robe on over your pyjamas."

"I would've except John's kidnapped it," Scott admitted. "How'd you sleep?" He accepted a cup of coffee.

"With my eyes shut. How about you?"

Scott remembered the night's dramas. "It took me a while to relax," he admitted.

"Me too," Jeff told him.

There was a laugh from the direction of the back door. "Don't you believe it," Hamish Mickelson said. "The man was asleep almost before he reached his room. I practically had to carry him into bed."

"Hi, Unc…" Scott saw a raised eyebrow. "Hamish. Where's everyone else?"

"Kyrano's in the garden," Jeff told him. "And Tin-Tin said something about a project of yours that was holding things up." A different eyebrow was raised in an unspoken query. "So, she's gone to see what the delay is. And Lady Penelope and Parker are chauffeuring her."

"How about the guys? Anyone else up?"

"As far as we know they're still snoring."

As if he were intent on proving his father wrong, a door opened on the next level. Gordon exited his room and did a sharp U-turn into the communal ablutions area. He emerged a short time later to have his place taken by Alan.

Instead of returning to his room, Gordon jogged down the stairs. "Any news on the operation?"

Scott let his father answer in the negative. It was a statement that had to be repeated when Alan also joined his family in the lounge.

The youngest looked at his eldest brother with concerned curiosity. Scott responded with a reassuring wink.

Kyrano entered through the front door and gave a quiet smile when he saw the family. "Good day to you all? Are you ready for dinner?"

"Dinner?" Gordon looked at his watch. "I'm ready for breakfast."

"Why don't we split the difference and have lunch?" Alan asked.

"Where's John?"

"Still asleep," Scott told his brothers. "It took him some time to drop off too." He saw Alan's concerned expression but was unable to openly reassure him. He didn't want to say anything to the family just yet. Not until he had some fraternal backup and the tablet for support.

Gordon, unaware of any problems other than the obvious, chuckled. "For a guy who's quite happy to spend most of the night awake staring through telescopes he's zonked."

"He's been spending too long looking through telescopes," his grandma told him. "It's finally caught up with him."

From outside on the driveway they heard a car pull up. Footsteps crunched closer to the door.

Lady Penelope was the first to enter. "Good evening to you all," she began. "I trust you all slept well."

"Better than we did the previous two nights," Gordon told her.

"Where's John?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Still asleep. All his late nights have finally caught up with him."

"What's finally caught up with who?" John asked, taking the last two steps down the staircase. His arms were full, and he walked across to Scott. "That's yours," he said handing a large part of his bundle to his elder brother.

Scott accepted his robe and slippers with a word of thanks. Enjoying the warmth of his footwear after the cold of the kitchen floor, he approached Tin-Tin. "Were you checking on the Odonata?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"They're taking forever!" Her lips thinned in anger. "Honestly! You'd think they were preparing the Empire State Building for removal. _Not_ just doing a custom paint job and a few simple tweaks."

"Should I give them a call?" Scott asked.

"Definitely! Because you are a man and you know what you're talking about. Me? I'm a mere female. When I tried to tell them that the anterior cell was out of alignment, they told me to go and polish my nails! Patronising b…"

"Sounds like I need to take a trip after we've had something to eat." Scott saw John check behind the large television set on the wall.

"You mean take a trip tomorrow."

Scott remembered the time. "Yes. First thing. What time do you want to leave?"

"You want me to come too?"

"Of course, I do. You're my expert engineer."

"Scott, what you don't know about planes isn't worth knowing. You do not need my help."

"We can discuss it later." Scott moved closer to John. He watched as a connection was made from the TV to the tablet. "Are you going to tell everyone about last night?"

"The sanitised version. We'll save the more _interesting _bits," John gave Scott a meaningful look, "for a private family meeting." He did something to his tablet and on the larger TV screen lines, still pulsing, were displayed.

"What's that?" Grandma asked.

"Virgil's stats."

"In real time?"

John nodded.

"What do they mean?"

"Perhaps we' better wait until after we've had whatever meal it is we'll be having?" John suggested. "I'm hungry."

"So am I," Gordon told him, "but that can wait. I need to know how Virgil's doing."

Jeff swung a chair around until it was facing the TV and sat. "I don't think any of us are going to be able to face food until we have all the facts."

Equally as keen to know those very facts, everyone crowded around the TV screen.

Hamish cleared his throat. "If this is an open meeting, Virgil's friends would like to hear how he's doing. Unless you want this to be a private family meeting and would rather I left?"

John glanced at Scott and then his father for approval. "I don't mind." He opened his hands to his family. "Any complaints?"

"We may as well tell everyone the full story," Jeff told him. "It'll save us having to repeat ourselves later."

"Good" John smiled. "Would you mind getting them?"

"Be right back." Hamish disappeared back out through the door.

Alan moved a chair so it was square on to the TV and indicated that his grandma should sit in it.

With a: "Thank you, Alan." Grandma accepted her throne.

Once he was sure his grandmother was comfortable Alan sat on the chair's arm next to her. She took his hand and he wasn't sure if she was trying to comfort him or vice versa. Each seemed as likely as the other.

There was an excited chatter as the motel units' residents filed inside.

"How are you all?"

"You're looking more awake than you were last night."

"Have you only just woken up?"

"You must have only just got up. Either that or you're heading off to bed as soon as this is over."

"Have you had enough sleep?"

"Have you had anything to eat yet?"

"I know we've said it before, but we can't thank you enough for giving us a place to stay."

"Thank you for bringing us together."

"Auntie Alicia's looking after Ginny."

"Lisa won' let m' dad look after 'er."

Jeff got to his feet. "Ashley!" he beamed at Mrs Watts. "It's good to see you again. You too, George."

Max Watts shook Jeff's hand. "Thank you for helping to reunite my family, Mr Tracy," he gushed.

"I can't claim any of the credit," Jeff admitted. "I've been with Virgil for most of the time. It's my sons you have to thank."

John knocked on a handy shelf and the general hubbub died down as everyone claimed a place to sit. "Hi, everyone. I seem to have elected myself MC because I'm the one who knows how this thing operates." He indicated the TV. "We thought we'd give you a rundown on everything that's happened so far, but first, we know that you all; we all; need to know how Virgil is. Most importantly: he is still alive. But the operation is progressing a lot slower than we expected."

"Complications?" Bruce asked.

"Erm…" John glanced at Scott. "There was one, but as far as I'm aware at the moment, things are proceeding as planned. These lines," he indicated the TV screen again, "are Virgil's stats. They've installed his pelvis and leg bones, but they've still got a long way to go. And they _still_ haven't made a start on his hand."

"They will attempt to repair that, won't they?" Tin-Tin enquired.

"I can only assume so. All I know is from communications fed to and from Australia."

"What does each line mean, John?" Jeff asked.

"The top one's his breathing. Its rhythm is so regular that I think that they've got the mechanical respirator doing the breathing for him."

"Mechanical respirator?"

"Yeah. Brains said they were going to anaesthetise his lungs or something."

"Anaesthetise his lungs?!" Jeff looked startled. "But he had no damage to his chest area."

"All I know is what Brains explained to Virgil when I was there," John admitted. "And I can't say categorically that I remember everything, because I was a little tired..."

"John, you were a little awake," Alan interjected.

"Okay, so I was a lot tired, but Brains explained that because of the damage to Virgil's abdominal structures they didn't want any unnecessary movement to the replacement, erm," John tried to think of the technical term, "parts... And that included from excessive breathing. Brains said they were going to, ah, stop his lungs from working and have a machine breathe for him, so they've got some control over the amount of movement throughout his body. Virgil's going to get oxygen either through an intubation tube, a…" John frowned as his memory failed him. "I can't remember what it's called, but it's a system like the old iron lung."

"Biphasic cuirass vent'lator," Butch offered.

Surprised, John and the rest of the group stared at the big man and mentally revised their opinion of his level of education. "Uh… Yeah. I think that's what Brains called it. It works by reducing the air pressure outside the ribcage, which forces it to expand, creating a vacuum and sucking air into the lungs."

Butch gave a knowledgeable nod of agreement.

"The other option," John continued, "is a tracheotomy tube through Virgil's throat, which I don't think he was that keen on."

"What was the first option again?" Greg Harrison asked.

"Intubation tube? It's where they put a tube down the windpipe and supply oxygen directly into the lungs."

"Thanks."

"What option did Brains favour?" Jeff asked.

"He wanted to wait and see how things progressed. Virgil requested that, whatever system was used, it would be one where he would still be able to communicate. Which means it's probably not the intubation tube."

"Unless he writes or types," Alan suggested.

"Or uses the texter that you made for me," Gordon added. "That thing was a life saver."

"Except that at first, he's going to be completely immobilised," John reminded him. "If something as basic as breathing's problematic they're not going to want him waving his arm around."

"What's the next graph, John?" his grandma asked, indicating the line that leapt and fell at a different rate.

"Heartbeat."

Alan frowned. "They're not going to stop his heart as well, are they?"

"Brains didn't say, so I don't think so."

"It's just that," Alan placed the fingers of his free hand against his throat, so he could compare his pulse with that on screen. "It looks a little slow to me."

"Ah… Yeah…" John glanced at Scott who gave a little nod. "It was even slower last night."

"Slower!?"

"Right before you saw us." John took a deep breath. "Now, I want you all to remember that this is Virgil's stats in real time." He pointed at the TV screen. "He's alive and he's doing well… Relatively speaking." He entered some numbers into the tablet. "This is what it was just before five this morning."

There were audible gasps as the lines flattened out. Alan felt his grandmother's grasp of his hand tighten. Or had he increased his grip on hers?

"John!" It was his father speaking. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"That if it wasn't for Brains and the rest of the team Virgil would be dead now? Yes."

"When did you discover this?" Jeff switched his attention to his eldest son. "_How_ did you discover this?"

Scott, not wanting to catch anyone's eye, had his head down.

Like his brother, John didn't want to go down this path. At least not until the family was alone. "Um… I realised that… because I'd set up the communications link… I could listen in… so… ah, Scott and I did. We… ah… We heard Brains defibrillate Virgil… Twice… Successfully the second time."

"You heard it?!" Alan demanded. "And didn't tell anyone?" He glared at his eldest brother as his grandmother patted his hand to calm him.

"Sorry, Alan," John apologised. "We didn't want anyone stressing more than they needed to. We were doing enough ourselves."

Alan fumed, but, accepting that his siblings had kept their silence for a reason, said nothing.

Unaware of the full reason behind his younger brother's anger, Gordon tried to divert it. "Just as well Virgil hadn't signed a DNR."

Winston Patterson looked across at him. "DNR? What does that mean?"

"_Do not resuscitate_. It's a form the patient signs before the operation stating that if he arrests during surgery, he doesn't want the medical team to try to resuscitate him."

The draftsman stared at Gordon with wide eyes. "Why, in heaven's name, would anyone choose to do that?!"

"If they thought there was a chance that they weren't going to have an adequate quality of life after the operation." Gordon flushed lightly. "That's why I signed one."

"Thank heavens you didn't make the surgical team abide by it," Jeff rumbled.

Gordon managed a grin. "Yeah. I'm quite pleased about that too."

But Lisa's concerns were with the more recent past. "Did Virgil arrest only once?"

"As far as I know," John told her. "I haven't gone through this minute by minute to see if there are any other aberrations."

"And there's no chance that it'll happen again?"

John shrugged. "I'm not a doctor, so I don't know. But we all know that Brains will do his darndest to get Virgil through this."

Jeff shifted in his seat, so he could see the majority of listeners. "While we're on the subject," he began, "I would like to apologise to everyone here for making you think that Virgil had died earlier. It's what I was told, and I had no reason to disbelieve it. The hospital's management were very apologetic when they let me know the truth."

"I should hope they were!" Edna snapped. "The pain they've caused so many people!" Her husband took her hand in an unspoken command to calm down.

"They were faced with an impossible situation," Jeff reminded his friend. "They were overrun with patients and facing limited resources. It was a simple clerical error that was corrected almost as soon as it was made. Unfortunately for us, it wasn't corrected quick enough to stop the hospital's general manager from seeing it and telling me the bad news."

"He should be stripped of his position."

"At present you could say that he has been, Edna. He's the anaesthesiologist for Virgil's operation." Murmurs of consternation went through the group and Jeff held his hand up for silence. "Brains trusts him and that's good enough for me. Plus, with that one exception, he's done all he can for us when we must have been the biggest pain in the backside to him… Sorry, ladies. He even had to deal with me running through his hospital and charging into an operating room to ensure that they didn't operate on Virgil before Brains was ready. As it turns out, I wasted my time and put Virgil's life at risk unnecessarily." He bit his lip. "The thought that I could have been responsible for Virgil's death is possibly even worse than the idea that he had died." His voice shook and Kyrano, who had been standing at his friend's side in silence, laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.

Surprised, Jeff looked up. He smiled.

"We were at ACE when we were told that Virgil was dead," Gordon told the factory's employees. He treated ACE's general manager to a rueful grimace. "I'm afraid the walls have gained a few holes that can't be blamed on the earthquake."

"Don't worry, Gordon. What the insurance doesn't pay for, I'm sure your father will."

Alan ran his hand through his hair. "I'm glad we didn't give up when we were told he'd died."

Gordon reached across, his fist held out. "It's thanks to you that we didn't…" He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the group as Alan returned the fist-bump. "Alan's the only one who kept his head. The rest of us turned to mush."

Alan shrugged, embarrassed by the praise. "We wouldn't have been undamaged if that cop had had an itchy trigger finger." He chuckled. "Imagine the headlines. _Jeff Tracy's sons shot for looting father's factory._"

"Why were you at ACE of all places?" Max asked. "It's right in the middle of an earthquake zone! It's where…" Realising what he was about to say he censored herself.

John reclaimed the narrative. "Virgil's reconstruction is so extensive and involves operating at such a microscopic level that no human being could do it all. Also, with the research team being unable to get visas, they had to do the work remotely. We needed a highly accurate and detailed 3D printer to print out the necessary components that are forming the framework of the reconstruction, and a robot that was precise enough to be able to do the operation. ACE's printer printed the printer that's printing Virgil's bones and tissues. Its robot was the best and the closest available and, fortunately, both were undamaged by the 'quakes."

"People said you over-engineered the complex, Jeff," Hamish reminded him. "They won't be so sceptical now."

"There would have been even less damage if that truck hadn't rammed the factory."

"I wonder how the truck driver is," Greg mused. "Has anyone heard anything?"

Lisa shook her head. "No. How about Angela Eagles. Has anyone heard how she is?"

"They had to rush her into O.R.," Jeff told her. "Freddy caught up with me as we were taking Virgil for his operation. He didn't want to bother me once he knew what was happening, but I think he was trying to say that they had to amputate her foot."

"Maybe they'll be able to use Virgil's procedure to reinstate it?" Grandma suggested.

"Virgil kept on suggesting that, but it's not up to us. It'll depend on how successful Virgil's operation is and whether or not Angela will be a good candidate for it."

A warm, aromatic smell had been filling the room for the duration of the meeting and no one was surprised when a buzzer sounded.

"I believe that dinner is ready to be served," Kyrano announced. "Would you all care to join us? I did not know when the Tracys would awaken, nor how hungry they would be, so I have made a large meal."

"So, there's a chance of leftovers?" Alan asked hopefully.

Kyrano smiled and wandered into the kitchen to start dishing up.

"Why don't we ask the Eagles to join us?" John suggested. "They'd probably appreciate some good home cooking instead of something out of the catering truck, and it would do them good to get away from the hospital."

Jeff gave a light frown. "I've no objections to you asking, but they haven't wanted to leave Angela alone. I practically had to drag Mrs Eagles out to the motorhome to stop her from following Angela into the operating room."

Hamish stood. "I'll go and ask."

"No, hold on…" Jeff felt his pockets. "Where's my phone?"

"In your room next to your bed."

"I've got Mr Eagles' phone number programmed in, so I'll call them. Any problems with that, Kyrano?"

"None. As you say, the more the merrier."

Lisa got to her feet. "It smells delicious and going on past experience it will be," she told the chef. "We'd love to stay, but we've already eaten and it's past Ginny's bedtime."

"Wouldn't say no to leftovers, but," Butch added, and was hit by his wife.

"We've already eaten too," Edna admitted. "But maybe we can take a rain check? We'll all get together to celebrate when Virgil's operation's over. But let's make it a potluck dinner so you don't have to do all the cooking, Kyrano."

Kyrano inclined his head. "I do not mind."

"I know you don't. But everyone related to ACE has a lot to do to repay the Tracys for everything. This would be a chance to make a start."

"You've made a start, Edna," John protested. "There's my phone and organising the repair of this place. Plus, the work you're doing with painting, and decorating, and everything else."

She ignored him. "I don't mind cooking something. What about the rest of you?"

"Butch can make something," Lisa offered.

Butch looked embarrassed by the revelation.

The rest of the group agreed to the plan; Bruce offering to do a run to the local supermarket for a salad.

Edna turned back to tonight's chef. "What do you say, Kyrano?"

Kyrano inclined his head again. "I am pleased to agree."

"Good."

"Any guesses when this dinner's going to be?" Bruce asked. "How much longer is the operation going to take?"

There was silence as everyone watched the lines continue their reassuring track across the TV screen.

-F-A-B-

_8:40pm_

Jeff Tracy placed his spoon into his bowl. "That was a wonderful meal, Kyrano," he congratulated his friend, as the others around the table made appreciative noises. "Thank you."

"I hope no further piloting will be required, Scott," Lady Penelope stated. "For I am sure I have eaten too much, and the aeroplane would not be able to get off the ground."

"I haven't eaten this well in ages." Billy Eagles, gave a light burp and received an admonishing glare from his wife. "Thanks."

Kyrano inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgement and appreciation of the complements. "Does anyone require anything further?"

"Bed?" Gordon pushed his bowl away. "After that meal I can barely keep my eyes open."

"I'd like to have a family meeting first," his father told him. "If you can keep your eyes open long enough."

"I think I can manage that."

"Penny? Parker? Will you join us?"

"Of course, Jeff."

"If you're having a family meeting then rest of us should leave." Bruce started to get to his feet.

"No, don't go," John instructed. "We can have our meeting in Virgil's room. You guys can stay here and make yourselves comfortable."

"Or…" Olivia started collecting together plates. "We can stay here, do the dishes, and tidy up. It's the least we can do after that wonderful meal."

Bruce pretended to groan at his girlfriend's suggestion, while Freddy, glad of something to take his mind off his sister's situation, started gathering together plates.

He'd been surprised when his mother had accepted the offer of a meal at the Tracys house and then realised that this was her first step in apologising to Jeff Tracy. An apology that had been brushed off with an: _"I've been just as protective of Virgil."_

"Why don't you two head back over the road to see how Angela is?" the young man suggested to his parents. "I'll be over when I've finished helping with the washing up."

"You can go too," Ashley Watts told him. "There's more than enough of us here to take care of the dishes."

The Tracys left ACE to their chores and, the boys carrying two chairs each, withdrew into the room that they hoped would someday be Virgil's. At present it was unpainted, uncarpeted, and devoid of all furniture, including a bed.

"Well?" Alan settled into a chair between Tin-Tin and her father. "What do you want to talk about, Dad?" He fixed Scott with a level stare. "As if I couldn't guess."

"A couple of things, starting with the elephant in the room… Scott? Did you, ah…" Jeff pondered how to phrase the question, "_know_ about Virgil arresting before John showed you his tablet?"

Scott had known that he was going to have this conversation and had been dreading it. He nodded. "I felt Virgil's heart stop. I felt him getting colder."

"I heard Scott call out and that's when I went into his room to see what was wrong," John admitted. "When he told me what he'd felt, that's when I came up with idea of tapping into the Australian feed. It was scary listening to the medical team try to bring Virgil back to life. I could have hugged Brains when someone said that Virg's pulse was getting stronger."

"So… When I saw you guys, was that after Brains had got his heart going?" Alan checked.

"Yeah. Sorry, Alan," John apologised again. "We would have told you what was going on, but we didn't want you or anyone else going through it all until you were awake enough to deal with it."

Scott echoed his own apology. "We got a heck of a fright and I didn't want to be alone after what I'd experienced, so that's why we dragged John's mattress into my room. I was a mess," he added, surprising everyone by his admission. "John didn't want you to see me like that."

"How are you feeling now?" Grandma asked.

"The same as I've been feeling since we pulled Virg out from under that beam and got him to hospital."

Jeff accepted his eldest's explanation. "Which brings me to the second thing I want to discuss. International Rescue. I know none of us want to leave Virgil so early on in his treatment, but we've already been out of action for over two days. Sooner or later we're going to have to make a decision about when you boys are going to have to go home to be on call."

He'd expected complaints and arguments from his sons as they told him in no uncertain terms that they were not leaving Bearston until Virgil could leave with them. That had happened when Gordon had been injured and he expected this time to be no different. He was therefore surprised when the only reaction was a mild: "We've already got that figured out," from Scott.

"You have?"

"Yes. We've all chipped in and bought a Tracy Aviation Odonata."

"A TA-Odonata? But that's a civilian craft."

"Yep. It's the fastest civilian plane capable of carrying ten passengers. It's got VTOL jets, silencers, and a small footprint."

"I know that, but what use will it be to International Rescue?"

"Tin-Tin flew Thunderbird Two to Barduq and she's housed in the hangar there."

"I brought the Firefly and the Mole," Tin-Tin admitted. "Once I know Virgil's out of danger, I'll fly home and collect pod four with Thunderbird Four."

"That should carry us through most scenarios," Scott continued. "Anything else and we'll have to divert to Tracy Island before we leave for the danger zone."

"But I don't understand. What does the Odonata have to do with it?"

"It's small enough to use the tennis courts as a landing pad. With the paintjob it's getting, it's going to look exactly like the type of craft a family of rich playboys would use for gallivanting around the countryside. What we'll really be using it for is flying between Bearston and Barduq."

Jeff felt a smile spread across his face. "I must still be tired because I didn't see that coming. That's an excellent solution, boys."

"It's all Scott's idea," Gordon told him. "We're just providing the cash."

Scott dismissed the praise. "Now all we need is for the customisation to be finalised and for it to be airworthy. Tin-Tin had some reservations about that."

Tin-Tin huffed. "They patted me on the hand, told me _not to worry my sweet little head over it_, and said it would all be sorted."

"They've got a death wish," Alan muttered.

"My head engineer," Scott grinned at Tin-Tin, "and I are going to head out there tomorrow and see how things are progressing. Maybe the Tracy name will get some action."

"Do you require our services, Scott?" Lady Penelope enquired. "In a transportation capacity?"

"I'd love it. Arriving in an eccentrically-coloured and customised Rolls Royce with two gorgeous women in tow is bound to help my playboy credentials."

Gordon looked at Alan. "_He's_ got a death wish."

Alan chuckled.

_To be continued…_


	32. Chapter 32

After a full, uneventful night's sleep, and a breakfast that felt like breakfast the following morning, Scott called the actors in the day's drama together. Using the planning skills that he was so noted for, he detailed everyone's part and relationship to everyone else.

They all agreed that some preparations would be needed before they could advance on Hiclass Hiway, the company entrusted with the customisation of the latest craft in International Rescue's fleet.

"How can you trust anyone who tries to tell you that they're high class?" Gordon had asked. "How low class can you get?"

"I wouldn't trust them with a paper dart," Tin-Tin told him.

Alan frowned. "If they're that bad, how did they get the Tracy Aviation franchise?"

"If they _are_ that bad, they won't have the franchise for much longer," Scott commented. "Father will see to that… Okay? Everyone know their roles?"

There were sounds of affirmation.

"Good. Now please remember that I'm going to be working on the theory that if I do the opposite of what I would naturally do in a situation, then I should be able to pull this off. In light of this, I'd like to apologise in advance if I insult or degrade anyone. That is not my intention."

"We understand, Scott." Tin-Tin told him.

"Thanks." Scott slapped his hands against his thighs and stood. "Time to move out!"

-F-A-B-

Anaesthesia Eden carefully unwrapped the bandages on the deformed hand. "His skin looks odd."

Intent on watching the robot add the finishing touches to the skeletal legs, Brains glanced across at her. "Does it? In what way?"

"Kind of unnatural… Almost synthetic."

Colin stood so he could look down at the limb in question. "I remember the surgeon commenting on that in his notes after the amputation."

"Oh!" Brains awoke to what they were saying. "His hands were badly burnt several years ago and required extensive reconstructive surgery and a long period of rehabilitation. Actually…" he paused in thought. "Both injuries were caused by the crucible furnace at ACE."

"I would have thought that after the first accident, he would have steered clear of it."

Ana stared at Brains over the top of her mask. "Does he go looking for trouble or something?"

"Something like that," Brains admitted. "It's something of a family trait."

"It sounds like it," Colin commented. "Jeff told me that Gordon had been in a serious accident."

Solemn eyes stared at him through blue horn-rimmed glasses. "It was serious. Very serious. It's almost a miracle that he survived and is as healthy as he is." Brains peered across his patient's body at the damaged hand. "With no muscles in the fingers they shouldn't take too long to repair. We may be on the home straight."

Colin rotated his shoulders and his head, and rubbed his neck. "I hope so. I'm getting too old to expect that a couple of cat naps over 32 hours would completely refresh me. This almost makes a desk and endless paperwork look attractive."

Ana yawned behind her mask. "I'm looking forward to going to bed too."

"What's this? When I was your age I thought nothing of working 48 hours with no sleep."

"When you were my age they still thought that leeches and maggots were acceptable methods of doctoring."

"The medical establishment is still using leeches and maggots. They are highly effective medicinal tools."

"There are better venous decongestants out there." Ana indicated the robot. "Such as creating artificial venous systems like we have here."

"It still can't replicate what nature's perfected over millennia," her father told her.

"We're getting close."

"Not close enough. There is a chance that this young man will have to undergo leech therapy to ensure adequate blood flow and to reduce the chance of clotting. And don't forget, it's thanks to leeches that hiruden was discovered and synthesised as a part of recombinant procedures."

"Procedures that have moved well on from using bugs to suck vital fluids out of patients' bodies."

Well used to ignoring familial bickering, Brains had tuned out. If he hadn't, he might have joined in their discussion by explaining that, while both phyla used the sucking method for feeding, leeches weren't bugs, but segmented worms.

Instead he concentrated on the installation of the clear top mould that kept Virgil's lower body in one piece, making sure that everything was in place and nothing was caught between the mould's edges. The clear polymer would do the skin's job until everyone was satisfied that the healing processed had advanced enough that it was safe to block out the view of what was going on inside. Once the hand was finished, a further polymer shell would be placed over Virgil's upper torso and both arms, to prevent unnecessary movement of the body.

The robot straightened, flexed as if it were having a relaxing stretch, and then moved across to the hand…

-F-A-B-

The "eccentrically-coloured and customised" Rolls Royce turned into the complex, drove as far as it could into the sales yard, and stopped. The gullwing doors opened simultaneously, and two men vacated the front seats on either side of the driver. Both men, dark, unshaven, dressed in black, and with opaque sunglasses hiding their eyes, moved to the passenger compartment behind them. After scanning the area for any threats, they said something to those inside the car and extended their hands to the occupants.

"Thank you, Alan." Tin-Tin accepted his hand and alighted from the left side of the car. She was wearing heavy makeup above spotlessly clean, tight-fitting overalls, with a neckline that plunged to a depth that would have guaranteed to have the normally calm, even-tempered Kyrano calling for the smelling salts and demanding retribution against any man who sullied his daughter.

Alan, trying to keep his eyes averted from the hint of black lace at her cleavage, managed to maintain his impassive expression. "It's a pleasure, ma'am." Resisting his impulse to pull his black turtleneck away from his throat to allow in some cooling air, he instead ran his hand over his brown-dyed hair.

On the right side of the car, Gordon, like Alan, waited with his hand extended. Also, like Alan he'd darkened his hair and two day's growth of beard. Unlike Alan he was not wearing a black leather jacket, which allowed his swimmers muscles to bulge beneath the size-too-small turtleneck. "M'lady?"

"Thank you, Gordon." Lady Penelope accepted his hand and withdrew from the car.

Gordon's jaw dropped.

When she'd entered the vehicle, she'd been wearing more makeup than usual and dressed in an above-the-knee wrap-around skirt that revealed enough of her shapely legs to offer that hint of the glamour that Scott had wanted. She'd also worn a jacket that was figure hugging and offered some concession to the coolness of the morning.

Now Gordon watched as a long leg, clad in a knee-high boot, exited the car. The boot was followed by a naked thigh that seemed to go on forever. Finally, the rest of Lady Penelope emerged, leaving the wrap-around skirt behind and revealing the microest of scarlet miniskirts. Her jacket had also been discarded for a black top that seemed to have been made from the minimum of material. "Mouth closed, Gordon," she instructed.

"Huh…? Uh… Yeah." He did as he was told, glad that the gullwing hid him from the complex and that his sunglasses concealed his eyes, which he was sure must have been standing out on stalks. He closed the Rolls Royce's door and followed Lady Penelope as she sashayed around the rear of the big car, reflecting that she looked nothing like a member of the English aristocracy. Trying to stay in character he stopped by the passenger door, his back to the car, clasped his hands before him and surveyed the scene.

On the other side of the door, Alan mirrored his brother's stance, completing the protective guard. "All clear, Mr Tracy."

Scott Tracy exited the car.

Like his brothers he hadn't shaven since their stay in the motorhomes and two days' worth of growth added to his rugged good looks. Unlike his brothers his dark brown hair was unchanged except for the lotion that slicked it back on his head. A black leather flight jacket was worn over a pure white shirt that was open far enough to reveal his finely muscled chest, decorated with two thick gold chains that matched the one on his right wrist. A ring with a large diamond flashed on his left little finger. His jeans were tight and of the latest fashion, and his shoes tapered to a gleaming metallic point. He put on his mirror-finished aviator sunglasses and appraised their surroundings.

An employee of the company scurried over to greet the man who was obviously someone of great wealth and power. "Good morning, Sir. My name is Donatello. How may Hiclass Hiway be of service?" He extended his hand to shake the newcomer's.

His greeting was thwarted when Lady Penelope stopped him with a hand against his chest. "No one gets near Scott Tracy without his say so, Sugar," she told him in a Southern drawl that nearly had everyone falling out of character. She smirked. "That's unless you got that _special_ relationship. Right, Babe?"

Scott Tracy unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it into his mouth before opening his arms wide and snapping his fingers. "Ladies."

The two women in his entourage must have had that _special _relationship, as they hurried to his sides, nuzzling into him. He let his arms settle about their waists as if it was his right.

"Erm..." The man looked nonplussed. "Of course. Is Mr Tracy here to see his Odonata?" He fixed Scott with an ingratiating smile.

Scott looked straight through the man as if he weren't there. "Lead me to it, T-T," he instructed.

"Of course, Sweetie," Tin-Tin simpered and pointed at an aircraft beyond a fence. "That is it."

"Let's see if it's as bad as you say it is." His arms still about Lady Penelope and Tin-Tin, Scott sauntered over to his aeroplane; Alan and Gordon following five paces behind, their faces inscrutable.

The Hiclass Hiway salesman, unused to be ignored on his own turf, scurried after them.

The TA-Odonata stood there, a symphony of gleaming black. Scott stopped, appraised it, and then spoke. "Show me."

Tin-Tin led the way to the back of the aeroplane and reached up to open the engine compartment. She had to stand on tip-toe.

Finally acknowledging Donatello, Scott rounded on the salesman. "Get the lady something to stand on," he ordered.

"Ah, yes. Of… Of course?" Bewildered at being lowered to the level of such a menial task, Donatello hurried away.

Scott leant close to Tin-Tin. "Was he the one?"

"One of them. I think it must be a prerequisite of working here."

"I'll keep that in mind." Scott stood back as Donatello, an oily, scowling engineer holding a small platform in tow, returned.

"Where'cha want this?" the engineer demanded.

Scott looked at Tin-Tin. "Tell him."

Resisting the opportunity to suggest a more metaphorical location, Tin-Tin stood back and indicated the spot below the engine bay doors.

The platform was dumped in a small shower of dust and then the engineer leered at Tin-Tin. "Wanna hand up, darlin'?"

"Since the lady is about to show you _up_, perhaps you'd better shut _up_, watch and listen," Scott told him.

The engineer's scowl deepened. It nearly inverted his face when Donatello gave him a silent demand to leave with a flick of his head.

Deciding that he was better off back in his workshop with his questionable magazines and all the comforts of home, the engineer tried to go, but found his way blocked by the solid wall of muscle that was Gordon and Alan. "Outta the way."

Gordon and Alan ignored him.

"Move!"

The wall didn't move.

The engineer cursed and then decided that the softly, softly approach might be more profitable. "'Scuse me."

The wall parted, and he scurried through.

"Now, how can…" Donatello began.

There was a bang and a whimper.

Turning they could all see the engineer lying prone on the ground with Lady Penelope kneeling on the small of his back and twisting his arm up to the region of his shoulder blades.

"Don't mind us," the Southern voice told everyone. "He tried to take liberties and I'm just explainin' to him that they ain't welcome."

Scott smirked. "You picked the wrong lady to touch up, Pal. Dixie is in charge of my security. These guys," he jerked his thumb at his black-clad brothers, "provide the muscle and she provides the finesse..." The smirk morphed into a leer. "…and the fun."

"Is that an invitation, Sugar?" Lady Penelope got off the engineer and, without giving him a second glance, sashayed over to Scott. "'Cos I accept." She reached up and pulled him into a kiss that had enough fire to launch Thunderbird Three. A kiss which he returned with obvious appreciation.

It was a full minute before they broke apart.

Scott ran his hand over his hair. "Hold that thought for later," he directed, catching the hand that caressed the designer stubble on his chin. "Business first. Pleasure second."

Lady Penelope gave him a lascivious wink. "Just give me the word, Babe, and I'll come runnin'."

"Now…" Scott turned and examined the aeroplane. "Let's check this out." He allowed his eyes to sweep over it. "Sweet…" he drawled. "Nearly as sexy as you, Dixie."

"Then I'll leave the two of you to get to know each other better." Lady Penelope retired to a point behind Scott's two muscleman and started filing her nails.

Scott turned back to the Tracy Aviation Odonata. This was what he'd come to see. An aeroplane that the media had decided had the looks of a supermodel and the performance of… Well, it was embarrassing to suggest and most likely untrue – Scott would have the opportunity to test this out soon – the performance of a Thunderbird.

Whether it was the comparison with the genuine articles, which he knew intimately and had a hand in their design, or just the poor quality of the photographs, but Scott had never been that enamoured with the TA-Odonata. But that changed when he stood there with the real thing only centimetres in front of him…

He reached out to it…

"Please don't touch it," Donatello requested. "You'll get fingerprints on the paintwork."

Twin mirrored lenses lasered him with a cool stare as Scott Tracy, for the first time in full agreement with his alter ego, glared at the man. This was his plane, he (and his brothers) had paid good money for it, he was relying on it to keep his family safe so they could save others, and this guy was worried about the paintwork!?

Donatello took a metaphorical and physical step backwards. "I'll, ah, I'll be over here if you have any questions."

Scott dismissed him with a curt nod. Then he turned back to the aeroplane. She was beautiful, and he found himself wishing that Virgil was with him to appreciate her beauty. Then again, he reflected, his brother would have probably had his head in the engine bay next to Tin-Tin.

At the realisation of what might never be, Scott felt a lump form in his throat. Swallowing it down, he forced himself to remain in character.

Once again, he touched the Odonata's surface, running his fingers across the body as he circumnavigated it, checking for any blemish or fault in the craftsmanship. He found none.

He had to admit that, despite the attitude of the sales staff and engineers, whoever did the paint job was an artist. The aeroplane was jet black, as might be expected by a family of playboys, but more than that, it was covered in a coating that caused it to reflect the predominant colour in its surroundings. This meant that against a clear blue sky or a stormy one, the Odonata would be almost invisible.

Tucked away in the wheel bay he found the plate that gave the craft's name, serial number, date of construction, other specifics, the signoff by Tracy Aviation's quality controller – a man Scott knew personally and respected – and a tiny engraved picture of a dragonfly.

He continued his tour, winding up next to the engine bay. "How's it going?"

Tin-Tin, glad to have an excuse to look elsewhere during the embarrassing kiss, had climbed onto the platform and was at work examining the engine. She gave a sigh of exasperation. "They haven't fixed anything."

Donatello overheard. "Well, you know how it is," he began. "The factory settings are always a little off. The team's been working hard elsewhere, but you can be assured that by the time you're ready to collect this beauty, we'll have rectified all the TA factory's errors."

"You mean my father's factory," Scott growled.

Donatello assigned his customer's last name and the Tracy Aviation name with the values of two, added them together, came up with a disturbing number, and gulped. "As I'm sure you know, you can usually guarantee that TA will produce a quality product," he gushed. "But this was a rush job so perhaps their quality control wasn't as robust as usual. I understand that the company that produces their components was damaged in the earthquake. Perhaps that, um, that…"

"Anterior cell?"

"Yes. Perhaps that anterior cell had been damaged in the 'quake?"

"Or maybe your people spent too long spending my money and spending not enough time doing the actual work?" Scott demanded. "Who owns this place?"

"Erm… Mr Webb."

"Get him, Don."

"Don!? Ah..." Desperate to maintain face, Donatello reigned in his temper. "Mr Webb, erm, may not be on site."

"If he's not, then he can't expect to see my money on site… ever…"

Donatello gulped again. "I'll go and get him." He hurried away, sidestepping Alan and Gordon and giving Lady Penelope a wide berth. She ignored him, finding her fingernails a more interesting subject.

Keen to inspect the interior of the aircraft, Scott mounted the platform next to Tin-Tin. It was barely big enough for the two of them and he put his arm about her; in part to hold onto the fuselage so he wouldn't fall off, and also to maintain his Lothario image. "How bad is it?"

"Not too bad," she admitted. "What I can see I could fix in half an hour if they'd let me use their tools."

"Are they TA production faults?"

"No. They are getting more money out of the client faults. See that?" Tin-Tin leant forward and pointed into the engine bay. "See the drag marks? They've moved the unit." She frowned. "Most of the faults I can see are cosmetic. It is what, if anything, they've damaged in the process and that I can't see that worries me."

"I hope that's all that's worrying you." Scott lowered his voice. "I promise I won't kiss you like I did Penny."

"You are a sweetheart, Scott, but you must do whatever is necessary to maintain your image. Besides," barely able to conceal a smirk Tin-Tin glanced over to the jacketed strongman, "I have no objection to letting certain people know that they should not take me for granted."

"You're wicked!"

Donatello came running back. "Mr Webb will see you now. He's in his office if you'd care to join him. He said it'll be more comfortable and private in there."

"When I'm ready," Scott told the salesman, and jumped down. Then, grabbing Tin-Tin by the waist, he swung her off the platform. As he set her down on the ground he noticed something. "You've got grease on you."

"I have?" Tin-Tin looked down her front. "Where?"

The question placed Scott in a quandary. Manners dictated that he would never have pointed to the location of the stain, which had missed the cloth of the overalls and landed an inch above the black lace beneath. But he had no doubt that "Scott Tracy" would have had no such qualms.

Fortunately, Tin-Tin saw the black spot. Pulling a rag from out of her pocket, she treated him to a seductive grin. "Would you like to remove it?"

It was at that point that Scott nearly fell out of character and it was with a major effort, and the masking effect of his mirrored glasses, that stopped him from blowing his cover. "Sure, Sweetheart," he drawled. "But it's too public here. Let's go where no one can see the operation." Grabbing her by the hand he dragged her, giggling, around behind the aeroplane.

"Erm… But what about Mr…!" Donatello went to follow them, but was stopped when Alan and Gordon stepped in front of him. "Right. I'll… I'll wait back here." He retired to the gate that led to the office.

Lady Penelope appeared to be uninterested in the goings on of her paramour. Instead she concentrated on repairing her make-up with a powder compact that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, since none of the men could work out how she'd managed to conceal it in her skimpy outfit.

Tin-Tin checked that they were away from prying eyes. "Good. We must make this seem as real as possible."

"Tin-Tin…" Scott protested as she used the rag to clean away the grease from her skin and then, after a quick mathematical calculation to ensure it wasn't too high or too low, smeared it onto his white shirt. She then started pulling at the garment to loosen it from his belt. "What are you doing!?"

"Shush, or you will spoil it," she hissed. "We have got to make this look convincing." She pulled a lipstick, the same shade as the one she was wearing, from out of her pocket and applied it liberally to her lips. "Kiss me."

"But…"

"Oh...!" Exasperated by his reticence, Tin-Tin reached up, grabbed his face, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was more clinical than erotic, but it didn't stop Scott from turning scarlet. "Tin-Tin!"

"Stop blushing! I never knew you were such a prude!" Tin-Tin kissed him again.

"It's called respect," he protested when she released him. "And I'm especially respectful of my own skin. If your father finds out what I'm asking you to do…"

"You're not asking, I am volunteering." Tin-Tin evaluated her handiwork and the lipstick on his face. "That will do. Now, use your hand to wipe it off."

Seeing sense in what she was suggesting, Scott obeyed. "How's that?"

"Good." Tin-Tin ruffled her own hair.

Scott took a deep breath to calm down. "What do I look like?"

"Like a playboy who has just enjoyed a quick fumble behind a plane."

"Very romantic. Hold on…" Grabbing her by the shoulders, Scott pressed her against the Odonata's fuselage. Then he pushed his hands on either side of her head against Donatello's precious paintwork. "He's right, it does attract fingerprints…" He dragged his prints down the Odonata's body, smudging them into vertical lines. "And this'll have them wondering exactly what we've been doing."

Tin-Tin smirked. "You're wicked too."

Scott took a deep breath, trusted that any redness in his face was put down to exertion and not embarrassment, put his right arm about Tin-Tin's shoulders in a manner that claimed more possession than affection, stuck his left hand into his jeans' pocket so that his jacket was open and the grease stain visible, and swaggered back to the rest of the group.

Alan watched their arrival. Placing one finger against his ear and pretending to talk into his lapel he spoke quietly to Gordon. "He's enjoying this _way_ too much."

His brother had to dig his fingernails into his palms to stop himself from laughing out loud.

Scott pretended to notice the lipstick on his hand for the first time. "That gets your motor runnin'," he bragged, rubbing it off on his jeans.

Both his strongmen were shaking. One through suppressed anger; the other through equally suppressed laughter.

Scott didn't notice. "Back to work, darlin'," he told Tin-Tin and almost gave her a pat on the behind to send her on her way.

He decided against it. He was potentially in deep water with Kyrano and didn't want to compound that risk by taking the chance that his grandma would give him a pat on his own behind with something much harder.

He slapped his hands together instead. "Right. Where's Webb, Don?"

Donatello was unaware of the subtexts that were swirling around him. All he could think of was the large commission that he would lose should this client walk out on him. "This way, Mr Tracy."

Scott snapped his fingers at his jacketed henchman. "You! Stay here and look after T-T," he ordered, jerking his thumb in her direction.

"Yes, Mr Tracy," Alan responded in a monotone.

"You!" The fingers moved to the strongman in the turtle-neck. "Come with me."

"Yes, Mr Tracy." Gordon followed as Scott swaggered across to the office.

The foyer of the building spoke of a company that was trying that little bit too hard to aim high, and Scott decided that a fair percentage of the money that had been used to decorate the place would have been better spent on a quality interior decorator.

He was shown into the managing director's office. Without waiting for an invitation to do so, he sat down in the nearest comfortable chair and put his feet up on the desk, Gordon planting himself like a Grecian statue just inside the door.

Without taking his sunglasses off, Scott looked about him. The office was decorated with much more restraint and showed the touch of someone who had taste and an eye for quality. He wasn't sure if that person was the individual facing him.

Webb appeared surprised by the effrontery of the man who'd just made himself at home. He extended his hand over the desk. "Mr Tracy."

Scott scratched at the lipstick on his jeans.

Nonplussed by the lack of reaction, Webb hesitated a moment and then sat down. "How can I help you, Mr Tracy?"

"You can help me by telling me why my TA-Odonata is in worse condition than it was when it left Tracy Aviation."

"Worse condition?"

"My engineer has discovered, and I agree, that the anterior cell has been moved on purpose."

"I'm sure that your engineer is the best in his prof-"

"Her," Scott interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My engineer is a woman. A highly trained, extremely capable woman."

"Oh. Well, I am sure that your engineer is the best in _her_ profession, but I can assure you, Mr Tracy, that Hiclass Hiway have only employed the best _men_."

"I have seen the calibre of your _men_," Scott placed the same emphasis on the word. "And if that's the standard you employ, they're not worthy of cleaning her tools."

"Are you suggesting that the anterior cell was deliberately moved by my _team_?"

"Yes, I believe that your _team_ has sabotaged my Odonata to extract the maximum money out of me." Scott sat forward, his feet slamming from the desk and onto the floor as the light from the window glinted off his mirrored sunglasses. "This…" he continued whilst Gordon placed one fist into the other palm and pushed to enhance his already impressive muscles, "...is not advisable."

But Webb was made of sterner stuff than Donatello. "I can assure you, Mr Tracy, that nothing untoward has been done to your craft. You can rest assured that a staff member would be appropriately punished if he were caught jeopardising Hiclass Hiway's good name."

Scott wondered about the phraseology of that sentence. "The anterior cell has been moved."

"Shifted in flight?" Webb suggested.

"When it's bolted to the bulkhead? There are definite signs of tooling marks."

"Not wishing to cast aspersions on your father's company," clearly Donatello had been schooling Webb up on some important facts, "but do you think there could be a chance that someone there…"

"Knowing that this particular plane had been sold to the son of the owner of the company?" Scott interrupted. "I don't think so."

"Would they have known?"

"Definitely. Something as exclusive as a TA-Odonata always has the customer's name, or at least an identifier, associated with each component. And when that name is Tracy, extra care is taken. Quality control would have been all over that craft with a fine-toothed comb."

"It was a rush job."

"Which would have made QC even more determined to check that no shortcuts were taken, or errors made."

"I'm sure you're right…" Webb mused, finally deciding that this was a battle that couldn't be won. It was over to him how painful defeat was going to be. "What can Hiclass Hiway do to rectify the error, Mr Tracy?"

"You will get your top engineer to check the engine and rectify any errors. This will be done by…" Scott looked at his obviously expensive watch. "5.00pm this afternoon, at which point I shall return. You will then allow my engineer to use all your diagnostic tools to confirm that the engine is running to the specifications it had when it left Tracy Aviation. Once I am satisfied that I am getting what I will be paying for, I will transfer the remainder of your money to your account and you will release my plane to me. Understood?"

"It's a deal." Webb treated him to an ingratiating grin. "Shall we drink to it?" He removed a keyring from his pocket and walked over to a fine-grained cabinet. "That is if you don't consider it too early in the day?" He withdrew a bottle of very expensive, top quality whiskey.

"I've got my own." Scott raised his hand and snapped his fingers. "I never drink inferior brands."

In a swift motion that made it seem that it was a well-practised action, Gordon withdrew a hip flask from his pocket, removed the lid, and placed it into Scott's hand.

With no acknowledgement of his brother, Scott tossed back a quick mouthful. "Ah…" he breathed. "As smooth as water." He held up the flask for Gordon to retrieve, before standing. "I'm glad we understand each other, Webb."

"Of course, Mr Tracy. Hiclass Hiway is at your service."

"We shall see. I will return at five."

"I'll look forward to seeing you again."

Scott doubted it.

-F-A-B-

"Any word from the boys, Jeff?"

Jeff Tracy looked up from the paper he'd been trying to read for the last hour. Initially he'd attempted to claw his way to the top of the backlog of Tracy Industries' work that had been building since the first earthquake. Giving that up as a bad job due to his inability to concentrate when the dancing lines on the TV screen were more effective at holding his attention, he'd settled down with one of the local dailies.

He still hadn't managed to work his way through the front page.

"No, Mother, nothing," he said. "I hope this doesn't mean that the Odonata is in bad shape." He glanced at the TV screen.

"If it was built by Tracy Aviation you know full well that it will be in excellent shape." Grandma's lips thinned. "That's unless that Hiclass Hiway outfit have damaged it."

Jeff dragged his eyes away from the screen and looked at her. "If there's been any unethical behaviour I'll be getting my team to check them out. And if there have been any shenanigans, they'll lose their license."

"What's the probability of that?"

"Oh… I'd say about one hundred percent." Jeff glanced back at the TV screen.

John came in from outside. Despite having just looked at the data being received by his phone, he still stopped and watched the larger screen TV.

"Where have you been?" Grandma enquired. "I thought you were with the others."

John grinned. "I know I could have played the part of the more handsome younger brother, but I wanted to stay close by in case there was a problem with the communications link. I've been over to check it and it's working fine."

"Good. You didn't happen to hear when the operation's going to be over, did you?"

"Sorry, Grandma, but I was only looking at the signals, not eavesdropping, and when I did, they either weren't saying anything or else were discussing what to get Great Aunt Phyllis for her birthday, and whether she'd prefer the purple or the green."

"They can't be panicking if that's the case."

"That's what I thought."

They heard tyres crunch the gravel outside.

Jeff laid down his paper. "It sounds like FAB1's back."

Grandma wiped her hands on a towel. "I hope everything went well for them."

Kyrano, transferring a tray of hot biscuits from the oven to the benchtop, nearly dropped them when both front doors were flung open. Two dark men dressed in black burst in, their guns raised in a position of restrained readiness.

It took a moment for the room's occupants to realise that they weren't carrying guns, but that their fingers were imitating the weapons.

Exaggerating their movements, the men checked the immediate vicinity, each of them stealing a biscuit as they traversed the kitchen area.

"Just checkin' for poison," one of them said, taking a bite.

"Seems safe enough," the other growled. "Shall we let 'em in?"

"Yeah."

John watched the exhibition, shaking his head in exasperation. "Any excuse."

The two security men returned to the doorway, their dark glasses continuously scanning the landscape, and formed a guard. "It's all clear, Mr Tracy."

"About time." Scott Tracy, his right arm about – and it took a double-take to confirm this – Lady Penelope's shoulders and his left around Tin-Tin's, swaggered into the room. The three of them claimed the longest couch.

His arms still about his female companions' shoulders, Scott put his feet up on the coffee table. "I could get used to this."

"So we can see," John smirked.

"Any news?"

"No."

"In that case… Grandmother." Scott snapped his fingers. "Coffee."

"Grandson." She cuffed him across the head with a cushion. "Get your own… And get your feet off that table!"

Laughing, Scott stood. "Coffee all around?" he asked, ruffling his hair into something closer to its normal style. "Or would Miss Dixie," he adopted a Southern accent, "prefer tea?"

"Miss Dixie would prefer coffee, Sugar," the Southern drawl responded. "However," cultured tones returned, "Penelope would prefer tea." She accepted a piece of cloth from her chauffeur and wrapped the skirt back around her waist, restoring some of her normal modesty. "Thank you, Parker."

"H-It's h-a pleasure, m'Lady," he responded. "Shall H-I make you h-a cuppa?" He handed her her jacket.

"I should appreciate that enormously."

Parker withdrew into the kitchen area. "Somethin' smells good, Mrs Tracy."

"It's Kyrano's baking this time. I've been helping."

"Looks like someone h-else 'as been 'elping…" Parker nodded towards where Gordon was brushing crumbs off his skivvy and Alan was chewing. "…themselves."

"They gave us such a fright when they burst in looking for all the world like something out of a cheap TV thriller."

Parker chuckled. "You should've seen 'em h-at the shop. They were a proper caution, the lot of them. H-If H-I 'adn't known h-it was them, H-I wouldn't 'ave known 'oo it was – characters h-and looks." He chuckled again. "You should've seen Mister Gordon's h-expression when 'er Ladyship got h-out h-of the car. 'E took a gander h-at 'er clothes pegs h-and you could've knocked 'is h-eyes h-orf with pool cues. H-And you should've seen Mister H-Alan's face when Mister Scott pretended to kiss Miss Tin-Tin." He warmed the teapot. "They were h-all wearin' cameras h-and microphones, h-and I could see h-everythin' from the Rolls Royce. H-I was laughin' me 'ead h-orf the 'ole time."

Grandma, having trouble understanding much of what he said beyond the point where Lady Penelope had got out of the car, smiled politely. "The water's boiling for when you're ready."

"Ta."

Gordon had finished his biscuit. Hopeful of scoring another, he danced a slalom around his elders in the kitchen to the kitchen sink. Pulling the hip-flask out from his trousers, he topped it up from the tap and then put it into the refrigerator. "Someone remind me to take that out an hour before we leave next time," he requested. "I took it straight out of the fridge and put it into my back pocket before we left this morning and it was _cold_!" He returned to his seat empty-handed.

Scott made a face. "And I had to drink it after it had been warmed by your butt."

Jeff set his newspaper aside. "I take it things went well."

"Things were terrible," Scott told him. "They are prepared to slander Tony Hunter's name in order to get a few more dollars out of unsuspecting clients."

"Slander Tony?" Jeff frowned. "How."

Scott indicated Tin-Tin. "I'll let my head engineer tell you while I get the coffee." He turned to his brothers. "Do you guys want some?"

"Love it… Mr Tracy." Gordon snapped his fingers at his brother. "And make it snappy."

Scott bowed low. "Your wish is my command… Alan?"

Alan folded his arms. "No."

Scott, expecting a replay in the affirmative, had already turned to get the drink. He stopped, confused by the abruptness of the reply, and turned back. "No?"

Gordon laughed. "He's in a huff because you kissed Tin-Tin."

"Oh, Alan," Tin-Tin told her hot-headed boyfriend. "We kissed only for the sake of believability. And I practically had to force myself on him." She saw her father's expression and zipped up the front of her overalls to her neck.

"You did what!?" Alan's face darkened

Scott shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Alan. It was nothing compared to the way I kissed Dixie, uh, Penny."

"No," Tin-Tin confirmed. "Not even close."

"It looked like you got close enough," Alan growled. "I saw your lipstick on him. And the grease on his shirt."

"Grease?" Grandma exclaimed. "Where?" She saw the stain. "Get out of that shirt right now, my boy, and I'll put it in to soak."

"But I can hide the stain with my jacket, Grandma," Scott protested. "I'll need my shirt when we go back this afternoon."

"I'll have it ready by then. Just give it to me."

Realising that he wasn't going to get an option, Scott shrugged off the jacket and then pulled off his shirt, handing it to his grandmother who hustled away to put it in the wash.

Gordon grinned at his brother's bare torso decorated with only a few items of flashy jewellery. "That really is the playboy look."

"And don't we know it, Sugar," 'Dixie' drawled.

Embarrassed to realise that was half naked in front of two ladies, Scott pulled his jacket back on. Trying to avoid their gaze, he turned away. "Are you sure you don't want a coffee, Alan?"

"No."

"Something else?"

Alan, his lips pressed together in mulish stubbornness, shook his head.

"Oh, Alan!" Tin-Tin was starting to get annoyed. "Nothing happened!"

"Surrre." Alan sneered.

"Don't you trust him…?" Tin-Tin felt her anger rise. "Your own brother?"

"No!"

"Must have been a good show," John whispered to Parker. "Or at least believable."

"H-I would've believed h-it h-if H-I 'adn't seen what h-actually 'appened."

"Which was?"

"Nothin' for Mister Alan to burst 'is boiler h-over."

"Nothin'" was not how Alan saw it. "I saw her lipstick on you."

"Not because I kissed her," Scott protested. "She, ah," he glanced at Tin-Tin. "She kissed me."

"So now you're slandering her reputation? Blaming her!"

"Of course not! Nothing happened!"

"Nothing? When you've just done a striptease in front of her."

"Striptease?! You heard Grandma. I had no choice."

"Like you had no choice except to kiss Tin-Tin?"

"I didn't! Erm…" Scott evaluated his words. "Have a choice."

Tin-Tin scowled. "It was all perfectly innocent. You know I would not let anyone take liberties."

Scott took a breath. "If you don't want to believe me, Alan, please believe Tin-Tin. You must know that she wouldn't hurt you."

"When she's already admitted that she kissed you? When she said she forced herself on you!"

"It was all set-dressing as part of the act! Honest, Alan. I didn't want to kiss Tin-Tin. Kissing her would be like kissing my sister."

"How would you know?! You don't have one!" Alan launched himself to his feet, pointing at his brother. "You took advantage!"

John sensed Kyrano take a step forward and tried to send his siblings a warning signal.

No one noticed.

Upset by the accusation, Scott's jaw dropped. "I thought you knew me better than that!"

"Alan," Jeff rumbled. "I think you'd better calm down."

"Yeah. Relax and sit down." Gordon tried to pull his brother back into his seat. "Let Scott get you a cup of coffee and forget all about it. Nothing happened. It was all play acting, remember?"

Alan looked down on him. "Play acting?!"

"Yes." Tin-Tin huffed. "Scott didn't do anything."

"No, you did! You said that you forced yourself on him!"

Livid, it was Tin-Tin's turn to leap to her feet. "Don't you trust me?"

"I thought I did… Until today. Until… Until… HIM!" A finger was stabbed in Scott's direction.

"You know…" Gordon, caught in the crossfire between the couple, inched away from the angry brother at his side. "At this moment, I think Virgil's in the best place of all of us!"

Ignoring him, Alan stormed towards the stairs. "I'm going to have a shave and get out of this gear!"

"Alan, please don't." Scott, trying to remain calm and hide the turmoil he was feeling, blocked his way. "We've got to go back to Hiclass Hiway this afternoon to get the plane and we need you in costume and in character."

"You can do it without me! You've got your muscles." Alan pointed at Gordon. "He gets a kick out of watching you and Tin-Tin in action." He pushed Scott out of the way. "Or you can use John. He can be your science boffin techno guy."

"And that's my physique critiqued in one go," John muttered.

"Honest, Alan, it meant nothing." Scott pleaded as his youngest brother charged across the floor. "Please…" He lowered his voice. "For International Rescue's sake…" Desperate to rectify the situation, he reached out and pulled his youngest brother away from the bottom step.

"Let go of me!" Alan swung back; fists raised…

Scott had no time to react…

Instead he stood there in stunned silence when he was hauled into a bear hug. "I'm sorry," he heard Alan mumble into his shoulder.

Scott tried to get his head around all that had happened. "Sorry?"

"Because I didn't trust you." Releasing his brother, Alan made a point of looking Scott in the eye. "I should have known better."

"You were joking?"

"No." Alan looked ashamed by his admission. "What's happened to Virgil has me out of sorts. What with him, and you not telling me about what happened the other night, and then today, I needed to let off steam and I exploded all over you guys."

"You did?" Scott ran his hand through his hair and looked at his little brother hopefully. "Does that mean you'll go back with us to get the plane this afternoon? In costume?"

"Of course."

"So, we're okay? You and me?"

"You big softy!" Alan gave his big brother a playful punch to the shoulder. "Of course, we're okay! There's no one I'd trust more." He looked across the room towards Tin-Tin. "That goes for both of you. I'm sorry."

Scott gave a relieved grin.

Tin-Tin, however, was a little less willing to forgive. She dropped into a chair with a huff, folded her arms, and glowered at a new clock as if all the accusations were its fault.

Scott watched her scene. "Tin-Tin," he reminded her gently. "You did want to stir him up. You can't complain when you succeeded."

"I nev…!" Tin-Tin snapped. Then she stopped. "Well… Yes, all right, I did. It was only a bit of fun."

Walking towards her, Alan held his arms open. "Forgive me?"

Tin-Tin scowled at the clock. "Maybe."

"Please? I'll even let you use me as a footstool when you inspect the plane."

Tin-Tin giggled. "All right." Blushing, she accepted his embrace.

Glad that the drama was over, everyone relaxed. Kyrano started making the coffees again and Parker reheated the teapot.

"Well that's that." Grandma bustled back into the living area. "Aren't the drinks ready yet?"

"There was a hold up." Gordon stood and stretched. "I'll get mine in a moment. I'm going to get out of these clothes so I can wear them this evening."

Alan clapped him on the shoulder. "Me too."

"I hope you're going to wash that stuff out of your hair, Alan," Grandma demanded. "I see you and think I'm looking at Virgil."

"I know." He ran his hand over his chestnut brown dyed hair. "It gave me a shock when I saw how much I look like him too. When I asked them to make it something darker, I never thought they'd make it this shade. If we'd had more time I would have got them to change it."

"Well, you've got time now, so go and wash it out."

"I can't."

"Why not? It's not permanent, is it?"

"Hiclass Hiway are expecting to see the playboy Scott Tracy arrive with two dark-haired bodyguards," John explained.

Gordon snickered. "And there's no way that John would qualify."

"Remind me to put ice in that hipflask five minutes before you leave."

"Don't worry, Grandma," Scott soothed. "Once the Odonata's in our possession and on the tennis courts everyone's going back to being themselves… For good!"

"Until that time…" Gordon pulled at Scott's jacket. "You need a to put a shirt on, so you don't start a riot."

"Okay." Relieved that the drama had only been short-lived, Scott joined his disguised brothers as they headed to the stairs.

The three of them forgot everything when an unexpected visitor showed up on the doorstep. He blinked at them with sleep-deprived lack of recognition. "Ah… Is this th-the Tracys'?"

A quick glance at the TV screen confirmed that the lines were still dancing.

"Brains!" Jeff Tracy hurried forward and the rest of the family closed ranks behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Seeing someone he recognised, Brains smiled a tired smile. "We've, ah, we've finished."

"Finished? The operation's over? How long ago? How is he? How will he be? When can we see him?"

"G-Give them t-time t-to g-get him s-settled," Brains suggested, stuttering under the barrage of questions. "C-Colin E-Eden is ensuring that the regular hospital staff are taking good c-care of him."

"How did it go?"

"Very well. I'm quietly optimistic."

"No…" Jeff glanced at Scott and John. "No issues?"

"There was a moment… yesterday, erm, morning… when he, ah, gave us a fright."

"But only the once?" Gordon checked.

"Yes, ah, he…" Brains hesitated, confused by his friend's looks and apparel... In fact, confused by most of his friends' appearances. "Gordon…? Why…?"

"Long story," John told him. "We know his heart stopped, Brains. Scott and I heard you defibrillate him."

Relieved that at least one of the Tracy sons looked as expected, Brains frowned. "You heard it?"

"Yes." John indicated the TV screen. "I tapped into the feed so we would know what's going on."

"I've never been so worried," Brains admitted. "It seemed to take forever for the robot to move out of the way."

"We didn't hear that part." Scott moved closer. "What happened?"

Brains blinked at him, confused by his friend's style of clothing, his untidy hair, and the… That couldn't be lipstick around the mouth, could it? He glanced at his assistant… In Tin-Tin's shade?

"Brains?" Jeff prompted. "What happened when Virgil's heart stopped?"

Glad that at least Jeff Tracy looked normal, Brains concentrated on him. "The robot was joining a major artery in his leg to the synthetic one. We couldn't make it stop mid-suture and back away, because of the risk of haemorrhaging, and I couldn't use the defibrillators in case we damaged the robot and left it useless.

"Virgil was without a heartbeat for close to two minutes," John reminded him. "Are there likely to be any complications?"

Brains considered his answer. "Only time will tell. But Ana Eden kept his blood circulating," he added comfortingly.

"Have you got him on the ventilator now?"

"Yes. A machine is, ah, doing the breathing for him."

"How?" Scott's hand went to his throat.

"Th-Through a tracheotomy tube."

John frowned. "He wanted something non-invasive."

"It was the only, ah, viable method available to us. He is completely encased in a hard shell to prevent unnecessary movement. Other methods of ventilation would only cause complications."

"But couldn't you have used that negative pressure ventilator? The… What's it called? Biphasic…"

"Biphasic cuirass ventilation," Brains confirmed. "If that, or another method, had been an option, I would have insisted that we use it. But the BCV covers an area of his body from below his arms to his pelvis. It would have needed to have created a seal right across the site of the injury. There were no other alternatives available to us, John."

"Virgil will understand," Jeff reassured them both. "When can we see him, Brains?"

"Colin has left instructions that you are to be notified as soon possible." Brains yawned.

"You look done in," Grandma told him. She took him by the arm. "I'll show you to your room." They started walking up the stairs.

"Thank you, er, Mrs Tracy… Now please tell me, wh-why does everyone look so different…"

Once he'd gone Gordon turned to Scott. "You felt that, didn't you!?"

Scott jammed his hands in the pockets of his tight jeans. "Felt what?"

"Virgil getting the tracheotomy. I saw you touch your throat when you were looking at the plane. I thought you were supposed to only have ESP when he was conscious. What if he felt the procedure?"

"I didn't touch it because of that," Scott informed his brother. "I had a, um, tickle in my throat. That's all. Now… If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get changed." He jogged up the stairs.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It had been a quiet morning tea once everyone had finally got their coffees. A quietness that spilled over into lunch as they waited for a call from the hospital.

It was closer to 2.00pm when word finally arrived that Virgil was ready to accept visitors… Two at a time.

Jeff had insisted that, as they had to get ready and then make the journey to Hiclass Hiway, that Scott and Alan should go first.

Scott had insisted that a playboy of "Scott Tracy's" ilk wouldn't think twice about making an appointment and then neglecting to show for it; and that he was staying, even if it was in the hospital corridor.

Gordon had insisted that, as there wasn't much point in everyone hanging around the hospital looking at the familiar drab walls, and as they shouldn't be gone for too long, that they may as well go and collect the Odonata, which would be a quicker ride back than in the Rolls Royce anyway.

Alan had insisted that Scott had the right idea, and that there was no way that anyone was leaving for anywhere except for the hospital.

Grandma had insisted that Tracys did _not_ leave people in the lurch unless it was an emergency of International Rescue proportions.

Tin-Tin had insisted that the Odonata be rescued from Hiclass Hiway's clutches and readied should International Rescue be required.

Kyrano had insisted that Tin-Tin should not attend in her role as engineer unless she dressed more demurely.

Lady Penelope had insisted that, as "Scott Tracy's" English personal secretary, should the family decide to defer their return to Hiclass Hiway, she should ring up and offer his excuses… She would not say apologies.

John had insisted that they were lucky to have someone of Lady Penelope's intelligence as part of the team.

Parker had insisted that the Rolls Royce was ready and waiting and that he was willing to escort the family anywhere…

They all insisted that they went to the hospital.

_To be continued…_


	33. Chapter 33

The following morning Scott had decided that, since they'd made the purchase for a reason, they'd better collect the Odonata. His fellow actors, having grown tired of staring at hospital walls, agreed to join him.

The "eccentrically-coloured and customised" Rolls Royce turned into the complex, drove as far as it could into the sales yard, and stopped. The two gullwing doors opened, and the two security men stepped out, checked the shadows, and then permitted the rest of the car's occupants to alight.

Donatello hurried over. "Mr Tracy! So good to see you again, Sir. I trust that you enjoyed your dinner last night?" He smirked at the thought of the company that Scott Tracy kept. Lady Penelope had casually dropped the names of an A-listed Hollywood actress and a Supermodel. "If you would care to follow me, Mr Webb is waiting for you to sign the ownership papers in the office."

Scott didn't acknowledge the request. He was tired, and not thanks to an imaginary night frolicking with a couple of gorgeous women. Virgil had shown no signs of awakening after the surgery and the family had sat up all night in the forlorn hope that there would be signs of improvement.

There were none.

When Scott had seen Virgil, the first time since his brother had been wheeled into the operating theatre, he'd been shocked at how gaunt the invalid's face had become in such a short space of time. What was more unnerving, and even more unnerving than the tube that supplied life-giving gases through Virgil's throat, was the way that his body lay completely still. The hard body shell that prevented movement also hid the most obvious signs of life; the movement of the chest as the lungs sucked in life-giving air and then released it again. Virgil was completely motionless under the sheet that covered him, and it was only the bellows connected to the tracheotomy that gave any hint of life.

Scott turned to Tin-Tin. "Let's check out the engine."

After yesterday's altercation, neither of them were willing to go as far as they had in their act, and it was Lady Penelope who provided the necessary impetus to continue the playboy scenario. "Come on, Sugar," 'Dixie' said, snuggling into Scott's side. "It was a hard night, wasn't it?" She winked as he put his arm about her almost as an afterthought. "But a good one."

Scott tried to pull himself back into character. "You've got that right, Sweetheart. Lead on, T-T."

"Of course, Sweetie." Tin-Tin slipped her arm through Alan's. "Perhaps you'll escort me?"

"It'd be my pleasure, Miss."

The procession, Gordon following behind, unnerving Donatello by glaring at him from behind his sunglasses, made their way across the compound to where the Odonata sat waiting.

Scott stopped and looked at it. The beauty of the craft uplifted him a little and he noticed that the streaks that he'd left yesterday had been meticulously removed. His fingers itched to operate the controls, but he couldn't do that without first ensuring that she was safe to fly.

The platform that Tin-Tin had stood on the previous day was off to one side, and without thinking about it, he picked it up and put it where she could stand on it.

"Quite the gentleman, aren't ya," she teased as she climbed aboard. She leant closer as if about to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Wake up," she hissed. "You'll spoil everything."

Scott grimaced. "I know. I've got other things on my mind."

"I know," she echoed. "But the sooner we get this signed off, the sooner you can get back to Virgil." She straightened. "Now… Let us see what the damage is." She opened the engine bay.

Scott gave her a moment to poke about. "Well?"

"It looks better than it did yesterday, but I shall want to run some tests before I give my approval."

Snapping into character, Scott spun about to face Donatello. "Where are your diagnostic tools, Don?"

Donatello couldn't quite stop the scowl from creeping onto his face. "Uh. Over here."

Scott snapped his fingers at Gordon, who followed Donatello to a nearby building. The dark-haired strongman returned a short time later wheeling something before him.

"Hey!" The shout was from yesterday's engineer and he didn't look pleased to see his instruments vanishing from his control. "Those are mi…"

Lady Penelope stepped in front of him. "You got an issue with us borrowin' them, Sugar?"

"Uh… No…" His grimy hands up as a barrier, the engineer took a reflexive step backwards. "You can, ah, borrow them as long as you need to."

"Much appreciated I'm sure." Lady Penelope turned her back on him and escorted Gordon and his cargo to Tin-Tin.

"While you're doing that," Scott told his 'head engineer', "I'll do the rest of the pre-flight checks."

Her head already back in the engine bay, Tin-Tin responded with a muffled, "Roger."

Scott made sure he did a thorough job, following the checklist that was ingrained into his mind. Too many lives could potentially have been at risk if he didn't.

By the time he was satisfied that things were as good as they'd been when they left Tracy Aviation, and he'd endured a finger-itching session as he'd checked the controls and flicked the switches, Tin-Tin had finished running the diagnostics. "She's A-one," she announced.

"Good." Scott snapped his fingers at Donatello.

The salesman had been standing around, feeling redundant and endangered as he wilted under the glares of the bodyguards' sunglass-covered eyes and Lady Penelope's gimlet gaze. Glad to show his wealthy customer that Hiclass Hiway was worthy of his patronage, he rushed forward. "Yes, Mr Tracy?"

"Get me the keys, Don. I'm taking her for a test flight."

"Ah… The… The what?"

"The keys!" Scott snapped. "And make it quick."

"But… You… Payment…"

"I'm not paying any more over until I'm convinced that she's safe to fly and that the Odonata is as good as the press says she is."

"She is…" Donatello squeaked. "But…"

Lady Penelope sashayed over to him. "You got a problem with him takin' a little test flight?" she drawled. "Don't worry, Sugar." She put her arm about Donatello and tickled his cheek. "I'll stay with you as collateral until he comes back. Okay?"

Feeling her grip tighten on his arm in a way that gave him the feeling that he wasn't going to get much more use out of it if he didn't cooperate, Donatello nodded. "The keys are in the office. I'll have to go and get them." He offered a weak grin.

"You do that, Sugar, and then you and I can enjoy some quality time."

Donatello gulped. And ran.

Scott sidled up to his friend. "Do you always have this effect on men?"

"Only those without the good sense to listen."

Donatello ran back, clutching several things in his sweaty hand. "This is our recognised test flight route," he puffed, pushing a map at Scott. "And this," he held out the expected object, "is the key. Once you're satisfied with your purchase, Mr Tracy, we can programme the Odonata with the personal identifiers of all your designated pilots."

"Good." Perusing the map, Scott accepted the key. He was pleased to see that the test flightpath was designed to put the least number of people at risk… Including the pilot. "I'll be back soon."

Alan stepped forward. "Do you want us to accompany you, Mr Tracy?"

"No. You can stay here and keep the ladies company," Scott told him. "I'll only be gone long enough to satisfy myself that she's worthy of my money."

"Very good, Sir."

Scott almost grinned at his youngest brother's feigned diffidence. There were some things about this role that he really could get to like!

With an effort he kept his expression passive. Turning on his heel he swaggered over to the plane.

Donatello watched him go with some misgivings. "Is he a good pilot?"

"You got doubts, Sugar?" Lady Penelope drawled. "He's the best."

"Apart from that episode with the AD-65," Gordon noted. "They never did find the tail rotor."

"And the Glengarry incident," Alan added. "Did his co-pilot ever fly again?"

"Not that I'm aware of. He found walking difficult enough."

Donatello let out a little "eep!" that may have been as much to do with the way that Lady Penelope had hold of his arm as his fear for the aeroplane that was taking to the skies.

Scott turned the ignition on and felt the thrill of hearing a new engine turn over for the first time. He did another quick run through of the controls to make sure he was familiar with where everything was, and then escorted his new lady off the ground.

The itching of his fingers vanished as quickly as the tarmac beneath her undercarriage and he permitted himself a small exclamation of pleasure at the way that she responded to his every touch. He wondered how he could have ever doubted her. She was gorgeous and responsive and everything that he wanted in an aeroplane. She handled nearly as well as his own Thunderbird One… At these lower speeds and altitudes.

He followed the flight path to the letter, not pushing her to the max, but giving her enough of a workout to show what she was made of. And then he turned back to the sales yard. He would have happily paid twice the asking price for her.

Not that he let on to Donatello when he disembarked. "She'll do."

Donatello beamed. "Then perhaps we shall retire to Mr Webb's office to seal the deal."

Scott snapped his fingers and Gordon followed obediently.

Alan, Tin-Tin, and Lady Penelope watched them go. "Must have been a good flight," Alan mused. "It's the first time I've seen him happy in days."

"Happy?" Lady Penelope enquired. "Who?"

"Scott."

Lady Penelope regarded her friend who was disappearing into the office. "He did not give the appearance of a man showing any enthusiasms."

"You can tell he's happy by the way he's walking. He's lighter on his feet."

"And by the way he stroked the Odonata when he stepped out of her," Tin-Tin added. "He had a good flight in a plane that handled well. He is happy with the Odonata."

For the second time in as many days, Lady Penelope discovered that she didn't know Scott Tracy as well as she'd thought… She resolved to do something about it.

Just as they had yesterday, the two Tracys entered the managing director's office; Scott making himself at home; Gordon standing guard at the doorway.

"Mr Tracy!" Beaming, Webb extended his hand.

Scott regarded it as his character might look at a dish cloth that he was being expected to use.

Webb claimed his hand back.

"Mr Tracy has inspected the Odonata," Donatello explained, "and taken it for a test flight. I believe that he is ready to complete the transaction."

"You are satisfied with the craft, Mr Tracy?" Webb confirmed.

"I am."

"Good." Webb unveiled a leather-bound volume, which he opened to reveal several documents. "Now first, as you are aware, to ensure your security and the security of the plane, the Odonata's system can be programmed to restrict access to a limited number of pilots."

"Is there a limit to that number?" Scott enquired, thinking that if they had more time and resources he'd install their own security system. But he didn't want to risk the Odonata being out of action should International Rescue's services be needed while the wiring was spread out all over the cabin.

"No. And, of course, you can add other names later. But if you will permit me to programme in your pilots' names now, it will be a simple matter for you, as an administrator, to authorise everyone else on your list."

Scott gave a nod that spoke of indifferent understanding.

"Do you require keyed ignition, palm recognition, password recognition, or a combination of the above?"

Deciding that speed would be important in an emergency, Scott chose palm recognition.

"For all your pilots?"

"You say that I can programme the computer with their palm prints later?"

"That is correct."

"Then yes. That's what I want."

"Have you downloaded the security programme to your cell phone?"

Scott had downloaded it and run it through virus scanners, Trojan horse scanners, phishing scanners, scanners for spyware, malware, and data loggers. It might have been a Tracy Industries system, but he didn't quite trust Hiclass Hiway to not add in a little something of their own to keep track of their clients. The last thing International Rescue needed on top of all their other problems was a security breach. "It is."

"Then would you please list all those that you wish to be able to pilot your plane… With your name at the top as administrator, naturally."

Pulling his phone out of his pocket and holding it so those before him couldn't see its screen, Scott obeyed, entering a list of names that flowed naturally from his fingertips with the help of predictive writing.

_Scott Tracy_

_Jefferson Tracy_

_John Tracy_

_Virgil Tracy…_

He heard a small sound from behind him. Only just managing to avoid looking over his shoulder at Gordon, he briefly wondered what his brother was trying to tell him.

And then he realised.

Wondering if he was being premature or over-optimistic, he stared at the last name he'd written… His finger hovered over the delete button…

"Mr Tracy?"

Scott looked up at Webb. "Making sure I don't forget anyone." Pushing accept, he moved on to the next pilot. _Gordon Tracy…_

Finishing the list with Alan's, Tin-Tin's, Brains', Lady Penelope's and even his grandmother's and Kyrano's names, he finally looked up. "Finished."

Webb smiled an oily smile. "Then, once our business is concluded, we shall retire to the Odonata to finish the task."

Scott switched programmes on his phone. "Same account as last time?"

"Yes…" Webb handed over the leather-bound folder. "This contains the manual, the transfer of ownership papers and…" He seemed almost embarrassed, an effect spoilt by the way the corners of his mouth twitched. "…the final account."

Scott flipped the folder open, double-checked that the final account was what he'd expected, and transferred the funds. "Done."

"Good." Webb pushed a button on his computer and his bank statement was updated to reveal an increase in value. "In that case, we shall conclude our transaction at the Odonata."

Gordon collected the folder as Scott stood and, without looking back at those following him, led the way outside.

"I wonder what's happened," Alan mused. "He's lost the spring in his step."

Without acknowledging his entourage, Scott climbed into the plane and made his way to the pilot's seat. Knowing this system, he slotted his phone into the appropriate location. It ran a quick security check to ensure that nothing had been loaded into the aeroplane's own computer system, as Webb shoehorned himself into the co-pilot's seat.

The Managing Director entered a code (while the phone did another security check) and then sat back. "If you would like to press your hand, palm down, keeping as still as possible, on the plate on your right, the computer will begin its initial scan. Don't move. It only takes seconds."

Scott made no comment about being treated like an imbecile and did as he was told. The Odonata's computer beeped and a greeting appeared on the heads-up display of the windscreen. "_Welcome, Scott Tracy._"

"There," Webb said smugly. "All done." He went to get out of his seat. "Why don't…"

"Just a minute," Scott ordered. "We're going to programme in my co-pilot's details."

Webb halfway between the co-pilot's seat and the door, froze. "Of course. Would you like me to get him?"

"No. I'll do that." Scott got out of his seat and peered into the passenger cabin. "T-T, will you come in here please?"

Tin-Tin entered the cockpit, dodging Webb. "Yes, Scott?"

"Sit down." Scott indicated the pilot's seat. "I'm going to set you up as a pilot of the Odonata."

Tin-Tin seemed unsurprised as she claimed the chair he'd vacated. "Is it palm activated?"

"Yes." Scott scrolled through his phone until he found her name. "You can start now."

Without waiting for an explanation, Tin-Tin pressed her hand into the palm reader. "_Welcome, Tin-Tin Kyrano._"

Scott deleted it before Webb had a chance to read the text. "Now that everything's in order we can leave."

"Oh." Webb almost seemed disappointed. "Wouldn't you like a drink to celebrate the purchase of this wonderful machine before you go?"

Scott's aviator sunglasses stared at him. "I never drink before piloting a plane."

"Oh! I never… erm… I never thought," Webb stuttered. "I assumed that, ah, she," he waved his hand in Tin-Tin's general direction, "would be your, ah, erm, chauffeur."

Scott straightened, his sunglasses continuing to bore into the other man's eyes. "When I'm in a plane I pilot it."

Tin-Tin nodded. "This is true."

"Well, in that case," Webb finally escaped the cockpit. After a dance around Alan and Gordon who were blocking the entrance from intruders, he nodded to those in the craft and escorted himself outside.

"Time to get out of here," Scott announced. "Are you coming with us, Dixie? Sorry... Lady Penelope?"

"Thank you, Scott, and I insist that you take me for a flight sometime in what appears to be a joyous craft to pilot, but I fear that in order to maintain your cover, one of us should leave in the Rolls Royce. And since it is my car…"

"Fair enough." Scott grinned. "And I'll hold you to that flight sometime when things aren't as up in the air…"

"So to speak," Gordon interjected, already lounging in one of the luxurious passenger seats.

"And," Scott continued as if he hadn't heard the interruption, "since you're a designated pilot. We'll have to get you signed on and a few familiarisation flights under your belt."

"A designated pilot? I am privileged." The Southern accented slipped back into place as Lady Penelope descended from the aeroplane. "Don't worry about the Roller, Sugar. I'll see it gets safely home."

Alan chuckled as the door was closed to the outside world. "She's a real piece of work."

"I'm just glad she's on our side and no one else's," Gordon told him. "When are you going to authorise us to fly this girl, Scott?"

"As soon as we arrive 'home' and you're no longer the hired help."

"If this is the way the 'hired help' lives," Gordon stretched in his seat. "I'm not complaining."

"Come on, co-pilot." Scott grinned at Tin-Tin. "Let's get out of here."

Alan watched the pair of them head for the front of the plane. Then he leant closer to Gordon. "What happened in the office?"

"Nothing much. They set up the security system and Scott forked out the cash. Webb was practically drooling at the size of his bank balance." Gordon saw Alan frown. "Why?"

They barely felt the Odonata leave the ground.

"Scott was happy after the test flight, we could see that. But something happened in the office to change that."

"Oh…" Gordon glanced at the forward cabin. "Webb got Scott to list the names of all the designated pilots into the security system. It must have been force of habit, but he put Virgil's as well. Once he realised he wasn't sure whether to delete it or leave it."

"What did he do?"

"Left it."

-F-A-B-

The flight was smooth, uneventful, and Scott made sure that the silencing mechanism was activated well before he started the landing procedures.

"When will you let me fly her?" Tin-Tin asked, once the engines had shut down.

"If the rescue gods are smiling on us, I'll make sure everyone gets a few flights in over the next couple of days," Scott promised. "If not, you can come with us on the first call out and get some practise while we take Thunderbird Two. Not that it's that different from the other planes you've flown… Just smoother and more responsive." He caressed the control yoke.

"When do you want to sign us in?" Gordon had left the luxury of the rear cabin and was getting his first real look at the flight deck.

"May as well do it now." Scott vacated the pilot's seat and, as Gordon took his place, slotted his phone into its fitting, pressed his palm against the reader and then selected his brother's name. "You know what to do." He looked at Alan, who was waiting in the doorway. "You're next."

"We are privileged," Alan joked, echoing Lady Penelope. "Are you going to install our own security system?"

"If it was a two-minute job I would, but I don't want to risk being out of action."

"Fair enough."

Once they were all assured that no one except for them was going to be able to access the aeroplane, they vacated the craft, locked her down, and began pushing through the weeds back to the accommodation area, surprising Bruce who was coming out of his unit. "Who...? Oh! It's you!"

Gordon looked over the top of his sunglasses. "Sorry to disappoint you, but it is us."

"I didn't recognise you guys."

"That was the idea."

"Give us half an hour and we'll be back to normal…" Alan's nails raked the stiff dark bristles on his chin. "And that's half an hour too long."

"Any news?"

Gordon shook his head. "We're going to head over to the hospital once we've cleaned up."

"He hasn't woken up?"

"No." Alan glanced at his watch.

"Oh…" Bruce looked depressed; and then intrigued. "Erm… Why the disguises?" He fought to keep his eyes away from the scrap of black lace that peeked through Tin-Tin's overalls.

"We've bought a new plane," Scott explained.

"A new one?" Bruce stared at him. "Don't you have enough? You must have at least six… Plus two more I'm not supposed to be aware of."

"That's why this one's hidden on the tennis courts."

"Hidden on the tennis courts?" Bruce echoed. "But I didn't hear…" He thought for a moment. "I did hear something that sounded like an insect buzzing, but I thought it was a fly in the room."

"Good. We don't want to disturb the neighbours. We're trying to make people believe that we're playboys jet-setting around the country."

Bruce grinned. "And you're not?"

Scott was serious in his reply. "No. We needed the Odonata to get to work."

"Odonata…? Oh, the plane!"

"Yes."

"Then you've hidden the Th…" Censuring himself, Bruce sighed. "Someday I'm going to sit you all down at your home where there's absolutely no chance of being overheard and get you to tell me everything."

Gordon ran his hand through his darkened hair. "Hopefully we'll be able leave that pleasure to Virgil."

"He's too good at keeping secrets to tell me anything," Bruce reminded him. "How long have I known him? How many times did I visit him on the island? Not once did I even have the slightest clue of what you were up to. Not even when he got called away and Tin-Tin and I watched the news footage…" He glanced at Tin-Tin, holding her eye and stopping his gaze from dropping lower. "Was it really only four days ago?"

"It was," she admitted.

"And, I'm sorry to say," Alan apologised, "we're glad you never knew. We must be doing something right."

Scott laid his hand on Virgil's friend's shoulder. "He would have told you if he could, Bruce."

"Yeah, I know," Bruce sighed again. "He said that back at ACE." He bit his lip. "If you think he can hear you, will you tell him I'm thinking of him? We all are."

"We know." Gordon smiled. "And we'll tell him. I'm sure he can hear us…"

-F-A-B-

Feeling and looking more like their old selves, the brothers made their way over the road to Bearston General and through the labyrinth of corridors that led to their brother's hospital room.

They found their father, grandmother, and John clustered around the ominously still figure on the bed.

"Any news?" Alan asked, unconsciously echoing Bruce.

"No change," Jeff told him. "So… How did the Odonata perform?" He watched as a slow, distinctive smile formed on Scott's face while the answer was considered. "That good, huh?"

Scott gave a happy sigh. "Yeah."

Jeff had known of his son's initial dislike of the aeroplane. It had been the topic of many engrossing discussions between them. "Better than you thought?"

"She's a real honey," Scott admitted.

"But is she good enough for our needs?" John checked as he stood, handing his seat over to Alan.

"Yep." Scott claimed their father's. "Later on, I'll sign the three of you into the security system, so you can fly her."

"Even me?" Grandma enquired. She gave Gordon a little nod of thanks as he held her seat steady for her while she stood.

"Even you, Grandma," Scott confirmed as Gordon sat down. "We want to be prepared for anything." He turned to the figure on the bed. "I've even got you in the system, Virg. You've just got to let us know when you're ready to sign on."

"Scott's right." Gordon leant forward. "He has put your name into the system. It just needs your palm print…" He placed his hand on his invalid brother's arm and was shocked by how unnatural the hard and unyielding protective case was. "This feels so wrong." He lightly rapped the sheet and heard the hollow knocking sound. "Sounds wrong too."

"It's all wrong," John told him. "Especially not being able to hold his hand."

"Hold his hand?" Gordon looked over his shoulder at him. "Holding his hand would feel really wrong."

"You get used to it and it gives you a feeling of connection." Jeff put his hand where Virgil's was hidden by the sheet and the shield. "We got used to holding your hand when you were in the coma. I don't know if you were aware of it, but it gave us some comfort."

"And stopped you from freaking us out by the way you were twitching your thumb," Alan recollected. "That was horrible; not knowing if you were trying to make contact or if it was just an involuntary spasm."

Gordon frowned. "I can't remember." He gave an obvious shiver that no one commented on.

"Well, I'd better see about lunch," Grandma announced. "Do you boys want to come over soon?"

"We've already eaten, thanks, Grandma," Scott told her. "We didn't want to leave Virgil alone."

"Good." She leant closer to the figure on the bed, caressing his face. "It's Grandma, Virgil, darling. Now you're not to worry because your father, John, and I are going to go now and have our lunch. Scott, Gordon and Alan are here, and they'll keep you company."

There was no response.

She sighed. "We'd rather that you woke up and kept us company."

Virgil didn't acknowledge her request.

Straightening, Grandma stared down at the patient. Then she turned on her heel and walked towards the door. She didn't look back as she reached into her purse.

John hurried after her.

Jeff watched them go. "We'll be over at the house," he announced, and looked at his invalid son. Then he looked away. "We'll see you all later."

"'Kay…" His sons waited until the rest of their family had left.

"Come on, Virg," Scott begged. "You heard Grandma, it's time you woke up."

"Yeah…" Alan put his hand on Virgil's and then, disturbed by the unnatural sensation, quickly removed it. "You're upsetting Grandma and Dad, Virgil. You're not allowed to do that."

"And you're making us spend a fortune," Gordon chipped in. "We've just bought a TA-Odonata. You know – the plane Scott hates."

"I don't hate her!"

"You used to."

"I never hated them. I simply didn't fully appreciate the craft."

"And now he's in love with this one," Alan told Virgil. "You know that soppy expression he gets when he gets to play with a new plane? He had that throughout the entire flight home."

"Soppy expression?!"

Gordon ignored his eldest brother's astonished reaction and continued to talk to Virgil. "Over the last two days he's kissed both Lady Penelope _and_ Tin-Tin and neither turned him on as much as flying that plane."

"Gordon!"

"That wasn't a kiss he gave Lady Penelope," Alan corrected. He leered at his big brother. "That was a game of tonsil hockey… All three periods and overtime."

"Alan!"

"And what do you call the kiss he gave Tin-Tin?" Gordon teased.

"Ping pong. All action and no contact."

Gordon laughed.

Virgil didn't.

Alan leant closer to his big brother. "Scott?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Wary, Scott looked at his youngest sibling. "Yes…?"

"What was it like kissing Penny?"

"A gentleman should never kiss and tell..." Both Alan's and Gordon's faces fell, before Scott smirked. "I will, however, let you into a secret."

Curious Gordon shuffled closer on his seat. "Yes…?"

"For one moment I forgot all about the plane."

Gordon chuckled. "I'll bet you did…"

-F-A-B-

It was later that same day that the entire family, having been shooed out of the hospital (and after a brief and slightly heated discussion with the nursing staff finishing with the demand that music be left playing in Virgil's room all night), were relaxing with their friends from ACE in the communal lounge at the house.

The Crump family arrived at the door.

Ginny immediately ran across to her "Uncle" Gordon. "Take me swimming?"

Gordon picked her up and placed her on his knee. "I'd love to, Honey, but the pool's not fixed yet."

She regarded him with a stare that said she wouldn't accept his answer. "Fix it."

"I've asked a man to come and fix it," he explained. "But he's busy fixing other swimming pools. He can't do it until the day after tomorrow."

She pouted.

"You look like Uncle Alan with a face like that."

"Hey!"

Ginny giggled at the description and "Uncle Alan's" reaction.

"Virgiggler!" Gordon tickled her, and her giggles exploded into full blown laughter.

Smiling at the sound, Jeff approached her grandfather. "Perhaps you'd care to sit next to me?" He indicated an easy chair next to the one that had obviously, if without conscious thought, been earmarked for the head of the family.

Crump Senior hesitated. He came from a totally different world than this clean-cut group and felt out of his element. He also felt bewildered that they would try to invite him into it. He gave a mute nod and sat in the chair; sitting stiffly and trying to keep the tattoo on his face hidden from the Tracy Patriarch.

"I'm sorry I haven't had the opportunity to have a proper talk with you, but I've been otherwise engaged."

Crump Senior nodded. He knew where Jeff Tracy had been.

"I wanted to say thank you."

Crump Senior stared at Tracy Senior. Thank you?

"You were at Butch and Lisa's fifth wedding anniversary party. I've seen the video of the fight afterwards and you pulled off some of those…" Remembering his companion's association to the attackers, Jeff hesitated as he tried to think of the right word. 'Thugs', while heartfelt and tempting, didn't seem tactful. "You stopped my son from being badly hurt."

Crump Senior hadn't been properly introduced to Butch and Lisa's friends at the party. The couple had been too ashamed of him to let anyone know of their relationship. "Th'… Th' p'ano player?"

Jeff showed no emotion as he nodded.

Crump Senior remembered pulling some of the more youthful and over-enthusiastic members of his gang away from inflicting permanent damage to the helpless man on the ground. He looked about the room, not recognising any of the faces. He knew Bruce had been at the party, but his observations of the younger man's interactions with the family had told him that he was a friend and not a relative. That only left one option. "He…" He gave a furtive flick of his head in the rough direction of the hospital.

"Yes." There was still no emotion.

"Here's your coffee, Dad." One of the sons handed a steaming cup to his father.

"Thank you, John."

John looked at the man his father had been talking to. "Would you like one, Mr Crump? Or something else?"

Never had Crump Senior been treated in such a manner. They were not only housing and feeding him, they were waiting on him too. He wasn't sure that he deserved such respect. "Coffee." He remembered that something was supposed to go after that. "Please."

John smiled. "Not a problem."

Jeff watched as Ginny, Gordon, and Alan held an impromptu competition to see who could pull the funniest expression. "It must feel special to be a grandfather. My boys are too busy enjoying the bachelor lifestyle to think about settling down." He saw Gordon almost turn his face inside out, leaving Ginny in fits of laughter. "Although sometimes I think they're just big kids themselves."

Crump Senior accepted the coffee cup from John and remembered a belated thank you. "Dunno what it's like bein' a grandad. Didn' know 'bout Ginny 'till day 'fore yesterday." Upon seeing Jeff's quizzical expression, he felt emboldened to explain. "Ain't seen 'em in years. Not since 'fore their wedding."

"You weren't at their wedding?"

Crump Senior shook his head. "Wasn' invited. Never saw 'em again. Not till th' wedding annivers'ry party."

Jeff frowned. "You didn't see your family for five years?"

"Lisa didn' want nothin' to do with me."

Crump Senior remembered the first time that Crump Junior had met his future wife. The gang had been patrolling on their bikes, not getting up to much, just making mild mischief. They'd come across a group working… On what he couldn't remember. He just knew that it was some form of drudgery or another while he and his brethren cruised the streets free as a bird.

Butch, keen to be initiated into the Skulz, had enjoyed jeering at the workers as much as his associates. He'd whooped and hollered and revved the engine of his bike and revelled in the drudges' discomfort. Then one of the workers, fed up with the noise and interruption, had marched over to the gang.

Crump Senior had been shocked when the welder in tatty blue overalls and a welding helmet had whipped the mask off to reveal that she was a girl… A very attractive girl… A girl who'd proceeded to lay into the gang members, telling them that they had no right disrupt people doing an honest day's work. She told them that it was a privilege to be employed and that it empowered workers with a sense of pride and self-worth that she didn't expect a gang to understand. She told the Skulz that she wasn't frightened of them and that if they didn't take their noisy, smelly bikes elsewhere she'd have no qualms about calling the cops.

Crump Senior had watched Butch's face as he'd fallen in love with this gorgeous firebrand.

The rest of the gang, perhaps shocked by what the removal of the welding helmet had revealed and astounded by her audacity had, after one last show of bravado, taken off.

Crump Senior didn't know if Butch had doubled back to approach the welder alone, or if they'd chanced upon each other later, but he knew that Butch never forgot that supermodel face. And when Butch obtained a soundtrack about some singing nuns that he'd bought – _actually_ paid _money_ for – and then learned the songs off by heart – singing them around gang headquarters in his rich baritone – that was when Crump Senior had known that his son was lost to the Skulz.

And lost to his father too.

For all their apparent differences, Lisa and Butch had had something fundamental in common. Both found it difficult to find long term work in employment that suited their skills and temperaments. Potential employers would take one look at what they saw as a stereotypical blonde bombshell or the tough, tattooed ex-gang member and dismiss them as being not worthy of consideration. That was until Lisa applied for a job at Aeronautical Component Engineering.

Max Watts had been as unsure about her as all the previous interviewers, but had decided that he'd at least give her a chance to prove herself. His boss, Jeff Tracy, was hot on equal opportunities and Watts didn't want to disappoint his idol. He'd been pleasantly surprised by the level of Lisa's welding skills and had had no hesitation in employing her, even though he did wonder what affect her looks would have on her co-workers.

Lisa worked diligently, never letting him down, and when a position became available, she begged him to at least give Butch an interview. Then she'd spent the evening before the meeting schooling her less than socially aware husband up on how to behave around her prickly boss. Butch had done his best and, aside from one gaff where he called Watts "Sir", had impressed the Production Manager with his abilities.

And both Lisa and Butch Crump had a job. And the Skulz and Crump Senior were left behind for ever.

Jeff had seen Lisa's warning glares. "I think my wife's parents felt the same about me. To them I was a hot-headed Air Force pilot with wild ambitions of being an astronaut, who was probably going to leave their daughter a widow with a multitude of children to care for and no financial support… Instead of the other way around."

From the little he knew of Jeff Tracy, that whole scenario sounded fanciful to Crump Senior.

"What hobbies do you have?"

Crump Senior noted that Jeff Tracy didn't ask his occupation. "Nothin' much." He sipped his coffee. He couldn't believe how good it was. He'd always accepted that the instant that he usually drank was what coffee tasted like, and that the machine at the gang headquarters that had magically appeared one morning after the night's activities was the epitome of class. But this… This had none of the bitterness or aftertaste of those other brews. This was almost silky in its texture and had a flavour that seemed to light up his tired taste buds.

"'E's great with his hands!" Both men looked up upon hearing Butch's boast. "'E made m' first motor bike."

Intrigued, Jeff turned back to Crump Senior. "You _made_ a motor bike?"

Crump Senior didn't want to admit to that bike; not to someone as squeaky clean as Jeff Tracy. He'd raided the local go kart clubhouse and taken several of their engines without their knowledge or permission. These he'd broken down and reassembled into a motor that he'd attached to the bicycle of his six-year-old son. Butch had been thrilled; even after he'd taken it out for its first test ride and had crashed, banging his nose on the hard ground. The father had been proud of his boy when Butch, blood streaming out of his battered nose and tears streaming out of his eyes from the stinging pain, had insisted that he get back on and try again. He loved his gift and wanted to show the father who'd given it to him how much he'd appreciated it.

That was when Cyril had become known as Butch.

Despite that, Crump Senior had always known that his son was destined to be different from the rest of the family – all members of the Skulz. He'd gone to school, because his mother had insisted that he at least learn to read and write. There he'd developed an interest in learning about earthquakes and volcanoes and developed a desire to study these phenomena and learn even more.

This was never going to happen; Crump Senior had theorised. No one in his family had gone on to higher education. No one had gone very far with lower education. And so, he'd taught his son how to maintain his motorbike; how to adapt it to fit his growing frame over the advancing years, how to teach the older kids not to mess with it and how to exact his revenge when they did, and how to fix it again when they busted it. And how to maintain his replacement bike when Butch finally graduated to a new 'bought' one.

Crump Senior nodded in answer to Jeff Tracy's question.

"Do you do a bit of mechanical work?

Crump Senior had started out in the Skulz as a kind of enforcer; getting into trouble and with several run-ins with the law under his belt. That was until the top guns had realised that he had the skills to mend almost anything. Then he became the gang's head mechanic, keeping the members' motorcycle fleet purring sweeter than a litter of kittens. This had earned him a degree of respect within the gang. That was until the new generation came along. They seemed to assume that it was their right to almost write off their bikes and expect him to repair them until they were like new again. But should he return their motors with so much as a fingerprint, then they would be baying for his blood. And sometimes they got it. Once upon a time other members would have come to his aid, but not now.

Crump Senior nodded again.

A few seats along, Ginny had finished making faces with the younger Tracy men. She abandoned Gordon and wandered over to Edna Mickelson who picked her up, placed her on her lap, and started to tell her a story.

Ginny listened with rapt attention.

Crump Senior didn't know any children's stories. He'd left storytelling to his wife. That was until she'd died of a drug overdose. Crump Senior, a frequent user himself at the time, was so bereft by her loss that he had renounced drugs, going cold turkey. That had been hard, especially when his associates had persisted with their use and had taunted him by dangling the narcotics and associated paraphernalia in front of him as he'd writhed through the withdrawal symptoms.

Butch had been fortunate that during this time his maternal grandmother had cared for him and mopped his tears as he mourned the loss of his mother and his father's absence.

Butch had been more fortunate than that, in that Crump Senior had never laid a hand to him.

In the gang he'd seen other kids in relationships where a beating was more likely to be handed out than a hug. He'd seen men assault women, women assault men, and more kids than he cared to remember assaulted by those they should have been able to trust. He'd seen those kids; bright, happy, and engaging; turn into withered, shrinking shells of themselves. He'd seen bruises, and grazes, and other signs of abuse… Those signs that were visible to the outside world.

He was glad that his granddaughter would never experience that.

"What's your speciality?" Jeff was asking.

"This 'n that."

"Welding? Fabrication?"

Crump Senior nodded a third time.

"An all-rounder, huh?"

"Yeah." Crump Senior watched as Ginny, having enjoyed the story, was now playing _pat-a-cake_ with the Asian lady. Their laughter lifted his mood and made him smile.

Jeff looked to where his conversation partner was looking. "Virginia's a little charmer, isn't she? She's got us all wrapped around her little finger."

"Virginia… She' named afta…" Once again there was that almost embarrassed head flick in the direction of the hospital.

"Virgil? Yes. I don't think he's ever been more proud than when Lisa and Butch told him what they were calling her. He was on cloud nine for the rest of the day. He would have stayed there all week if his brothers hadn't brought him back down to Earth."

"Butch said 'e saved their lives?"

"Butch helped save Virgil's life too," Jeff told the astonished father. "And Max Watts'. And I'm not talking about during the earthquake; although I appreciate the way he supported Virgil when he was trapped."

"M' boy _saved_ lifes?"

"Yes," Jeff confirmed. "I'm pleased to have him a part of my team. He's a valued member of ACE and you must be proud of him."

Crump Senior looked over to where Butch, his arm around Lisa's shoulders, was watching his daughter's antics with a goofy smile. He was beginning to feel that pride. "How'd 'e save 'em?"

"It was…" Jeff thought. "About five years ago." He gave a wry chuckle. "That was supposed to be a quiet year."

Intrigued, Crump Senior turned to Jeff. "What happen'd?"

"Max slipped off a gantry above the crucible furnace at ACE. He would have fallen in if his safety harness hadn't held. Virgil rappelled down to save him, and Butch helped to pull Max up. When Virgil lost consciousness because of the heat, Butch tried to pull him up too. Luckily, he had his harness on securely, because he also slipped over the edge."

"He slipp'd!" Concerned fatherly eyes turned to his son.

"He's a hero." Jeff watched as the other man puffed up in pride. In the space of a few days Crump Senior had gone from not having any contact with this son, to being full of respect for him and his new life. "And I'll always be grateful to him for being willing to sit with Virgil when he was trapped after the earthquake, even though he could have put his own safety and comfort first and escaped the heat of the furnace room. He's loyal to his friends. I'm sure he learnt that from his father."

Those fatherly eyes regarded Jeff solemnly. Loyalty? He'd been working on the gang's motorbikes as usual when the 'quake had hit. Dimly remembering Butch's expositions about what to do in an earthquake, he'd tried to scramble to safety, heavy metal tools flying around him, but the bikes seemed just as determined to make an escape from the mayhem themselves. He'd found himself trapped beneath a heavy Hog and had only just managed to curl up clear as another had threatened to topple onto his head.

He'd thought he was done for when the roof of the garage he'd been working in collapsed. It was then that the head-hunting Hog had gone from being a threat to his saviour as the handlebars and strong metal chassis had kept the worst of the roof's weight off his body.

When the ground had finally stilled Crump Senior had lain there, wondering if he was hurt, if he could escape from under all this metal, wood, and concrete, and if anyone would come looking for him.

No one did.

When he'd finally, battling several aftershocks in the process, pushed himself clear of the rubble he'd emerged to discover that his gang had deserted him. Being more concerned for their own skins than that of their associates', they'd taken the few still working motorbikes and had left.

Crump Senior remembered the feeling of isolation.

Looking about him, he theorised that he could have found enough intact units to be able to cobble together a fully functioning bike, but as another aftershock rumbled through, realised that that would take too long.

He started walking out of town.

He thought his luck had changed when he found an abandoned motorbike. Hotwiring it was easy and soon he was riding, dodging cracks in the ground, rubble the size of small mountains, and hillocks of liquefaction. He was amazed, and somewhat pleased, to realise that he'd remembered the word that described the liquid mud that had bubbled out of the ground. He hadn't thought he'd been listening to Butch's lectures that closely.

He hadn't been watching the road closely enough, and when he rode through what he thought was a shallow puddle it turned out to be a deep hole filled with liquefaction. For the second time that day he thought he was done for when he found himself and the bike submerged in the quicksand-like substance.

He panicked, fighting against the bike to reach the surface and life-giving air.

Once again, he remembered something Butch had told him and he forced himself to relax. His natural buoyancy compared to the sandy soil allowed him to bob to the surface where he gasped for breath.

A hand had reached out to pull him free.

The mud covering the Skulz logos on Crump Senior's leather jacket and his face hid the fact that he was a patched gang member, and his rescuer felt only concern and no fear for this man he'd pulled from the swampy hole.

The rescuer's high-visibility jacket announced that he was a member of the large team doing their best to help the residents of the blighted city. He was heading to the less affected outskirts to get more supplies and Crump Senior was welcome to travel with him to his destination. During the journey the hi-viz man had chatted incessantly, and Crump Senior had learned that the earthquake had been so big that even International Rescue had been called in to help.

They parted at Hi-viz's destination so abruptly that Crump Senior didn't have the chance to say goodbye, let alone remember the words 'thank you'.

He'd started walking again, hitching a ride in the back of a truck heading to Bearston. When he'd arrived he was aching, filthy, and exhausted. Discovering an abandoned property, he'd tried to gain access, but it was growing dark and he no longer had the energy for breaking and entering. Instead he'd curled up beneath the bushes in the overgrown garden and slept.

And had been discovered by the last people he'd expected to meet the following day.

"Butch saved m' life also," Crump Senior admitted. "'E showed me what t' do in a earthquake… Years ago. It saved me."

Jeff nodded sagely. "It seems that we both have a lot to thank him for."

After all the activity and stimulus, Ginny had grown drowsy and was now dozing in her mother's arms.

Grandma Tracy smiled down on the young girl. "How is she coping?" she whispered.

"It's the nights that are the worst," Lisa admitted. "She wakes several times from nightmares and last night she wet the bed." She brushed back a curl. "She hasn't done that in months. I'm worried that she's going to need therapy."

"After what you've all been through there's no shame in that for any age group," Grandma told her. "But she's young and she may bounce back with no after effects. And if she does need therapy there are people trained in trauma counselling who will be able to help her."

There was a buzzing noise from the other side of the coffee table. They watched as John reached into his pocket and pulled out his new cell phone to read the screen. "There's been a major aftershock."

At once everyone sat up, on alert.

"Magnitude?" Butch asked.

"Six on the Richter scale, or 6.9 on the Moment Magnitude Scale."

"An' the 'quivalent of one megaton of TNT. 'Ow deep?"

John read the screen again. "Seven kilometres."

Butch looked grim. "That's bad."

"Will International Rescue be required?" Edna asked.

There was silence. Those who knew International Rescue's identity thought it was prudent to say nothing, and those who didn't had nothing to say.

_To be continued…_


	34. Chapter 34

"Scott… Scott!"

Scott Tracy woke up at the insistent voice and the earthquake going on around him. "John…?" He sat up. "What?"

John stopped shaking his brother's shoulder. "International Rescue's been called out. That aftershock trapped a couple of civil engineers in a basement. Water's pouring in and will have filled the space before the regular rescue authorities will have had a chance to get to them. Not that they can spare anyone. The 'quake's caused a lot more damage and stretched resources."

Scott sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed his face. Waking up wasn't really that difficult; he'd only just managed to drop off. He grabbed his trousers. "What equipment's on Barduq?"

"Erm… I think Tin-Tin said the Mole and the Firefly."

"Hopefully it's a job for the Mole." Scott's trousers were buttoned up. "Get the others – full crew. I'll do the pre-flight on the Odonata." He reached for his shirt.

"F-A-B. Tin-Tin too?"

"No… Wait…" Scott thought quickly as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Yes. She can stay on Barduq. It takes a bit of finesse to land the Odonata on the tennis courts." Not bothering to tuck the shirt in he slipped into his shoes. "It may be prudent to have someone who's had plenty of sleep available to do the landing." John was about to pass a comment on this, but Scott was already heading for the door. "Try not to wake anyone else. I'll leave a note."

There seemed to be nothing more to do than agree.

Attempting to be as quiet as he could and trying to remember if any squeaked, Scott jogged down the stairs. Finding a notepad and pen where expected, in the kitchen so his grandmother could jot down her shopping list, he scribbled on the top page. "Taken Odonata for a ride. Back whenever. S, J, G, A & TT." He propped the note against the fruit bowl on the dining table and ran for the door.

-F-A-B-

Deciding that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to wake Tin-Tin first, to give her time to get some clothes on while he awoke his less sartorially finicky brothers, John climbed the flight of stairs. Turning left he padded to the far room and tapped on the door.

There was no response.

Not wanting to risk waking Brains in the room next door, John tried the handle and pushed the door open a crack. He put his mouth to the gap. "Tin-Tin," he hissed.

Nothing.

Pushing the door that little bit further, John tried again. "Tin-Tin…"

The room was silent aside from the sound of quiet rhythmical breathing.

He was wasting time, John theorised. Time to man up, get in there, wake up a team member, and get out again.

He pushed the door open and, glad that there was a full moon giving enough light to enable him to avoid the various suitcases that cluttered the uncarpeted floor, he tip-toed to the bed. "Tin-Tin…"

Tin-Tin made a little sound, her eyelids fluttered, she pulled her sheets closer, but appeared to still be asleep.

"Tin-Tin," John repeated. Not willing to wake his friend as violently as he had his brother, he hesitated and then laid his hand on her shoulder. "Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Mmn… Al'n…" Taking his hand, she slid it off her shoulder and pulled it closer to her chest.

"Tin-Tin!" John yelped, tugging his hand clear.

"What!" Tin-Tin sat bolt upright, hugging her sheets to where she's been holding his hand only moments before. "J-John?"

John took two hurried steps backwards, nearly tripping over a suitcase in the process. "Tin-Tin… I-I'm sorry." He ran his hand through his hair and then remembering the soft warmth of where it had been seconds earlier, shoving it into his jacket pocket where it could stay out of trouble. "Sorry I had to wake you. But we've got a call out. Scott wants you as backup pilot."

Tin-Tin frowned. "What?" she repeated.

"I've, ah, I've got to get the others. Meet you at the Odonata. I'll explain everything there."

John fled.

Waking Gordon and Alan was a much easier proposition and soon all five of them were in the Odonata and heading for the skies, John and Tin-Tin maintaining an embarrassed distance away from each other and unable to make eye contact.

So far no one had noticed their aloofness. "What's the story, John?" Alan asked.

John had claimed the front passenger seat, which Scott had spun around and locked into place, so it was facing the passengers in the rear cabin, but the pilot, Scott, could still hear him give his report. "Because of the extent of the damage and the need to get the city operational again there's a lot of overtime going on," he explained. "Two civil engineers were surveying an underground parking garage for structural stability when the 'quake hit. Their exits have been blocked and the water table's risen that much that it's pouring in through the damaged masonry."

"What's the surrounding topography like?" Scott asked.

John brought a topographical map up on his computer. "Looks like the area's in a slight depression."

"Based on the rising water, it's probably an old creek bed."

"The creek had been piped through the city. The pipes have burst."

"Could the earth have sunk further?"

"Possible."

"How much damage has there been above ground?"

"I don't know. At a guess there'll be a lot of rubble around. I don't know how tall the structure was and how much damage the building has received. It might be localised to the garage."

"Any other intel?" Gordon asked.

John checked his tablet again. "No."

"It's not much to go on."

"We haven't got much to work with either." Scott gripped the control yoke tighter. "We'll have to use the Mole to drill down to them." He would have preferred to have made that decision once he'd arrived at the scene in Thunderbird One and had ascertained all the facts, instead of having to rely on the incomplete and potentially panicked reports of crews on the ground. Still, he'd have to accept that this was the situation they were in and work with it… And remember that it was better than the alternative of not being able to do anything. "John you can stay topside and act as liaison."

"F-A-B. I'll give them another call when we're in Thunderbird Two."

The coast passed beneath them. They were flying over the Pacific Ocean.

"Try to get some practise flying this girl, Tin-Tin," Scott instructed over his shoulder. "We may be relying on you to land her on the tennis courts, and that requires pinpoint accuracy. I know you can do it, but it's easier when you're familiar with the controls."

"I understand, Scott."

"And get some sleep."

"At least you know you'll have a comfortable bed in the villa." Alan grinned. "Even if you're going to be alone."

John looked out of the window into the darkness in case his burning face told a story that he was sure neither he nor Tin-Tin wanted told. He watched as the lights of the American mainland faded into the distance. This was the first chance he'd had to fly in the Odonata and he had to admit that she was everything that the critics, notably his brothers, had said she was. He was looking forward to his chance to fly her and he said as much.

"Don't worry," Scott told him. "You will." There was another ten-minute silence before he announced: "Barduq ahead," and switched on the spotlight that would illuminate the landing area. The island's features; the house, a beach on the three sheltered sides of the isle, the rocky northernmost coast and a smallish hillock in the otherwise flat plain; were visible briefly.

Even in the dark, with only a spotlight to guide him, and at the controls of an unfamiliar aeroplane, Scott made sure that landing went unfelt by his passengers.

Soon four of them were running across the tarmac to the house. It wasn't quite in the same league as their home on Tracy Island, but it was warm and comfortable and, in most people's eyes, luxurious.

None of the Tracy brothers took any notice as they let themselves inside and hurried through to the concealed access way that led to International Rescue's hangar. Scott pulled open a cupboard door before dashing down to the other end of the hall. Placing his hand on a palm-reader patterned like the wallpaper, he pulled at an ornamental oriental mask that decorated the wall and twisted it anti-clockwise.

Out of sight from where he was standing, inside the cupboard, a panel slid back in the floor.

Without letting go of the mask, Scott gave his instruction. "You go first, Gordon. Start getting her ready."

"Right." Gordon dropped through the hole in the floor. They heard his feet scurry away.

"Alan. Load the Mole."

"Understood." Alan disappeared into the cupboard.

It wasn't until John had followed his brothers and announced he was in position with a hollow-sounding, "Ready, Scott," that International Rescue's rescue co-ordinator finally released the mask.

Closing the cupboard door behind him, he jumped down into the hole, finding himself in a well-lit corridor, face-to-face with John who had his weight on a lever.

John released the lever and the panel above their heads slid shut.

It wasn't the most convenient system of gaining access to one of International Rescue's auxiliary bases, but it worked. And if anyone invaded the island while no one was in residence, the chances of the intruder discovering the secret passage were almost nil. And if this person did see through International Rescue's various means of camouflage, in theory they shouldn't be able to transfer that knowledge to the more clandestinely valuable Tracy Island.

Scott followed John down the corridor and into a lift that dropped them further into the ground. They exited through yet another camouflaged door into the reserve hangar.

This one's footprint wasn't as big as Thunderbird Two's back at base, but it was big enough to store the mighty transporter and three or four pod vehicles. At the moment the Firefly stood off to one side; an unwitting reminder of the events of three and a half days ago.

Scott and John ignored it as they ran towards Thunderbird Two. If they'd had the need and desire to look upwards, they might have been struck by how low the hangar's ceiling was compared to Tracy Island's, and how close it was to the top of Thunderbird Two as she stood with her pod door open. This was an illusion, as this hangar was taller than its counterpart at home. What looked like carved impenetrable rock was actually a sturdily built false ceiling; a kind of mezzanine floor, designed to support the weight of a landing Thunderbird One.

They arrived at the aeroplane just as she was settling down over her pod, Alan having just finished loading the Mole.

The three brothers arrived on the flight deck at the same time and greeted Thunderbird Two's stand-in pilot.

"Mole's in position," Alan announced.

"Preparing for launch," Gordon replied, and entered a code into the control panel.

Tin-Tin, rather than retiring to bed for the remainder of the night, stood on the balcony and watched the small hillock. In the darkness, for there was more cloud cover here than at Bearston, she could just make out its shape, and if she hadn't known better, she would have sworn that her eyes were playing tricks on her. As she watched the hillock spun about its centre and unwound itself out of the ground. At its peak, out of her line of sight, a hole was spiralling open. This was how Thunderbird One accessed its hangar.

Even when this hatch was fully opened the hillock continued to spin and rise, revealing a hangar door big enough for Thunderbird Two's wingspan. Once this door was square on to the edge of the runway the spinning stopped, and the hangar door opened.

Tin-Tin watched as Thunderbird Two rolled out of the hangar and did a right-angle turn onto the runway. The hillock began its return journey into the ground and the hole at its top spiralled closed again.

Also hidden in the darkness, a blast-proof plate had slid out across the runway and Thunderbird Two rolled onto it before stopping.

Tin-Tin raised her hand to shield her eyes.

With an almighty roar and an explosion of light, which lit up the island and woke up a colony of sleeping gulls, Thunderbird Two lifted vertically for the skies.

Tin-Tin waved her goodbye. "Good luck, Boys."

At first Gordon kept low to the ocean and flew due west, then, when he was comfortable that no passing ships or planes would associate International Rescue's craft with the small island they'd just left, gained height and turned back for America.

John was talking to the person in charge at the disaster zone. "…Is there room enough for our craft to land?"

"Not nearby," the female voice responded. "But there's a park a mile away."

"That'll do. That'll give us a better drilling angle too. Can you meet us there?"

"Yes. Do you want me to send through plans of the building? Photos of the external damage?"

"That would be of great help. Thank you." Pictures appeared on screens before Thunderbird Two's passengers.

Scott leant closer to the one that showed the plans before transferring them to a tablet so he could examine them in greater detail. He grunted.

"Tricky?" Gordon, determined to keep his promise, had been concentrating on flying Thunderbird Two and hadn't taken the opportunity to study what they were going to be up against.

"At the known rate of water flow, yes. By the time we get down there the whole area could be flooded. The Mole's not designed to work underwater."

"Meaning that if we open the hatch the cabin could be inundated?"

"That's a possibility. We'll have to drill an overflow reservoir, unless we strike it lucky and the level of water intake isn't as great as we've been told." Scott put his tablet to one side. "We roll as soon as we touch down. We don't have any time to waste."

"In that case, if he's going to remain topside, wouldn't it be sensible for John to land Thunderbird Two?" Alan asked. "Then the three of us could already be in the Mole. We'd be rolling within fifteen seconds."

Scott looked at him. "Good idea. Let John take over whenever you're ready, Gordon."

"Ah… Wouldn't it be better if I stayed topside and John did the rescue with you?"

John frowned at the uncertain tone of his brother's voice. Gordon couldn't doubt his flying abilities, could he? Then he noticed something that changed his mind. Gordon's knuckles were white and for a moment John had the unbelievable thought that it was through fear. Then he re-evaluated his assumption. Just as he'd promised Virgil that he'd look after Scott, so Gordon had promised their brother that he'd care for Thunderbird Two. Gordon's suggestion would enable them both to keep their respective promises. "I don't mind that."

But Scott had missed those nuances in his brothers' attitudes. "No. As you said the other day, John, you're communications. Gordon's our aquatic expert. It may not be the open sea, but if any of us have to go into that water in search of the victims, I'd prefer it to be the strongest swimmer amongst us."

With a quiet "F-A-B", Gordon accepted the directive.

"I'll put all our scuba gear into the Mole just in case," Alan offered. "See you guys down there."

John undid his safety harness and walked over to the pilot's seat to prepare for the transfer. Positioning his body so his gesture was hidden from their brothers, he lay a gentle hand on Gordon's shoulder. "I'll look after her," he whispered.

Surprised by the promise, Gordon looked up at him, before setting the mighty craft into autopilot and releasing his own restraint. "Thanks," he said as he stood. He waited for a moment at John's side until he was sure that that control had been properly restored, pretending to take in the view of the earthquake damage as it was revealed beneath them.

And there was plenty highlighted by Thunderbird Two's beaming spotlight. Great rifts cut across green fields and sheared through grey ribbon roads with equal abandon.

After a comforting squeeze of his own to his brother's shoulder, Gordon retreated to the pod.

That left John alone with Scott.

"I know why you agreed to that suggestion of Gordon's, John."

John gave what was supposed to be an unconcerned shrug. "It seemed logical to me."

"It was. And I'm sorry I couldn't accept it, for the reasons I gave… Virgil will understand."

John nodded. "We're coming up to the landing zone. You'd better get down there."

"F-A-B."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The dust from Thunderbird Two's landing had barely settled, before she was rising on her legs and the pod door was lowering. That had barely touched the ground before the Mole was exiting her, its auger already spinning.

John waited until there was nothing to be seen of his brothers except for a great gaping hole before he left the aeroplane and greeted the rescue co-ordinator he was going to be working with. "We haven't got a great window of opportunity, so we're operating at full revs this time."

The co-ordinator, a lady called Dyson – Ms, Mrs, or Miss, John couldn't tell because she wore gloves, not that that affected how competent she was at her job – thanked him. "Those two men are from out of state and they've volunteered to be part of our rebuild team, despite the continuing aftershocks. I don't want to have to tell their families that they're never coming home."

"We don't want that either," John reassured her. He started setting up Mobile Control. "Any further information you can give me?"

"We're in contact with the men, and they say their impression is that the water's rising faster."

"That could be more than impression. Or it could be fear playing tricks on their minds."

"That's what I thought. Except that as civil engineers they have plenty of practise at measuring distances."

"Good point. Let's see how my team's doing… Mobile Control to Mole… Come in, Mole."

"Mole to Mobile Control." John heard Scott's voice through Mobile Control's speakers. "We're making good time. We've travelled about 750 metres."

"That's good to know. Those men are getting concerned about the rate of water intake. They think it's increasing."

"Are you in contact with them?"

"Not yet."

"Can they set up a video feed?"

John glanced at Dyson, who nodded. "Affirmative."

"Good. Ask them to film a scale or reference point so we can calculate the rate of increase."

"F-A-B. I'll get right back to you." With Dyson's assistance John soon contacted the two men underground.

They responded with the almost inevitable: "International Rescue?! Wow! You're going to save us?"

"We're going to save you," John confirmed. "But we need more visual information. Can you film something that we can use as a scale or will give us a reference to work out how quickly the water's rising?"

"We can film an actual scale we'd been using," he was told. "Right after the earthquake the water was rising by millimetres a minute. Now it's centimetres."

John watched as water lapped against a scale and then forwarded the feed down to the Mole. "Thanks. We should be there inside five minutes."

"Good. This water's cold. Not to mention likely to make breathing difficult."

Glad that the man had retained something of a sense of humour, John smiled. "We have breathing gear on board if things get really desperate, but I doubt you'll need it."

"Knowing that International Rescue is on our case, I'm going to agree with you."

As he always did, John hoped that the victim's confidence wasn't misplaced.

"Will your team get there in time?" Dyson asked.

"It's what we're a…"

_Aiming for_ John was about to say, but the words were forgotten when the Earth woke from its fitful sleep. He found himself flung against Mobile Control…

The 'quake was short, sharp, and lasted five seconds.

Trapped as they were within the gyrating Earth, Scott, Gordon and Alan would have been tossed about the Mole if they all hadn't been strapped into their seats. As it was they all felt as if they'd been worried by a fractious Fox Terrier.

"Everyone all right?" Scott queried, tightening his safety harness. He checked the life support control systems console and was relieved to find an absence of red and amber warning lights.

"I'm fine and all systems are A-OK," Alan responded, running his eyes with equal speed and relief over the Mole's main control unit. "We haven't changed course or speed."

"Good. Gordon?"

"I'm glad ol' Mother Earth waited until I'd taken my seat before asking if she could dance with me." Gordon pushed himself back into his chair. His wetsuit had less grip on the upholstery than his brothers' uniforms and he'd almost slipped under his restraint. "If she'd done that while I was getting changed I would have been bouncing off the roof."

"_Mobile Control to Mole._"

Scott took up the microphone. "Mole to Mobile Control. We're all okay. How are things topside?"

"_We're fine._"

"And our victims?"

"_I'm trying to reinstate communications now… This is International Rescue Mobile Control… Do you read me? Repeat. This is International Rescue Mobile Control…_"

"_International Rescue?_" Scott relaxed when he heard the unfamiliar voice."_We're okay. A bit shaken, but okay._"

"_Any change to the rate of water flow?_"

There was a muttered conversation from deeper in the Earth. "_Rate of water intake is increasing._" Everyone could hear that although he was trying to remain calm, the victim was starting to feel the first stages of panic."_Your five minutes is going to be about a minute too long._"

"_All right, we're not beaten yet._" Scott could never help but be impressed by the way that John always sounded calm and in control, even though he was probably willing the Mole to find some hitherto unknown source of speed. "_This'll mean a slight change in plan, but we're not giving up. I'll get back to you in a moment…_" There was an audible click. "_Did you get that, Scott?_"

"Yes." Scott watched the video feed as the scale disappeared under the water. "We're not going to have time to drill an overflow reservoir."

"_What's plan B._"

Plan A was Scott's plan B… And C and D and E… His brain, usually quick and efficient at finding the ideal answer to their problems, seemed to have deserted him.

"We're nearly there." Alan sounded confident. "We'll get those guys out, no sweat. Hold on. We're breaking through."

At the moment that the video camera slipped beneath the water, spluttered and died, Scott saw an image of a giant drill bursting through the wall. "We're too high above the floor and the gap between the walls is too wide. The Mole won't have the traction to move forward or back."

Alan was well aware of the Mole's limitations, and the dire peril that the two civil engineers were in. Of the two he was more concerned about the latter. "We'll be fine," he said giving the aft jets a blast.

The Mole, thrust out of the wall and into the flooded carpark through its own momentum, lurched forward.

Scott's "Alan!" had barely been uttered before the drill was attacking the wall on the far side. For a split second both he and Gordon were convinced that it wouldn't hold before it bit into the concrete and dragged the heavy craft forward.

They stopped: the nose half buried in the wall opposite, the body suspended in water.

Alan shut the engines down. "Right…" He turned in his seat. "Let's go get 'em."

"We can't," Gordon told him. "The hatch is under water. If we open it, we'll flood the Mole."

With a breezy: "Easily fixed," Alan switched the motors back on. Taking care not to increase the torque so much that the drill cut deeper into its fulcrum and the Mole spun so quickly that they all went bouncing off the fitments, he rotated the body of the machine until the hatch was above their heads. "You might have to help them up there, Gordon."

"Who's going to help me get up there?"

"Use a jetpack."

Gordon accepted his younger brother's suggestion, slid up the wall that was now the floor, and reached into a locker.

Scott switched the air exchanger to maximum throughput. He wasn't happy with Alan's plan, but knew that he now had no option other than to go along with it… And make sure that they didn't all asphyxiate in the jetpack's exhaust gases.

Gordon swung his jetpack onto his back and, holding an air tank to his chest, flew up to the hatch that nestled in what was now the Mole's ceiling. He slid it out of the way and flew through, coming to rest on the exterior bulkhead. "The water's three quarters of the way up the sides!"

Scott was wrestling a net out of one of the lockers. "Any sign of the two men?" He handed one side of the net to Alan who negotiated the wall/floor to the ceiling/wall on the far side.

"No… Yes!"

Two corners of the net were secured to the Mole's sides. "Do they need help?"

Gordon had abandoned the jetpack and already had his oxygen tank on his back. "I'll go find out." As the final two corners of the net were made fast Scott and Alan heard a splash.

Scott scrambled onto the net, pleased to feel that it remained strong and taut. He poked his head through the hatch Gordon had just vacated.

He felt the surface under his feet undulate as Alan joined him. "Can you see them?"

Scott pointed to where three bright beams penetrated the darkness.

"We need more light." Alan disappeared briefly. A spotlight shone vertically out of the Mole's horizontal beacons and was deflected by the pale walls of the carpark. The environment was bathed by a soft illuminating light.

Now Scott could analyse the situation. The water was filled with debris and rising quickly, and the two engineers, in their soaked clothes and with muscles tired from treading water, were going to need assistance climbing up the Mole's slick sides to the hatch. He was about to instruct Alan to get a chain ladder when his brother appeared back at his shoulder.

"They'll need this," the younger man chirruped, handing Scott that exact piece of equipment before pulling Gordon's jetpack inside.

Scott made no comment as he fastened the ladder to the bulkhead.

But the ever-increasing rate of flow meant that the ladder wasn't necessary when the three swimmers reached the Mole. They almost swam to the hatch, dragging themselves the last metre to safety as water lapped at the opening.

"Get in quick!" Scott commanded, pulling at the first engineer's arms to assist. The man fell as much as jumped into the Mole.

Water seeped inside.

The second engineer slithered face-first through the door, guided by Alan and aided by the friction-reducing water.

Water that was trickling in.

"Incoming!" Gordon grabbed the edges of the hatch and rolled down into the opening. He barely had time to pull his hands clear before, water pouring inside, the door was slammed shut and sealed.

Water rushed over the Mole and submerged it completely.

They all took a moment to regain their breath.

"That was close." Gordon counted his fingers. "One amputation this week is enough."

His brothers chose not to respond to his comment. The two engineers, grateful at being rescued and unaware that they weren't home and dry yet, were too polite to query it.

Scott crouched next to the first man. "Are you hurt?"

"Me? No…" The man, struggling against the oscillating net, sat up. He turned to his companion. "Are you okay?"

"Apart from seasickness from this thing," the man tapped the net. "I'm fine."

"Good. If you can make your way to that end," Scott pointed in the direction of the real floor, "brace your feet against the 'wall' and hold onto the net, we'll rotate the Mole until it's the right way up. If you feel any discomfort, let us know." He and Gordon showed the two engineers what he meant.

Alan, who'd made his way down to the control seat and strapped himself in, initiated the radio. "Mole calling Mobile Control."

They all heard John's voice. "_This is Mobile Control. Go ahead, Mole._"

"Rescue successful. Both victims are in Mole and unharmed. We are proceeding to surface."

"_Well done, Mole. Have a safe trip back. I'll see you topside._"

"F-A-B." Alan looked back over his shoulder. "Everyone set?"

"We're ready," Scott affirmed.

"Hold tight. We're going for a little spin." Alan started the engines.

Scott, almost convinced that the Mole's motors were literally flooded, was relieved to hear them purr into life. He was even more relieved when he felt his feet start to tip downwards and his head move closer to the vertical. "Everyone comfortable?" He had three grunts in reply.

He had no concerns about Gordon, but one of the engineers, the one who'd complained of seasickness, was looking green enough to have not been joking. "Keep it slow, Alan."

"F-A-B."

Water sloshed around their feet as the Mole's rotation slowed and then stopped.

Scott escorted the engineers across to slightly damp seats and assisted them to fasten their safety harnesses. "Are you both okay for the trip back to the surface? It's likely to get a bit bumpy. If you're feeling a little nauseous we've got something that will help."

The greener of the two engineers raised his hand. "I'm sorry, but if I can't see where I'm going, I'm shot. I had hoped I'd grow out of it, but I even get motion sickness watching home movies. I don't want to trouble you, but…"

"It's no trouble." Gordon had retrieved the required medication and handed the lozenge to the man. "Chew on that while we're moving, and you'll feel fine."

Leaving Gordon taking care of that particular issue, Scott moved closer to the Mole's skipper, so they could talk without being overheard. "How are you planning on getting us out of here?"

Alan gave an airy wave. "Same way as we came in."

"We can't reverse, we've got no traction."

"I wasn't planning on reversing. We're going forward. There's enough power in the Mole's jet unit to push us into the ground as the auger drills."

"If those jet units haven't been damaged by the water."

"Relax, Scott, there's nothing to worry about."

Scott had his doubts about that, but the two engineers were watching them, and so he said nothing more. Instead he retired to his seat at the life support control systems console and ensured his safety harness was done up tightly. A glance across to Gordon and a nod of confirmation told him they were all ready. "We're good to go."

"F-A-B." Alan gunned the engines.

Desperate to not reveal to their passengers how concerned he was about their situation, Scott made a conscious effort not to cling to the console or his seat. He kept his eyes glued to the meters as he watched the power output grow and felt the increasing vibrations as the jet exhausts fought against the murky waters – boiling them and turning them into steam.

He heard a quiet: "Forward momentum – three k's an hour."

Three kilometres was barely walking speed, but at least they were moving forwards. Maybe Alan's plan had some merit after all?

"Drilled one metre."

One metre was better than being stationary.

"One point five metres."

Gordon shifted in his seat uneasily and, when the less nauseous engineer glanced at him, grinned. "Don't you hate it when you've got water running down your neck?" He ran his finger around the neck of his wetsuit.

What if they ran out of fuel, and power, before the Mole's caterpillar tracks took hold of the earth and dragged them out of the water?

"Two metres."

Scott calculated that, based on the amount of auger that had been buried in the soil while the Mole had been stationary, they had another eight metres before they'd be on the homeward stretch.

"Three metres."

Seven metres.

"Increasing power."

Scott bit his lip to stop himself from warning Alan not to overcook it.

"Five metres."

Five metres till the caterpillars would kick into action.

"Six metres."

Four.

"Seven metres."

Three.

Now Scott did glance over at their passengers. Whether they'd picked up on his and Gordon's anxiety he couldn't tell, but both men were quiet; one of them chewing on his lozenge as if his life depended on it.

"Eight metres."

Two metres. Two metres to go! Scott felt as if he would scream at the suspense.

"Initiating tracks."

Already? By Scott's calculation, which admittedly were based on guesswork in less than optimal lighting, they still had about one point five metres to go.

"Tracks have traction… We're picking up speed."

Scott hadn't imagined it, he knew his brothers too well to do that, but he'd heard a note of relief in Alan's voice. The youngest Tracy hadn't been as blasé about their situation as he'd pretended.

"Ten kilometres an hour… Eleven… Twelve…"

Scott relaxed.

At the surface John was doing an equally convincing impersonation of someone who had little concerns for those underground. He'd been watching the Mole's readout and had wondered what Alan had been thinking, balancing most of the great machine's weight on one small section of conical cahelium… And why Scott wasn't coming up with a better plan. He'd heard the tautness behind Alan's cocky announcement that they'd completed a successful rescue and were on their way back up to the surface. And now he waited for the auger to drill yet another hole in a city that already looked like Swiss cheese.

That wait didn't last for long when a low rumble closely followed by a high-pitched whine announced the Mole's arrival. A small hillock formed as, reminiscent of its namesake, the Mole pushed towards the surface.

The cahelium drill broke through, accompanied by a cascade of water.

John relaxed.

-F-A-B-

Despite having to pick the Mole up with Thunderbird Two and deposit it on its trolley before it was able to trundle back into the pod, the pack up was done quickly, efficiently, and without giving Dyson or the two civil engineers much time to gush their thanks.

Once Thunderbird Two was airborne and on stable flight, Scott released his safety harness. "Alan. Would you come with me please?"

If Alan wondered about the instruction he gave no hint of it as he released his own harness and followed the Rescue Coordinator through the door at the back of the cabin.

John took advantage of their absence to approach their pilot. "What happened down there? Mobile Control was telling me that the Mole had stopped moving when it was submerged in water. How'd you get moving again?"

"Luck?" Gordon shrugged. "I dunno what happened, John. Scott seemed to run out of ideas and Alan came up with a doozy. I'd say that's what Scott wants to talk to him about…"

Alan stepped through the door to the crew sleeping quarters and turned when Scott closed it behind him. "Why have we come in here?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you, Alan, and I wanted to ensure we had some privacy."

Appearing relaxed, Alan sat on one of the beds. "Shoot."

Scott, however, remained standing – towering over his subordinate. "What were you thinking back there?"

Alan frowned in supposed confusion. "Thinking? Where?"

"Don't play dumb with me." Scott's frown was sterner. "What you did with the Mole was untried, untested, and possibly could have had catastrophic consequences."

"Relax, Scott…"

The stern frown deepened. "Relax? The Mole's not designed to move in water!"

"I know."

"There were only a couple of metres stopping us from sinking."

"Sinking? We were only a couple of metres above the garage floor. Besides, I knew the drill had enough purchase to pull us out."

"Did you?! Honestly!?"

"Honestly…" Alan gave a careless shrug. "Okay, maybe I took a bit of a gamble. But it worked!"

"Luck! It was pure luck!"

"It wasn't only luck." Alan leant forward. "I'm not stupid, Scott! I'll admit that I cut it fine, but I knew the Mole had enough torque to pull us out of there."

"And if it didn't? What if the engines had been flooded and weren't working? What if you'd twisted something out of alignment when you rotated the body? The Mole's auger's not designed to support its weight!"

"Then John would have had to use Thunderbird Two and harpoon the back of the Mole and drag us out of there."

"Down a curved borehole? Against the weight of the water?"

"Relax! I wasn't worried."

"Well, you should have been!" Scott stormed. "What you did was stupid, irresponsible and put not only the lives of those two men in danger, but ours as well!"

"Every time we go out on a job, we put our lives in danger! Sure, I took a risk, but it was a calculated one!"

"Calculated! You should have discussed it with me first."

Alan launched himself to his feet. "Is that what's upset you? That I didn't ask you for your permission to come up with an idea of my own? We didn't have time for a discussion while those men drowned, Scott! If you'd had a suggestion I would have listened, but you didn't and so I acted!"

"You acted foolishly!"

"And if Virgil had done it you would be congratulating him on his quick thinking!"

Scott took a metaphorical, if not literal, step back. "What?"

"You and I both know that in your eyes he can't do anything wrong!" Wound up, Alan didn't even consider the words he'd used. "Whereas I'm always the little kid who can't be trusted! It's always been the same! When will you learn to trust me?"

"I do trust you!"

"To think for myself?"

"Based on what I've just seen: no!"

"Fine! I'm heading back to the flight deck, _and _since I have nothing to offer, and I'm going to sit there and say and do, _nothing_!" Alan stomped out of the room.

"Alan!" Scott raged.

But Alan ignored him.

Neither of them were in a speaking mood when they emerged into the cabin and John and Gordon, recognising the barely suppressed anger in both their brothers, decided it was better to keep quiet.

It was an uncomfortable, largely silent, flight to Barduq.

Gordon was the first to pluck up the courage to speak. "Ah… I have a suggestion."

"Don't bother," Alan snapped. "Scott didn't come up with the idea, so he won't think it's worth listening to."

Scott scowled again. "What's your suggestion, Gordon?"

"We've only got the Mole and the Firefly available to us in an emergency. The rescue didn't take so long that we're tired, we've got Thunderbird Two, and Tin-Tin would probably appreciate more time practising landing the Odonata… Why don't we offload the Mole here, on Barduq, and then head to Tracy Island and get Thunderbird Four and maybe some other gear?"

Once again there was silence as his brothers waited for Scott to speak.

"That's a good idea, Gordon. You and Alan can go while John and I can stay behind and check the Mo… Inventory. We'll let you know if we need you to get something more than Thunderbird Four."

Gordon wondered if he should suggest that they also retrieve Thunderbird One, but decided against it. There was no way that he was going to relinquish Thunderbird Two and, in his brothers' present state of minds, he doubted that Scott would let Alan anywhere near his rocket plane.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Morning, Jeff."

"Morning, Mother."

"What's that you're reading?"

"It's a note from Scott. _Taken Odonata for a ride. Back whenever. S, J, G, A & TT._"

"Oh!" Mrs Tracy turned on the radio, tuning into a news station. But the only news report she found was one detailing the exploits of a top-rated sportsman who should have been concentrating on his game rather than the extracurricular activities he'd been accused of.

She turned the radio off. "Where's a computer?"

"Don't bother. I'll give John a call." Jeff started walking towards his room "I'll let you know what they're up to."

"You can let me know if I'm making breakfast for four or for nine."

"Right." Jeff waited until his bedroom door had closed behind him before he looked at his watch. "Jeff Tracy calling John."

John wasted no time answering. "Hi, Dad." He pushed a damp lock of hair out of his eyes.

"What's the situation?"

John explained about the rescue, leaving out the details of how they'd actually got the two engineers out of the flooding carpark. That bit of sensitive information could wait until the debriefing later. "Scott and I are cleaning down the Mole and checking out Barduq's inventory while Gordon and Alan get Thunderbird Four."

"How long do you think you'll be? Your grandmother's making breakfast."

"We'll make something when we get back. Thunderbird Two's at least half an hour out."

"Okay, John. I'm glad to hear that International Rescue's still fully operational. We'll have breakfast and then head over and sit with Virgil. You can come over after you've had yours."

"F-A-B."

John shut down the communications link and then wandered down to the scissor lift next to the Mole's jet units. "How's she looking?"

Scott, even wetter than his brother, pulled his head out from inside the jet. "Better shape than I feared… Thanks to Brains and no thanks to Alan."

John made no comment. He'd long ago learnt that if he hadn't taken an active role in a rescue, then he had had no right to offer recriminations against what the others had done; no matter what he thought of the situation. "Dad was just asking when we'll be home for breakfast."

"What did you tell him?"

"That we'll get our own when we get there."

"Good."

"Thunderbird Two's about 25 minutes out."

"Good," Scott repeated and descended to floor level. "That'll give us time to get cleaned up." He wiped his wet sleeve across his equally wet forehead; a pointless exercise as it had no effect. "Can you help me set up the fan units? I want to dry the jets as much as possible before we leave."

When the fans were directed towards the Mole's power source, and after a quick check to confirm that Tin-Tin's skill with the Odonata matched their expectations, both brothers had a shower and changed back into their civilian clothes.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Any word on Virgil?" Gordon asked.

They'd stored away the items collected by Thunderbird Two and, having given her her post flight checks, were flying home.

Despite his assertion that she was up to the job, Scott was at the controls with Tin-Tin in the Odonata's co-pilot's seat, which had been turned back to its usual orientation of facing forwards. Sensing the disharmony between the brothers, she was gazing out the window and wishing that she was piloting so that she had something to think about rather than the toxic atmosphere. The other three were in the back, John and Gordon flanking a still angry Alan and feeling like the bread in a hot-head sandwich.

It wasn't until well after they had left the Pacific Ocean behind them and were flying over the American mainland, that Gordon had felt confident enough to speak.

"Last message I received from Dad there was no change." John pulled his phone out from his pocket and accessed some data. "And this confirms it."

Gordon sighed and sat back in his seat. "I hope they're giving his arm some physio. He's only got one good limb and he doesn't want to lose use of it because he's lost all muscle tone. It must be over three days since it last had any real exercise."

"They can't give him physio because they don't want to risk moving his torso."

"I know that." Gordon leant forward so that he could see past the mulish Alan to John. "But there are other methods, aren't there? An electronic massager? Some electro-therapy thing that will activate the muscles without actually moving his arm?"

"I don't know, Gordon. But I'm sure that whatever they're doing, they're doing it with Virgil's best interests at heart."

No one else joined in their conversation.

"Coming in to land," Scott announced.

Depressed at what was waiting for them on the ground, Gordon looked out the window and down towards their home away from home. "Hello… Something's going on down there…"

_To be continued…_


	35. Chapter 35

Kyrano, with the assistance of Lady Penelope and Parker, had gone hunting for a landscape gardener, that he deemed to be worthy of the name, to tidy up the front of the property. This left ACE, as part of their determination to repay the Tracy family for the kindness shown to them, hard at work clearing the area at the rear.

The work was being done with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"I am not a labourer, Rexy," Winston grumbled to his fiancé as he hacked ineffectually at some obstinate weeds.

"I know, Winnie. I'm the same." Rex raked leaves towards an ever-growing pile for Butch to heave onto a trailer. A job that seemed pointless as Ginny, giggling in delight, threw the leaves up into the air and watched them flutter down.

"If we weren't doing this for those darling people, I'd be inside in the cool."

"I know, Winnie."

Ashley Watts collected the little girl and carried her, still giggling, away to where she could weed with no fears of destroying anything. Lisa, her hands covered in red splotches from where she'd been freshening up the paintwork, smiled her thanks.

"I could be doing something useful on the computer," Winston continued.

"Like what?" Rex re-raked the leaves that Ginny had displaced and Butch, the shovel looking like a teaspoon in his massive hands, heaved them into a trailer.

"Like… Like creating a web site so that all of ACE's staff members could update where they are and what they're doing, and we could all keep track of each other."

"I'm sure everyone would appreciate that. Like I'm sure the Tracys will appreciate having tidy grounds."

"I know, Rex. I'm just in one of my moods…" Hearing something, Winston used the excuse to stop working. "What's that noise?"

Bruce ceased his sawing at a thick branch of the tree he was pruning and stepped out from under its foliage to survey the sky. "It's not the Tracys, is it?"

Hamish, sweat pouring off his brow and his sling dirty from his labours, was already looking skywards. "I can't see them."

"It doesn't sound like them either. When they brought the plane home it sounded more like an insect. This sounds more like…"

What the noise sounded like became obvious when a pack of motorcycles rounded the main house and stopped in the courtyard.

Bruce rubbed his head.

Emblazoned across most of the bikes' petrol tanks, and the back of each riders' leather jacket was a symbol and a single word.

_Skulz._

Lisa hurried across to Ashley and picked up Ginny.

"Ladies: Go into the house," Hamish directed, keeping his voice low so the gang, laughing as they removed their helmets and revved engines, wouldn't hear him.

His wife hesitated. "But…"

"Edna!"

"Warn the cops." Bruce gave Olivia a gentle push in the direction of the Tracys' quarters.

"Okay." Wishing that she had her phone in her pocket, Olivia followed the other ladies to safety.

"Hamish…" Fearful for her husband, Edna tugged at his sleeve. "Come with me."

"No. I'm staying here."

"You're injured…"

"That doesn't mean I'm helpless."

"Please, Mr M," Bruce requested. "Go with the others."

Hamish Mickelson held his ground. "Are you saying I'm not capable of standing alongside you, Bruce?"

"No. But I've met this gang before and they don't play fair." Bruce made the familiar gesture that was a reminder of an evening five years earlier. "If they get into the house, I'd like to know that someone with a few clues and some guts is in there to defend the Tracys' property."

"Come with me, Hamish." Edna finally pulled a still reluctant husband towards the tall wooden structure that towered over them.

Bruce, having ensured that his boss had followed his instructions, swallowed, lifted what seemed to be an inordinately heavy saw into his hands, and jumped when someone came up beside him.

"You don't think I'm running, do you?" Ashley Watts smirked. She grabbed a rake, kicked off the head, and spun the stick about in a manner that suggested she was comfortable with its use as a weapon. "I didn't spend thirty-plus years training in the many arts of Kung Fu for nothing. I've been waiting for this opportunity to use my skills in the real world."

"You know Kung Fu?" Bruce squeaked.

"That's how I met Max. As for George; a family that plays together, stays together."

Wondering at this new bit of information learnt about his boss, Bruce positioned himself between a bespectacled Greg Harrison, and a less than assured Winston and Rex. He was horrified when yet more bikers turned up. Not all their bikes were marked with the Skulz badge, leading him to think that if they weren't unrelated hangers-on, they'd "liberated" the bikes from their unwilling owners.

The idea that these people were so willing to operate outside the law did nothing to help him relax.

Inside the house, Hamish closed the door behind those who'd escaped the possible melee. "If he thinks I'm going to sit back here and do nothing, he's mistaken. We need to make barriers and we need weapons."

Edna pulled a red cylinder off the wall. "Fire extinguishers?"

"Good idea. Get them all and bring them down here." Hamish positioned himself by a large piece of wooden furniture. "Can someone get that end of the table?"

"You can't shift this one-handed," Lisa told him as Olivia obeyed his instruction. "I'll do it."

Hamish started to protest, but was ignored.

In the courtyard, it was a motley crew who faced off against a battle-hardened gang and wondered how long it would be before the police arrived.

But they weren't the only ones intent on defending their territory.

Butch, with the confident swagger of someone who'd been in this position before, stepped up to the bikers.

"Well, well, well…" One of the Skulz; the one at the head of the pack who seemed to be their leader; sneered. "If it ain't Butch Crump…"

Butch didn't acknowledge the gang in any way that showed his past kinship with the group. "Whatcha doin' 'ere?"

"Lookin' for some place t' stay since ours is munted, an'…" the leader looked around, "this'll do nice."

"Y'ain't welcome, Biggs."

"Now, is that th' way to talk to you ol' pals?"

"You ain't m' pals. I got real pals now."

"This them?" Biggs indicated the people standing behind Butch with a flick of his head. "A bunch o' drudgers." He sneered and directed his next comment to his cronies. "We got a welcomin' party, fellas. Why don' y' repay the complyment an' say hello?"

As one, the rest of the gang dismounted. Together, in their scruffy, dirty clothes and with their smelly black leathers and tattoos, they were an intimidating bunch. Fists were punched into hands and some reached into their bikes' saddle bags, removing various items of weaponry. Bruce decided that his initial estimate that there were a couple of hundred of them was a trifle exaggerated.

But at six to one, he still didn't like the odds.

"They ain't drudgers," Butch corrected. "They're proud t' work." He pulled himself up straighter. "_I'm_ proud t' work!"

"Ooohhh. Listen t' the big man." Secure with his backup behind him, Biggs kept his focus on his former associate as he waved away an insect that buzzed nearby. "'Ow's Lisa, Butch?" He leered.

Inside the house, Ginny Crump tugged at her mother's hand. "Wanna play in the leaves, Mama."

Lisa, desperate to shield her daughter from harm, was equally keen to observe what was happening outside. She'd had fears for Butch's life five days earlier and was frightened for him again. Trying not to be seen by the gang, she crouched by a window and peered through a gap in the curtains. "No, Darling," she hissed. "Later."

"Tell you what, Ginny…" Mavis Harrison crouched down next to the little girl. "There's an attic upstairs. Won't that be fun to explore? Why don't you and I go up there and we'll make a play hut to hide in. Would you like that?"

"What a wonderful idea!" Auntie Alicia enthused. "Can I join you?"

Delighted, Ginny gave an emphatic nod.

"Good." The two elder ladies held out their hands and Ginny, happy at the thought of this new adventure, held tight as they began their ascent of the multi-levelled stairs.

-F-A-B-

The Odonata settled on the tennis courts with the expected pinpoint precision.

Alan turned to his big brother. "What's the plan, Scott?"

"First things first. We ascertain the situation. Then we make a plan."

"We ascertained as we landed," Gordon told him. "It's a motorcycle gang."

"I'll admit that that's what it looked like, but we don't want to cause trouble if they were only a group out for a friendly ride." Scott climbed out of the cockpit. "We won't reveal ourselves until we know exactly what we're up against – that's if we managed to sneak in unheard and unseen. Before we make any plans, I'll see if they're aware we're here… John…"

"Yes, Scott?"

"Be ready to call the police. You other three wait here as backup. I'll be back in a minute."

"Yes, Scott."

As John pulled his phone out of his pocket dialled the first two numbers of the emergency services, his brother, treading carefully as he tried not to disturb the foliage and alert anyone to his presence, crept closer to the stand-off.

When Scott got there it only took two seconds to realise that Gordon's assumption was true. He was relieved to realise that the gang had been too occupied in their show of bravado to be aware of the arrival of his aeroplane.

He returned to the Odonata.

Alan repeated his initial query. "What's the plan, Scott?"

"Call the police, John."

John did as he'd been commanded. "Apparently they're already on the way. But there's been a holdup."

Scott cursed. "In that case, until they get here, we've got to keep that gang occupied. And I'm not keen on going out there unarmed."

Gordon indicated the open tool kit. "We've got some heavy-duty wrenches."

"Good. What else?"

Alan hefted a largish stick and weighed it in his hand. "Branch."

"Good. What else?"

John was fiddling with his new toy. "Phone."

"Phone?"

John put his phone into his breast pocket, camera lens facing out. "Video of the fight's what saved Virgil from a long trial last time. We may need the evidence."

"Good idea." Scott whipped his phone out and followed John's lead. "Let's go."

Alan's phone was snapped into his belt buckle. "What's the plan?" he repeated for the third time.

"A show of force. At the moment, the gang probably thinks that they've got the numbers, but we'll hopefully even the odds… At least till the cops get here. Remember we're playing defensively, not offensively."

Gordon wrinkled up his nose at the odour that had been permeating the tennis courts. "Judging by that smell, those guys are offensive enough."

The Tracy men started pushing back through the undergrowth, followed by their female companion…

Alan held her back. "Tin-Tin."

"Don't you try to stop me, Alan Tracy! I'm as good at martial arts as you are, and you need me!"

"You're better than I am. I wasn't going to stop you; I just wanted to warn you. You didn't see the video of the fight at the party. Those guys don't follow the rules of engagement and they don't fight fair. I need you to remember that." He kissed her on the forehead. "Okay?"

"I shall remember."

"Good."

The couple followed the beaten path until they met up with Alan's brothers.

"No change to the situation." Scott took a deep oxygenating breath. "Everyone ready?"

There were five nods.

"Right. Advance."

-F-A-B-

"Look, Ginny," Mavis enthused. "We can use these drop cloths that we used to stop paint from getting on the carpet to make you a hut. Why don't you see how many there are while I help Auntie Alicia?" She returned to the attic's access hatch and assisted the older lady up the steps.

With a word of thanks, Alicia reached the top and dusted down her dress. "What are you doing?" she asked as Mavis, grunting with the effort, pulled at the aluminium stairs until the access hatch closed and blocked their way back down. "It's not easy to open from up here." She stared at a length of rope that appeared to be caught at the hatch's edge. "Or down there."

"I know, but I don't want those…" Mavis glanced at the little girl. "…anyone having any idea where we could be… We're hiding, aren't we, Ginny?"

Ginny giggled and nodded.

Mavis stood, brushing dirt off her hands. "Right! Where are we going to build this hut…?"

-F-A-B-

If the gang were surprised to see four tall, muscular men and one Asian lady appear out of the undergrowth, they didn't show it.

"What's going on?" Scott asked, theorising that they should at least give the gang a chance to make a tactical withdrawal.

"Since this a motel," Biggs sneered, "we're movin' in."

The Tracys continued advancing, skirting the backline made up of Bruce, Greg, Winston, and Rex; bypassing the Watts family; and coming to a stop shoulder to shoulder with Butch.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Scott told the gang. "This is now a private residence and not a motel. There is no accommodation available."

"Place this big?" Biggs indicated the house. "There's plenty of rooms."

"All of which are occupied. Now I suggest that you leave."

"Leave? 'Fore we're settled in? I don' think so." Biggs leered at Tin-Tin. "Not when the scen'ry's much better here."

Scott played his trump card. "The police are on their way." Remembering that Virgil had uttered those words and still ended up having to defend himself in a fight, he figured he was probably wasting his breath. Still, there was always the chance that someone in the gang would see sense and call a retreat. "I'm sure none of us want any trouble."

As he and his brothers had thought, the gang didn't care about trouble.

-F-A-B-

FAB1 drove down the driveway and rolled to a stop in front of the house. With thoughts of brewing tea and no inkling of the trouble brewing at the back of the building, the passengers and driver alighted.

"This is most strange," Kyrano mused, as he pushed at the front door. "There appears to be some object blocking it."

"H-It's h-an h-old place." Parker stepped up to the wooden structure. "Maybe h-it's warped h-and h-it just needs some h-extra muscle?" Sure of his theory he pushed against the door. "Don't feel warped."

A curtain further down the building twitched. Then the three heard the sounds of furniture being moved. The door was opened wide enough for a person to squeeze though.

"Hurry!" Hamish's good arm beckoned them in.

Realising that for some reason it wasn't a good idea to be outside, they obeyed.

"What has happened, Mr Mickelson?" Kyrano enquired, as Lisa and Olivia shifted the coffee table back as a barricade against the door. When they started to nudge one of the sofas, he and Parker took over, pushing the large chair against the table.

"The Skulz, the gang that Butch's dad belongs to, have turned up looking for a place to stay. They want to take over this place." Hamish led them over to the kitchen window. "So far, we appear to have reached a stalemate," he whispered. "We've called the police, but they're tending to something that they regard as more important than a home invasion. If the gang actually did something, they'd hurry here but…" He shrugged. "We hoped that the arrival of the Tracys might have encouraged them to leave, but no such luck."

"Then perhaps we should improve the odds," Lady Penelope stated.

"I've seen them fight," Lisa warned her. "They're dangerous."

Lady Penelope gave a delicate snort. "They are amateurs. What is the best way to exit the building?"

Parker tossed his chauffeur's hat onto a table "We don't wanta block their h-exit. So, we can't go back h-out the front door h-and h-around the 'ouse. H-and goin' the h-other way will only give them warnin' that we're advancing."

"And climbing out of a window is so unbecoming and slow," Lady Penelope added.

"Shimmy down the drainpipe?"

"With a house of this age and state of repair, I fear that the plumbing would not support our weight." Lady Penelope gave a sigh. "It appears that our only option is to exit the back door. Perhaps, Mr Mickelson, you and your associates would retire to a room and lock that door behind you? We shall try to leave without the, ah, miscreants gaining entry, but I would be so disappointed if they did some mischief in here."

Hamish agreed without hesitation. "Of course, Lady Penelope."

"The spare room on the top floor has a lock on it," Edna offered. "Then they won't be able to climb in through a window either. And…" she picked up a fire extinguisher, "we're armed and ready to defend ourselves."

"Good." Lady Penelope gave a delicate nod. "We shall send a signal when it is safe to emerge."

"Where's Miss Ginny?" Parker asked.

"Mavis and Alicia have taken her into the attic to build a hut," Edna explained.

"What a delightful idea," Lady Penelope approved. "I remember one time Ralph and I built a fort in the attic of the Creighton-Ward family manor. We didn't scratch the Chippendale chairs at all… Well… Not such as you'd notice." She turned to one of her companions. "Will you join us, Kyrano?"

Kyrano had divested himself of his traditional robe for the sake of manoeuvrability, and was wearing what an ignorant Westerner would have called a t-shirt and Kung Fu pants. He gave a low bow. "I am prepared to do whatever is necessary to preserve the Tracy family's home."

Lady Penelope gave a relaxed smile. "I thought you might."

"Good luck, Lady Penelope. Kyrano. Parker." Hamish, the other members of ACE, and their relations headed to the sanctuary.

"We shall not need luck. We have training and experience on our side." Lady Penelope placed her hat on a table. "Shall we advance?"

Parker threw his jacket over the back of a chair and cracked his knuckles. "Ready, m'Lady."

"Good." As calm as if she was off on another relaxing shopping trip in the Rolls Royce, Lady Penelope strode to the back door and flung it open, stepping outside without hesitation. "Good morning, Gentlemen… Tin-Tin. Mrs Watts." She heard the door's lock snip shut behind her.

Relieved that more reinforcements had arrived, the Tracys responded with a relaxed: "Hiya, Penny."

With the odds still in their favour, the bikers were equally relaxed. They didn't see the newcomers as reinforcements, but easy pickings. They weren't to know that what appeared to be a beautiful (but had to be dumb) blonde, and a couple of (in their eyes) old men, were in fact valiant and resourceful opponents to be feared.

The nearest gang member thought he'd take his chance. He grabbed Lady Penelope about the waist.

He was astonished and humiliated to find himself lying on the un-swept ground with a hard, narrow, heel pressed against a part of his body that nothing as hard nor as narrow should ever encounter. Scrabbling at Lady Penelope's foot, he felt himself grow faint.

"Hey!" One of his cronies attempted to come to his aid.

Completely unruffled by a second attack in as many seconds, Lady Penelope jammed her thumb up into his armpit. It met with numerous nerve clusters and he buckled over on all fours; gasping for breath and retching.

Deciding that it was safety in numbers, two more bikers attempted to come to their associates' aid.

The first also found himself flat on the ground and with a pounding headache as Kyrano pulled his arm up to the vicinity of his shoulder blades.

"I am sorry," the Malaysian apologised, aware of the lump that was forming on his captive's forehead. "I hope I have not caused you too much pain."

Thinking that the grey-haired Parker was an easy mark, the other gang member realised the error of his ways when his body was twisted into a hold that caused each movement to increase the painful pressure on his joints and immobilise him further. He had no choice but to listen to the butler as Parker had great pleasure in telling him that this was: "…known h-as the Gordon Knot, Mate." He winked at the grinning Tracy of the same name. "Once you're h-in h-it, y' ain't getting h-out h-again."

Taking a step away from the man who was threatening to explode the contents of his stomach all over her expensive shoes, Lady Penelope turned to her butler. "Gordon Knot, Parker? Surely one means the Gordian Knot?" She ignored her first attacker as the man crawled to the safety of his motorbike and the future indignity of being teased by his associates.

"Dunno, m'Lady. H-It's what we used t' call h-it. H-It's h-effective any road."

"It is indeed." Lady Penelope turned back to the rest of the gang. "I don't believe we have been formally introduced. We are your worst nightmare should you do anything to harm our friends or their belongings. Now, why don't you all run along and find some place where you will be welcome?"

-F-A-B-

"What can you see, Hamish?" Edna plucked at his arm again.

"Not much. The roof's in the way."

"Can you see anything?"

"The gang."

Lisa was also pressed up against the window. "I can see Bruce, Rex and…" she stood on tiptoe. "Winston. He looks ready to faint."

"How's Bruce?" Olivia asked.

"Looking like he's experiencing a bad trip down memory lane." Lisa looked over her shoulder at Hamish. "Are Virgil's brothers as good at defending themselves as he was?"

"Better," he grunted. "Because they've got each other's backs. Plus, Tin-Tin's more than capable of defending herself. I just wish I was down there helping them!"

"You're of more value up here," Edna told him. "Besides, it'll probably be over by the time you've walked down all those stairs." She sighed. "And then we'll have to carry these heavy fire extinguishers back down again."

-F-A-B-

"Now… I wonder where Ginny could have disappeared to." Mavis directed her pseudo-query at Alicia.

"I am sure I do not know. She is very good at hiding from us."

As they'd expected, both ladies heard a giggle from under a pile of drop cloths stretched between two beams.

Mavis pulled one back. "Is that where you are?"

In the gloom, she saw an emphatic nod and heard a "Yes!"

"Can we come in too? It looks such fun."

Alicia, contemplating having to get on all fours in the dust and dirt, was less sure about that.

Ignoring the dust, Mavis crawled under the drop cloth. "This is such fun. No one would think to look for us here. We're so high up that we're almost in the clouds. Aren't we, Ginny?"

The little girl giggled.

-F-A-B-

Things were taking a dangerous turn.

Biggs picked up a branch that was tangled in the long-dried weeds that Winston had eradicated. "This's such a nice place," he sneered as he held a lighter to the tinder dry end and it flared into life. "Maybe it's time for a house warmin'." The firebrand grew close to the pile of rubbish, a potential bonfire that was dangerously close to the wooden house. "Shame if it went up in smoke."

Willing Scott for inspiration, his brothers glanced between each other. He was about to give the signal to move in when someone pushed in front of him.

"Get out o' 'ere, Biggs."

It was Butch's father, wearing his Skulz leather jacket.

Biggs and the rest of the gang appeared surprised. "This where y' went, Wrench?"

"Yeah. Afta y' left me under the garage…" Wrench Crump gritted his teeth. "T' die."

This group, who he'd supported, and helped, and had literally laid blood, sweat and tears down in their service, had deserted him under the rubble. Yet the people behind him; people who lived the drudgery of a working life; people who barely knew him and could have rejected him; had fed and housed him. Even Jeff Tracy had made him feel welcome, when he'd had every right to distrust him.

"You're'll t' tuff t' die, Wrench," Biggs was claiming. "We knew y' be arlright."

"Di'cha?"

"Y' know 'ow it is. We're fam'ly. We stick together."

Wrench Crump knew all right. His "fam'ly" had pulled apart when the earthquake had hit. ACE had pulled together, wrapping him up in their circle. "I said: Get outta here," he repeated. "These people ain't done nothin' t' you."

"That so?" Biggs sneered. "I 'member you." He pointed a scarred and tattooed finger at Bruce Sanders. "Muzz's in jail 'cos of you."

"He never put Muzz in jail," Wrench corrected. "Muzz was gonna knife 'im. That's what pu' Muzz in jail."

"Y' think? I think 'e owes us." Glaring at Bruce, Biggs ran his thumb across his own throat. "Muzz'll be out in a coupla months. I'm sure he'd love to get reacquainted."

Bruce gulped, but managed to suppress the impulse to run screaming to someplace else.

"Y're a coward, Biggs," Wrench informed the man threatening not only the residence, but his granddaughter.

Biggs' face darkened. "I'ma what?"

"A coward," Wrench repeated. "Pickin' on people who ain't don nothin' t' ya, jus' cos they're weaker th'n you an' don' 'ave a gang behind 'em."

Biggs glared at him. "Wha' 'ppened t' ya, Wrench. Where'z ya loyalty."

"I'm loyal to those whoze loyal to me. These people 'ere," Wrench flicked his head at the group behind him, "elped me when ya left me dead."

"Loyal?" Biggs' glare became feral. "You turned traitor, Wrench. An' ya know wha' 'appens to traitors to the Skulz."

Once again fists were pounded into hands. More weaponry was produced. As one the gang took a step forward.

But Wrench Crump stood his ground. "You wou'dn'."

"Oh, yeah?" an underling jeered. "You gonna stop allofus?"

But Biggs held up his hand to stop them. "If Wrench is gonna stand with this lot of losers, then let 'im burn with this lot of losers…"

The torch dropped into the rubbish pile, which burst into life.

"Get the extinguishers!" Scott ordered and, obeying his own instruction, crashed through the door of the Mickelson's unit.

-F-A-B-

"Fire?" Olivia yelped, seeing sparks leap skywards.

Hamish released himself from his sling and, grimacing in discomfort, picked up the heaviest fire extinguisher. "We've got to stop it!"

"Hamish!" Edna exclaimed.

"I can't stay here and do nothing, and I'm not going to. Sorry, Edna."

Edna Mickelson was dismayed to see her husband disappear down the stairs. Then she pulled herself together. She wasn't going to let her man do battle against those mobsters alone.

Picking one of the remaining cylinders up she, closely followed by the rest of the group, followed Hamish down the stairs.

-F-A-B-

Having never been in any of the motel units since they were furnished, it took Scott a moment to find the required extinguisher. He emerged to a scene of chaos with no real sense of who was battling who.

Winston, Rex, and Bruce looked lost as if they didn't know what to do, where to go, or how to start. Greg was waving a saw about as if the engineer had invented a new use for it. "Where are the police?!"

"Never mind the police!" Rex yelped. "Call the fire department!"

The Watts family were, as Ashley Watts had anticipated, making use of their theoretical skills and doing battle against the gang. They seemed to be getting on like a house on fire, except that it was the building next to them that was threatening to go up in smoke.

Butch and Wrench Crump were lost somewhere in the middle of it all.

"Here!" Scott threw his extinguisher at Bruce. "Put the fire out!" He kicked out at a gang member who was bearing down on them, knuckle-duster held high.

Scott's brothers followed his lead, handing their canisters over to the less physical members of ACE and plunging into the melee.

Lady Penelope's former victim, theorising that there was strength in numbers, had decided that this was his opportunity to get his revenge. He picked up a length of chain and ran at her, swinging the heavy metal links above his head.

She dodged the chain that threatened to obliterate her face and looked about for some means of defence. It came in the form of the very downpipe that she'd rejected as a means of surprising the gang earlier. Wrenching a rusted section away from the house, she intercepted the biker's next assault. The chain's weight and momentum caused it to wrap around the pipe and, with a quick pull while the biker was off balance, Lady Penelope sent him skidding along the gravel.

He came to a stop at her feet.

"How delightful of you to deliver yourself to me," she told him. "And supplying your own wrapping as well?" His arms were pulled behind him and the chain twisted about his wrists. "Don't struggle and stay still like a good chap, and I shan't have to hurt you any more than I already am." Certain that with all that was going on, no one was paying attention to what she was doing, Lady Penelope pulled a knockout capsule from a hidden pocket in her dress and held it beneath the man's nose. As he slipped out of consciousness, the gang member's last words were an insult against her.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, and I have my birth and parents' marriage certificates to prove it."

Parker's fight was much more in the style of bare-knuckle brawling. His age may have been against him, but he'd learnt a few tricks in his misspent youth and he was employing them all now. A gang member hit the wall, his form briefly obliterated by the flames of the bonfire, and then he collapsed to the ground.

Parker grinned. "Jus' like h-old times."

Kyrano was handling a couple of gang members with equal ease, however his style was much less brute force and much more gentle defence. A biker was sent flying into one of his associates and both tumbled to the ground and lay there.

Kyrano gave them a little bow. "Please. Do not move," he suggested. "Pain is such a disagreeable sensation and I should not like to inflict more upon you."

-F-A-B-

"It's getting dreadfully stuffy in here," Alicia complained. "I'll open the window." She half crawled, half rolled out from under the drop cloth tent.

"Good idea," Mavis agreed. "Don't you think it's getting hot, Ginny?"

Ginny gave an emphatic nod, as Alicia, grunting as the warped wood refused to budge, pushed against the window frame.

Stopping for a breather, she tried again. "It won't move."

"Need a hand?" Mavis crawled out from where she was entertaining Ginny and ran her fingers around the window's frame. "If I push here…"

Together the two women placed their weight against the frame.

It moved a millimetre.

"Well, that's a start," Mavis mused. "Let's try again."

With a horrendous squeak, the window lurched outwards.

Alicia took a deep breath, allowing the cooling air to wash over her face. "That's better."

"I'll say." Mavis lowered her voice. "I wonder what's going on down there."

"It must be over soon. I hope they don't forget that we're up here."

"I'm sure Lisa won't."

Alicia took another deep breath. "Can you smell something?"

"Smell?" Mavis sniffed the air, aware of an odour acrider than the mouldy scent that filled the attic. "Yes, I can."

They looked at each other. "Smoke?"

-F-A-B-

Bruce pointed his fire extinguisher at the base of the bonfire that was threatening the house. But before he could squeeze the trigger a biker charged at him, a baseball bat held high. Startled, Bruce turned and blasted his attacker. A face full of chemical foam had the man staggering backwards, unable to continue his assault because of his stinging eyes and lungs.

Bruce looked at the cylinder. "I wish I'd had you last time." He turned back to the fire.

"I can't get it to work," Winston screamed, having a battle of his own with his fire extinguisher. He frantically tried to depress the trigger again, but the unit was lifeless.

"Give it 'ere," Gordon pulled the cylinder out of the draftsman's hands and spun it into the legs of a biker who was advancing on them with a murderous expression in his eyes. The man collapsed with a howl of pain.

Gordon depressed the cylinder's trigger and a stream of foam jettisoned out. "That's knocked it back into shape." He handed it back to Winston and plunged back into the fray.

On the other side of the courtyard, his brothers were in the thick of it.

"Hey!" John complained as a punch grazed his chest, sending his phone flying from his shirt's pocket. "That was a gift!" He parried away another punch, caught the gang man's arm, and used the biker's own momentum to flip him onto the ground. "You throw my things. I throw you."

He was knocked down by a blow to the back and rolled clear of another attack. Reaching out for his phone he let out a yell when someone jumped onto his arm. Grimacing as he dragged his phone to him, he rolled out from under his attacker and struggled back to his feet to defend himself against another assault.

Alan was being ganged up on by three bikers. He was just managing to hold them at bay when a fourth joined in, pinning his arms against his body, so the others were free to have their fun.

Desperate to minimise the chance of what could be a serious concussion or worse when a brute with a set of knuckledusters swung at his face, Alan rolled his head with the punch. His temple seemed to explode in pain and it was with some surprise and after seeing a lot of stars that he realised that he hadn't lost consciousness. He felt blood run down his cheek.

Struggling against the iron grip, he had almost decided that his options for self-defence were limited and that he probably should resign himself to a lot of pain when a dark-haired fury flew out of the crowd and flattened his captor.

His saviour rounded on the other gang members; hands raised defensively. "Two against four," Tin-Tin told the bikers. "I think that evens the odds, don't you, Alan?"

"Even?" Alan wiped away the blood on his face and succeeded in smearing it across his cheek. "I think the odds are in our favour."

Unfazed by their bravado, the largest of the bikers leered at the young woman. "I like you, sweetheart. You got spunk. Why don' you an' I go somewhere quieter an' get ta know each other better?" He gave a lecherous wink.

"Back off, Bozo," Alan growled. "She could eat you for breakfast and then make a model aircraft out of what remained before lunch." He blocked "Bozo's" fist which was heading for his still stinging head wound.

"Flatterer." Tin-Tin sent her knee into the groin of a second biker. With a scream, he collapsed to the ground. "Surely you mean dinnertime?"

"You're right…" With a slight shift of his own weight, Alan used the bigger man's bulk to send him flying onto the dirt. "Tanning hide takes time."

In the kitchen things weren't going quite as smoothly. Some of the bikers had taken advantage of the diversion created by the fight and the fire to gain access to the building. Smashed glass lay everywhere.

"Get out of here," Hamish snarled.

"Who's gonna make us?" one of the bikers taunted. "You?"

Hamish pulled himself up straight. "Yes."

"Get outta my way, old man." The biker pushed past him.

"Oh, no you don't!" The Skulz was hit full in the face by a stream from a fire extinguisher.

"Edna!" Hamish exclaimed, ducking clear of the castoff. He elbowed a second Skulz who was attempting to make an entrance.

"You don't think I'm going to stay up there, do you?" Edna let loose another blast of extinguishing foam as the biker took another step forward.

The gang member's leather boots lost traction on the slippery floor and he fell to the ground hard, only to find himself smothered by more foam. Choking, he dragged himself to the door and fresh air, sent on his way by a rap on the bottom with a wooden spoon.

Lisa and Olivia were equally as determined to protect the house and those in it. As more Skulz tried to climb in through the windows, they fired off their fire extinguishers, succeeding in beating the intruders back.

Temporarily.

Outside, Scott was holding his own until, caught off guard by an attack by one Skulz, he was head-butted in the chest by another. The blow knocked him backwards and he lay on the ground, dazed and gasping for breath. The first Skulz took advantage of his confusion to kick him once.

And again.

And again.

John, seeing the leg drawn back for another strike, threw himself at Scott's attacker with his shoulder. The man went skidding across the gravel as John, with a roundhouse kick, defended both Tracys against another biker. Glad for a moment's breather, he reached down and, using his uninjured hand, pulled his brother to his feet. "You okay?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah." He threw his elbow into another Skulz's throat. "Thanks."

"Just keepin' my promise." John blocked a punch.

Gordon had been punched against the concrete masonry of one of the motel units. Winded, he could only brace himself against the wall as he tried to steady himself.

"Get ready to feel some pain," his assailant snarled, his face inches away from Gordon's.

"Phew! Fido..." Gordon waved away the stench. "When was the last time you saw a dental hygienist?"

With a roar, the biker drew back a baseball bat and swung. Just in time, Gordon ducked clear and the bat slammed into the wall, splintering under the impact.

The bat was drawn back again for a second attempt.

Attempting to run clear of the assault, Gordon tripped over the legs of a Skulz who'd been KO'd by one of the Watts. The bat came down again, and he rolled clear, more splinters and dust flying up inches from his face. The bat descended once more, and Gordon whimpered as his solar plexus bore the full brunt. Unable to do more than curl up in an attempt to protect his belly from further assaults, he waited for the next blow.

"Leave 'im alone!" Alan leapt at his brother's assailant with both feet, sending the man flying into another biker who collapsed under the impact.

Keeping a wary eye on his surroundings, Alan knelt at Gordon's side. "You all right?"

"Yeah…" Gordon groaned as he sat up. "He couldn't take a joke."

"They're trying to kill us and you're joking with them?" Alan ducked a flying body.

"Yeah," Gordon repeated with a wry smile. "Isn't humour supposed to be a universal language of peace?"

"I thought that was music." Alan pulled his brother to his feet.

"Whatever it is, I wish the police would turn up before the final encore…"

-F-A-B-

"Where are the police?" Hamish was yelling into his cell phone.

"_I'm sorry, Sir, but they've been held up with a traffic accident,"_ an irritatingly calm emergency dispatcher told him.

Through what remained of a window, Hamish could see his friend's sons and allies. Kyrano was defending Tin-Tin's honour, sure that the four Skulz attacking them had a different kind of dominance in mind. Lady Penelope and Parker had laid waste to what seemed to be a never-ending parade of gang members with what had to be knockout pellets. Although they must have run out the way they were engaged in hand to hand combat. The Watts were holding their own, but discovering that real world fighting was a lot more brutal than on the mat.

And Hamish Mickelson could see that the Tracy brothers were bruised, battered... and cornered.

Scott, John, Gordon and Alan were waiting for the final deadly assault. The four of them formed an outwards facing square, each brother covering his other brothers' backs whilst facing over twenty Skulz – all of whom were armed and ready to attack and, and Hamish had no doubt of this, looking forward to the opportunity.

"People are getting hurt here!" he shouted into the phone. "Good people! What about the fire department?"

"_The fire department_ _has been despatched, Sir."_

"When will they get here?"

"_About ten minutes?"_

"Ten minutes?!" Hamish watched as Edna and Olivia emptied their fire extinguishers onto the flames licking around the door frame. "The place could be up in smoke by then."

"_I'm sorry, Sir. They are travelling to your location as quickly as they can."_

There was a scream from the other side of the room.

Hamish looked past Lisa Crump's frightened face to a horrific scene outside. "Tell them to hurry before someone's killed! And send ambulances," he demanded and hung up the phone.

Despite the fire, the Skulz were making another assault on the kitchen.

"Spray them!"f Hamish ordered, directing the last contents of his fire extinguisher at a trespassing gang member.

"The extinguishers are empty!" Edna yelled. "We can't fight the fire…" A Skulz made another attempt to gain access through a window. "Or them!" She threw her cylinder at the human menace.

"Then get out of here!"

"What about Ginny, Mavis and Alicia?"

If there was one thing that Hamish was good at, it was making quick decisions. "Then get them and get out. Meet us at the hospital!" Using his spent cylinder like a battering ram, and with a yell that Jeff Tracy would have recognised, he charged through the back door.

A Skulz, with a grunt as all the air in his lungs was punched out of him, collapsed into another, and Hamish, cylinder swinging ferociously, plunged into the fighters that were surrounding the Tracys…

Biggs and Butch were locked in combat. A battle that seemed destined to end in serious injury or death as Biggs was holding a knife the size of a machete.

It was stained red.

The two men rolled on the ground, dust and gravel flying as they each tried to get the upper hand and control of that murderous weapon.

There was a furious roar and a cry of: "Leave my son alone!" and Wrench Crump leapt onto Biggs.

The machete flashed through the air.

It cut into the ground in a shower of dust next to Butch's ear and Wrench took the opportunity to try to wrest it from Biggs. He grabbed the handle.

"Getoff!" Biggs grunted. "Leggo, Wren…"

"You're not gonna hurt 'im."

"Gimmee the knife!"

"You're not hurtin' anyone!"

"Traitor!"

Wrench Crump hauled the machete out of Biggs hands and flung it far away from the fight. "You're the traitor! You traitored me!" He was shunted backwards into a wall when his former friend and leader went for his throat.

"You're dead, Wrench!" Biggs screamed, both men falling to the ground as he squeezed his hands around the older man's neck…

Olivia stared up at the access hatch in the ceiling. "Where's the rope?"

"I don't know." Edna started looking about her. "Find something we can stand on."

"Here!" Olivia found a chair. "Let me," she said, when the older woman went to step up. She climbed up herself and banged on the hatch. "Mrs Harrison! Auntie Alicia! Open the door!"

They could hear noises from above them. There was a banging sound.

"Mavis!" Edna called. "Open the hatch."

"We can't!" There was a loud thump above them. "It's jammed."

Olivia and Edna were sure they could smell smoke and feel the heat of flames…

-F-A-B-

Wrench Crump's world was going dark.

"Dad!" Butch, having only just got his father back into his life, wasn't going to let anyone take him away again. He lurched himself to his feet, hooked his arms under Biggs', and pulled him off, throwing him onto the dirt. "Dad," he repeated and held out his hand to help his father to his feet. "You arlright, Dad?"

"I'm arlright, Butch."

This time it was Butch who was attacked by Biggs' assault. Roaring with anger, the big man spun about, trying to throw the gang boss free as the latter clung to his back and attempted to get his arm around his neck.

There was a: "You leave him alone!" and Butch collapsed when the weight he was carrying appeared to increase tenfold. He rolled out from under Biggs to discover that someone had come to his aid.

"Lisa!"

Lisa thumped at Biggs' back and clawed his face. "How dare you hurt Butch!"

The bigger and stronger Biggs threw her clear and Lisa hit the ground like a rag doll tossed by a petulant toddler.

She lay still.

"Liesel!" Butch cried. Bulldozing Biggs away, he rushed to his wife's aid. "Lisa!"

Biggs reached down to his boot. When he withdrew his hand, something glittered in it...

"Greg!" Hamish Mickelson found ACE's charge hand. A man who'd managed to avoid serious injury by virtue of the saw that he still clung to and which the Skulz were too scared to attempt to pull off him. "Go help Mavis."

"Where is she?"

Adrenaline anesthetising his sore shoulder, Hamish swung the cylinder at an advancing Skulz. "In the attic with Ginny and Alicia. Edna and Olivia have gone to get them. Get them all out before the place catches fire! Meet you at the hospital!"

"Lisa...?" Butch held his wife's hand. "Liesel, say something!"

Lisa gasped a welcoming breath of air. "B-Butch?"

"Lisa?"

Lisa sat up slowly. "I'm all right."

"Are ya?"

Lisa nodded. And then paled as she looked past her husband to the fire that was hunting up the house's external walls. "Ginny!" She grabbed Butch's arm. "She's in the attic! You've got to save her!"

Fired up by more than his wife's fear, Butch charged for the house. "Outta my way!" he bellowed, fist flying as a lower-level gangman attempted to stop him.

The gangman was knocked sideways and hit the ground. He lay there.

He wasn't moving.

Biggs saw what he perceived to be an attack on his son. With a scream of "Dole!" followed by a "You're dead, Crump!" he drew back his arm.

Sunlight glinted.

It was Wrench who saw the threat that was coming for Butch. With no time to do anything else, he pushed the younger man clear and felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder as his son sprawled onto the ground.

Wrench looked down.

Protruding from below his left collar bone was the hilt of a stiletto knife. Bemused by how little pain he was feeling, Wrench pulled the knife clear of his shoulder.

Biggs laughed.

The distant sound of sirens could be heard above yells and the raging fire.

"Cops!" Biggs yelled. Forgetting his subordinates and his son, he ran for his motorbike, leapt on board, and gunned it.

Seeing their leader set that example, more Skulz decided that the odds were no longer in their favour. The sound of roaring motorbikes became almost deafening as they fled, leaving some of their associates and a burning building in their wake.

A building that had its back door almost hidden behind flames.

-F-A-B-

"Mavis!"

"Greg?" The response was muffled by the floor above them. "Is that you?"

"What happened to the rope?"

"We didn't want the… anyone to realise we were here, so we pulled it up with the ladder."

Greg cursed. "Olivia! Get the tool kit out of the closet," he ordered. "And find out how long we've got before the fire takes hold."

Edna caught his arm. "I can hear sirens! Perhaps it's the fire department?"

"And everyone else?" Greg looked back up at the square in the ceiling above him. "Stand clear of the hatch. I'm going to try to cut through the lock." Squeezing his saw through the gap he began cutting…

-F-A-B-

"Ginny!" Butch bellowed. He made another dash for the house.

"Keep back!" Scott pulled him clear. "You can't go in there!"

"But Ginny…"

"Where is she?"

Butch pointed to the attic.

"Get more extinguishers!" Scott ordered, directing his brothers in the direction of the motel units that hadn't already been plundered of their firefighting gear.

"I'll get the Odonata's!" John disappeared into the overgrown path leading to the tennis courts as, ignoring their aches and pains, the others obeyed.

Trying to remember the layout of the complex, Scott found an outside tap, turned it on, and pointed the attached hose at the base of the fire. He was joined by fire extinguishers held by Gordon, Alan, the team from ACE, and finally John.

Steam and smoke mingled and rose up into the air.

Police cars pulled up and officers got out, dragging their extinguishers with them.

Mortified by how little he could do to help, and with his eyes glued to the building's top floor, Butch staggered back to where his wife was standing, horrified by what appeared to be an inferno before them. "Ginny…"

"Sh'll be arl right, Butch. They'll save 'er." Wrench attempted to slip out of his jacket. "Help me outta m' leathers." He grimaced as his son obeyed. "Hold i'."

"Hold i'?" Butch held the jacket at arm's length. "Why?"

"Otha way 'round."

Butch reversed the jacket so the emblazoned Skulz logo was facing his father.

Biggs' knife was weighing heavy in his hand, but Wrench raised it high. Bringing it down again he ripped a hole through the bony face. He attempted to shred the image a second time, failing as his strength left him. The knife fell to the ground.

Butch caught his father as the older man's legs buckled. "Dad…!" He looked up at his wife. "Lisa!"

"Butch! Mr Crump!"

"'m 'kay…" But Wrench Crump's world was growing dark.

"Dad…" Butch whimpered as his father went limp in his arms. "Wha's wrong?"

"Jus'… It's jus' a scratch… Had worse."

"Scratch?"

"Look afta that fam'ly of yours. L'k afta Ginny…"

"Butch!" Lisa pulled a paint-stained rag from out of her pocket. "He's hurt!" She pressed it against the wound. "Bruce!" she screamed. "We need first aid!"

Butch looked bewildered. "Hurt?"

"Do not distress yourself, Butch. Remain calm."

More stunned than frightened, the big man looked up when he heard the cultured voice.

Lady Penelope crouched down next him. "Do not fear. He will be cared for."

"She's right, Butch, we'll look after him," Bruce reassured his friend. He opened a first aid kit that he'd grabbed from a unit. "Lie him on the ground."

Obeying both instructions, Butch stood back.

"Come with me, Mister Crump," Parker suggested, as Bruce replaced Lisa's rag with something cleaner and continued to apply pressure to the wounded shoulder. "Let them look after your ol' man."

Feeling lost, the former gang initiate stepped back to give his friend room to work. His hand felt wet and he looked at it.

It was red with blood.

With a moan, Butch Crump collapsed.

"Lummee," Parker exclaimed. "H-I didn't think 'e was 'urt."

Tin-Tin gave the downed man a quick examination. "I can't see any wounds."

"Probably fainted," Bruce hypothesised. "Put him into the recovery position." He glanced at the woman hovering on the other side of his patient. "Why don't you look after Butch, Lisa? I'll take care of Mr Crump."

"Okay." With a worried look at her father-in-law, Lisa scurried over to her husband.

Tin-Tin took her place. "If he was unhurt," she asked Bruce, raising Wrench Crump's feet, "why should he faint?"

"He hates the sight of blood."

"Oh."

There was a flurry of activity over by the house as those fighting the fire redoubled their efforts.

Butch moaned, and Lisa ran her fingers through his hair. "Butch… Darling… Can you hear me?"

"L… Liesel."

"I'm here."

Butch slowly sat up. "Dad?"

"He's being looked after. Don't worry." But despite her reassuring words, Lisa looked across at the pale man on the ground and wondered at the truth of what she said.

She was relieved when, carrying a medical bag, an ambulance officer hurried over to the group. "Let me look at him."

"Come with me, Honey."

"But… Dad…"

Lisa pulled her husband clear to prevent him from seeing anything he'd regret.

"There's a puncture wound in the vicinity of the left clavicle," Bruce explained as he gave the medical officer space to work. He indicated the stiletto. "That's the weapon."

"He's lucky the wound wasn't lower. If that had punctured his heart…"

There were more sirens as the fire brigade arrived and there was a brief period of hectic activity before the fire was finally extinguished and the Tracys were free to join the group from ACE.

Long enough for Wrench Crump to regain consciousness.

Scott Tracy crouched down next to the figure prepped up on a stretcher, ready to be transported to the hospital. "Thank you for your help, Sir. I don't think things would have turned out quite the same it hadn't been for you."

Wrench managed a weak, but gracious, smile.

Keen to put the man who'd injured his father behind bars, Butch started on his recollections. "Biggs was gonna knife Dad with a machete."

The policeman got his notebook out. "And Biggs is…?"

"Th' leader of th' Skulz. 'Til Muzz's released."

"Released?"

"From prison." Butch spread out his hands. "Th' machete was this big."

"From where I was standing it looked bigger." Hamish slid his aching arm into his sling. "And I thought it was covered in blood." Grimacing as the injured muscle pulled, he pointed with his good arm to a void next to a spilt tin of scarlet paint. "Fortunately, it wasn't."

"Biggs… Was gonna knife… Butch…" Wrench Crump gasped. "I… stopped… him."

He let out a gasp of pain when he was almost throttled by an unexpected tackle.

It was his daughter-in-law.

"You saved Butch's life!" Sobbing in relief, Lisa Crump was doing the one thing she'd never done before. She was hugging her father-in-law. "Thank you!"

"Miss…" It was the ambulance officer. "Let him go, please, Miss."

With a final "Thank you," Lisa did as she was told. While the stretcher began its journey over the rough ground to the ambulance, she pulled her husband towards their unit. "Get our coats, Butch. We'll meet the ambulance at the hospital."

"Wha' 'bout Ginny?"

Lisa froze, horrified that she'd forgotten her daughter.

"Ginny?" Gordon frowned. "Where is she?"

Her face ashen, Lisa turned towards to the blackened house.

Both parents were relieved to see Greg Harrison, accompanied by Olivia and the older ladies, carry the young girl down the driveway towards them. "Ginny!"

Greg grinned. "She's all right. It's been a big adventure. Hasn't it, Ginny?"

Ginny giggled and reached out to accept her mother's relieved hug. "You dirty."

"I know, Darling… Your… Grandpop's sick, so we're going to the hospital to see him."

"Sick like 'ncle Virgil?"

"Um, sorry, Ma'am," the police officer apologised. "But we need you to make a statement. We'll take yours first so that you can go with your… Um…" He glanced at the figure being loaded into the ambulance.

"Father-in-law…" Lisa looked the officer in the eye as if daring him to say anything to the contrary. "He's my father-in-law."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Giving statements was the last thing anyone wanted to do, but, wishing they were free to have a shower and get some sleep, no one complained as they told their versions of the events of the last hour. It seemed to take forever.

Finally, the police were thanked for their assistance, waved goodbye, and the property's residents allowed themselves to wonder if the ordeal was finally over.

Wincing as his shoulder complained, Hamish turned to his young friends. "You boys will probably want to rest before you head over to the hospital. What time did you get up this morning?"

John, cradling his bandaged, but fortunately only bruised and not broken arm, gave a shrug. He was unwilling to tell those not in the know exactly what time they'd flown out in case that led onto more unwanted queries. On top of that he'd answered enough questions to last him today, if not his lifetime, and had lost his precious phone to a policeman who wanted to take a copy of the video. "Early."

Gordon yawned. "It feels like days ago."

"You mean it wasn't?" Alan scratched at the plaster on the side of his face. There'd been one hairy moment, when Butch had seen the dried blood before he'd been patched up, but Lisa had led her husband away before he collapsed.

"Scott…?" Edna lay her hand on his arm. "Are you feeling all right? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm all…" _All right_ Scott was going to say, but a lack of wellbeing made him change his mind. Something appeared to be pressing down on him and he put his hand to his chest. "I…" He breathed heavily.

"Scott?" John put out his unbandaged hand to support his brother. "What's wrong?"

Bruce's first aid training snapped back into action. "What are you feeling? Pain?"

"No." Scott shook his head. He was feeling cold, clammy, aching from the many bruises and exhausted. "Not really. More like… More like pressure."

"In your chest?"

"Yes."

"Anywhere else?"

Scott knew where Bruce was heading with his questioning and wished he wasn't. Especially as he wasn't one hundred percent sure that the first aider wasn't on the right track. "Arm… My left arm." Feeling light-headed, he crouched down, hanging onto John for support. Bruce, he knew, was doing just what he'd do if their circumstances were reversed. Except that Bruce was too young and fit to experience this particular problem.

But so was Scott Tracy… Plus he was unaware of any genetic dispositions towards heart trouble in his family.

"Anywhere else?" Bruce repeated. "Your jaw?"

"Ah… No… Not really," Scott said, wondering why no one was considering the alternative reason why he was sinking slowly toward the dirt.

"Sit on the ground," Bruce instructed. "Let him use you as a backrest, John," he added and then realised who he was talking to. "Why have I taken over? You guys probably know more than I do."

"You're leaving us free to panic." Gordon looked anything but panicky as he, with a worried frown, crouched by his stricken brother. "You carry on."

Hamish got out his phone. "Do you want us to call the ambulance back?"

"Yes." Bruce nodded.

"NO!" Scott protested. "I'm not… I'm not having a heart attack."

"Probably not," Bruce soothed. "But it won't hurt for you to be checked out… Just in case."

"No." Scott shook his head. "I'll be all right. Just give… ah, me a moment."

"Scott…" Alan was standing at Bruce's shoulder holding a clearly concerned Tin-Tin. "Maybe you should… Just in case."

"I'm fine, Alan."

"But…"

"_What's going on?!"_

Ignoring everyone's looks of concern, Scott leant on John's knee and pushed himself to his feet. He stood, feeling slightly unsteady. "What's happened to Virgil?"

His father and grandmother were both pale. Brains, almost hiding behind them, seemed unwilling to look at anyone.

"He, ah, he had complications," Jeff explained. "They think it might be something to do with his heart."

There was a numb silence. Some of the group wondering at how unlucky this family was to experience two similar cases simultaneously, whilst others chided themselves for not understanding.

"His heart…" Gordon seemed to be the first to find his voice. "What do you mean something to do with his heart?"

"I mean… He's developed complications. His body's been through a lot these last few days."

"He's had a heart attack?" Alan squeaked.

"W-W-We don't know." Brains looked apologetic. "I-I I'm no expert in cardiology, s-s-so I thought it would be b-b-better if I w-wasn't in the cardiologist's way."

Grandma was standing tall, but there was the faintest quiver in her voice. "And they wouldn't let us stay with him while they're examining him."

Jeff put his arm about her. "We were going to stay in the waiting room, but we thought we might learn more by tapping into John's communication feed." He watched as John's hand automatically went to his pocket.

"The cops have got my phone. I'll have to get my tablet from inside." He hurried away.

"Cops?" Jeff frowned. But his question, when repeated, was directed at his eldest son. "What's going on?"

Scott obliged him. "We had a visit from the Skulz."

"The Skulz? Mr Crump's gang?" Jeff's frown of concern deepened. He looked almost frightened as he glanced between his family, friends, and associates, seeing bandages, bruises, cuts, bloodstains, soot, and torn and dirty clothes.

"Relax, Dad," Alan reassured him. "He told them to leave and then helped us send them packing."

"You mean the police sent them packing," Gordon corrected. "Mr Crump got stabbed by the ringleader."

"Stabbed? Is he seriously hurt?"

The Tracys allowed Bruce to answer. "I don't think so, but you can never tell. He may have some underlying medical condition that will affect him."

"Is Butch with him?"

"Yes. And Lisa and Ginny. Lisa thinks he's a hero now."

"He is a hero," Hamish agreed. "That knife was intended for Butch. If it hadn't been for his father pushing him out of the way, you and I would have been looking for another production worker, Jeff."

Having more personal concerns, Mrs Tracy turned to Scott. "Do we need to ask what's wrong with you?"

He shook his head. "No, Grandma. I'm fine."

"But…" Bruce began to protest, but was silenced when Hamish laid a hand on his shoulder… And bemused by the rest of the Tracys' acceptance of this statement.

"Everyone's tired and filthy, Jeff," the older man began. "If you can wait until we're washed and rested, we'll be able to give you a more coherent explanation."

"I'm not resting until John's told us how Virgil is," Alan protested. "Where's your tablet?"

John had returned. Balancing the tablet on his injured arm he began tapping away.

"Wouldn't you all rather be sitting down?" Grandma queried and, before anyone could stop her, led the way inside.

She stopped, as horrified as her son by the damage and the smell. "What happened?!"

"The ivy covering the building caught fire. Just be glad this place is made from fire retardant materials," Hamish advised. "And that an inspector is on the way. We'll soon know if the building's still structurally sound."

Gordon kicked at a spent fire extinguisher. It rolled across the floor sounding empty and useless. "We'd better get these refilled."

"Replaced," Edna amended. "Some were used for more than extinguishing fires."

John's tablet told them nothing that they didn't already know, and everyone retired to the showers, Jeff suggesting that Scott and John use the downstairs communal bathroom allowing Alan and Gordon free reign of the one on their floor.

But no one was keen to retire to bed once they'd removed the grime of the morning's events from their skin and hair, and the building assessor had given the structure the all clear.

Gordon descended from upstairs with care. "Any word on Virgil?"

"Mr Tracy is outside, speaking into the phone," Kyrano told him. "Perhaps he will have news."

"Outside?"

"He does not care for the smell. It makes him cough."

"Ah."

The family endured a five-minute wait before Jeff returned to the smoke damaged room. "I'm going to get this place professionally cleaned and deodorised as well as re-clad." He sneezed.

"Never mind that," Alan complained. "How's Virgil?"

"It wasn't a heart attack. They've diagnosed a virus."

"In other words, they don't know what the problem is and what caused it."

"Right." Ignoring the sideways looks that were directed towards Scott, Jeff pocketed his phone. "Because they think it's a virus they're isolating him."

Grandma threw down the cloth she'd been using to scrub the kitchen bench. "Isolating him? What does that mean?"

"It means they're not allowing any visitors. We can't see him until he's been given the all clear." Seeing that Gordon was about to protest he held up his hand. "I've instructed them to make sure that he can hear his music until we can talk to him again. Now…" He looked at his family, seeing the lines of exhaustion in their faces. "… as much as I need to hear the full story, I think you'd better go to bed. If we get any news, we'll be sure to wake you."

Realising that this was the best course of action, everyone obeyed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

As he had over the last few nights since the earthquake Scott found it difficult dropping off and once he managed to slumber he slept fitfully. After three hours, he decided that he was wasting his time and that he may as well give up any thoughts of sleep.

He opened his eyes to find his father sitting there.

"Virgil!" He sat up quickly, wincing as his body resisted the action.

"Relax." Jeff laid a stabilising hand on his son's shoulder. "He's fine… Relatively speaking… At the moment, I'm more worried about you."

"'m 'kay," Scott mumbled.

"Are you sure? Bruce was concerned."

Just managing to stop himself from snapping an angry retort at his father, Scott looked at Jeff. "You don't need to worry about me. That chest thing was just a bruise acting up. See?" He lifted his shirt and it was his father's turn to wince when he saw the mark on his son's torso.

"That looks painful."

"Only when I laugh and I'm not in a laughing mood. What's the time?"

Jeff checked his watch. "A little after twelve. Grandma's making lunch."

"Good." Scott threw off his bedclothes and swung his legs off the bed. "I'm starving."

At this tiny indicator of normality, Jeff relaxed a little. "I'll leave you to get dressed." He stood. "See you downstairs… And Scott…"

Reaching for his shirt, Scott stopped. "Yes?"

"I want a full debriefing after lunch, including the rescue."

Scott had all but forgotten the reason behind their early morning start.

"Are you okay with that?"

Wondering about the question, Scott nodded. "Sure… Tell Grandma I'll be down shortly."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Debriefing, as promised, began straight after lunch in the room that everyone hoped would someday be Virgil's.

"Here are your phones," Jeff handed each instrument to its owner. "The police brought them back. They've made copies of the videos, which I'll want to see myself."

"Are you sure?" Sitting down with care, Gordon groaned as his body felt the effects of the fight. "We didn't exactly cover ourselves in glory. We stink…"

"Speak for yourself," Alan complained as he lowered himself into a chair. "Some of us have showered more than once." He rubbed at the bandage on his face until a warning glare from his grandmother told him to stop.

"I mean the four of us couldn't achieve what Virgil had to do on his own."

John was equally circumspect as he claimed his seat. "To be fair he needed the cops turning up to save him as much as we did." He sat back and then decided that he'd be more comfortable leaning forward. He looked at the object in his hand. "My new phone's scratched."

"By the looks of you, it's not only your phone."

"I know." John scraped at a mark that ran down the side of his face.

"Leave it alone," his grandmother warned. "It needs to heal."

"How are you, Penny? Parker?" Alan asked as the couple joined the group.

"Quite acceptable," Lady Penelope reassured him. "And you?"

"Feel like I've been beaten up by a motorcycle gang."

"Do you want us present for the initial debriefing, Jeff?" Lady Penelope enquired. "Your sons may feel more comfortable if outsiders weren't present."

"You're not outsiders," Jeff corrected. "And we're in a new, untested, situation here. If there are any issues with security, you may be able to offer suggestions."

"Very well." Lady Penelope accepted the chair that Parker held out for her. He chose a seat a little behind hers, next to Kyrano and Tin-Tin.

It was time to begin. Scott let John speak first, detailing how he heard the call for help and what the emergency was. How he'd woken Scott first and how International Rescue's rescue co-ordinator had given his orders to wake the others while he prepared the Odonata.

Then it was Gordon's turn. He spoke of the flight from Barduq to the rescue zone, peppering his recitation with moments of humour to try and lighten the mood. None of the Tracy sons were sure how the next scene was going to play out.

Scott didn't say anything when it was time to detail the actual rescue. Instead he indicated that Alan should be the one to speak. The younger man did so clearly, accurately, and succinctly; detailing events without histrionics, self-promotion, or accusations.

Finally, they were on the metaphorical flight home.

Jeff fixed his youngest son with a steely gaze. "And do you think your actions were sound, Alan?"

It was time for Scott to speak. "We had that debriefing on the return journey. There's nothing more that needs to be said."

Alan stared at him.

Jeff looked unconvinced, but didn't continue his line of inquiry. Instead with a "Hamish has given me the basics" he asked for a more detailed account of the fight. This brought the entire family group into the discussion, aided by John linking their phones to a larger screen, so everyone could witness events.

Jeff watched without comment, only breaking his silence when the last video had played, and recollections reached the moment where he and his mother arrived on the scene.

He sat back. "Knowing that you're all alright doesn't make hearing and seeing this any easier." He fixed his gimlet gaze on Scott. "It does reinforce one thing though."

Scott had a sudden uneasy feeling.

"Scott, these last few hours have given me time to think and I've come to a decision… But it's not one you're going to like."

The uneasiness intensified.

"I'm going to have to take you off the team."

"What?"

Scott listened in disbelief as his father outlined his reasons. "It's not because I have any issues with you and your performance. But what I do have is concerns that you are too closely connected to Virgil. If something happens to you it affects him… And vice versa."

"But…"

"I know you understand that at the moment my priority – our priority – is his wellbeing. Your telepathic link is a threat to that."

"What? But…"

"If Brains could quantify it in some way…"

The scientist shrunk back when his name was mentioned.

"…so we could negate any threat I wouldn't hesitate to retain you. These thoughts wouldn't even be crossing my mind. But we don't have that ability and I can't take that risk. Not with Virgil's health. Or yours, or that of your brothers, or the victims you're trying to save."

"What?" Scott tried to get his head around what was being said. "The health of victims? My brothers' health?" He indicated the younger men about him who were trying to look anywhere but at him. "Why?!"

"If something were to happen to Virgil and it affected you while you were on a rescue, it could endanger other's lives."

"I wouldn't let that happen!"

"I know you wouldn't want to, but you may have no say in the matter." Jeff's voice was rising. "Look at how you were when your grandmother and I returned from the hospital."

"I could handle that!" Desperate not to be beaten, Scott also grew louder.

"Could you? You were feeling unwell enough to be sitting on the ground and Bruce was looking after you!"

"Because I had nothing else to focus on! At a rescue, I've got a rescue to focus on! I've got the victims to focus on! I've got my brothers' health and wellbeing to focus on!"

"It's a still a risk and it's a risk we can't afford to take!"

"There's no risk!"

There was a quiet knock on the door. Hamish Mickelson poked his head inside.

Jeff scowled at him. "Hamish?"

"Please accept my apologies for intruding, but I thought you should know that these walls aren't soundproof. Not everyone here knows everything. And…" A loud whine was heard behind him. "The cleaners are here."

With a nod of acceptance, Jeff thanked him, and he withdrew.

Jeff turned back to one of his sons. "What are you doing, John?"

John looked up from where he was writing something into his phone. "Making a note to get this room soundproofed." He pointed at the window. "They can probably hear us outside too."

"Right." Jeff took a breath to try to bring his emotions, and volume, back under control. "I'm sorry, Scott."

"You're going to make the decision unilaterally?" Determined to rally some support, Scott turned to his second youngest brother. "Gordon. You don't agree, do you?"

"I…" Gordon hesitated, unwilling to voice what he thought. "I… agree…" He looked away. "With Dad."

Scott stared at him. "You agree?"

"I thought I'd lost Virgil once." Gordon's voice was quiet. "I don't want to risk going through that again. I don't want _us_ to go through that again."

"Never mind us. What about the people we're unable to save because we don't have a full crew available? Tin-Tin doesn't have the skills and experience to take my place."

Gordon didn't reply.

Scott turned to the brother at his side. "John?"

"Scott, I'm sorry…" John couldn't even look at him. "I promised Virgil that I'd look out for you, but I have to look out for him too. If you were injured, the shock might be too much for him. And if keeping him, and you, alive means not having you as part of the team… Then…"

Scott sat in shock and, bizarrely, close to tears; the apparent betrayal by his family hurting more than a blow from a member of the Skulz. Hit by the cold realisation of how much everything that had happened over the last few days and lack of sleep was affecting him, he told himself to man up and accept that, whatever decision was made, it was made with the intention of keeping future victims, International Rescue, the family and, most importantly, Virgil safe and well. He could accept that.

Couldn't he?

"Scott…" his father was saying, "I know this isn't what you want. It's not what we want either…"

His head down, Scott didn't see the unanimous nods around the room.

"…but I'm sure you agree with the rest of us that it's for the best."

No matter how stern he was with himself; no matter how many times he told himself that this was the right decision and it was for the best; Scott couldn't agree.

"I don't agree."

Surprised, everyone turned to look at Alan.

A familiar stubborn look was cemented onto the youngest Tracy's face. "I don't agree," he repeated.

"Alan?" Jeff faced his youngest son. "Explain your reasoning."

"We all know that Scott has a pathological need to be in control. Right?"

Normally Scott would have offered up some kind of complaint at this statement, but he chose to say nothing.

"And the hypothesis is that Scott and Virgil get that telepathy thing going whenever Virgil's frightened or Scott's out of control. And Scott will be out of control if we're out at a rescue and he's sitting back here, unable to control what's happening to us. I think he'll have more control over himself and less stress at Mobile Control where he's controlling what we're all doing."

Gordon rubbed his head. "I think you've just given me a headache to go with all my other aches and pains."

Alan turned back to his father and grandmother. "When did Virgil's 'virus'," he mimed the quotation marks, "start?"

Grandma frowned. "What do you mean: when did they start?"

"How long before you were kicked out and came back here to see Scott flaked out on the ground…"

This was too much. "I hadn't 'flaked out'. I was conscious the whole time!"

Alan ignored the interruption. "… did Virgil's heart thing start?"

"Oh…" Grandma looked at her son. "I don't know. What do you say, Jeff? Half an hour?"

"About that."

"Okay. So, Scott being beaten up by a gang of thugs had no effect on Virgil. There's your _if Scott's_ _injured Virgil's gonna die_ theory blown out of the water, because the beating happened at least an hour before you found us. When Virgil had his attack, we were giving statements to the police."

Jeff made no comment. "Go on."

"Scott's 'attack'," more mimed quotation marks, "started, what, ten minutes before you got here?" Alan looked to Scott for confirmation.

"Yes."

"So, at a guess, the moment Scott started to feel whatever was wrong with him, you two were arguing with the medical staff because they were asking you to leave and you were determined not to. Nothing Scott did, or had done to him, affected Virgil, and vice versa. Sure, I think we need to get Tin-Tin out to more emergencies to cover for Virgil, but I think kicking Scott off the team is an unsubstantiated knee-jerk reaction, and one that's more dangerous than maintaining the status quo." Alan folded his arms. "That's what I think." He sat back to await the response.

Brains leant forward. "S-So what do you think caused Scott's 'attack', Alan? Scott?"

But it was John who answered. "Scott was decked by a head-butt to the chest and then kicked, weren't you, Scott?"

"Yes."

"It was a nasty blow," Jeff confirmed. "I've seen the bruise."

Grandma tutted her disapproval.

"Except it wasn't that that…" Scott couldn't think of the appropriate words. "…that caused the reaction. It was Virgil."

"I've been speaking up for you," Alan told him. "Are you trying to undermine me?"

"No. Just speaking the truth. I think that what Alan said is right, except that once I had a chance to relax and didn't have anything important to focus on, that's when it hit me… Kind of a delayed reaction."

His father still didn't look happy. "What about on the flight home in Thunderbird One? Do you relax then?"

"One's still on Tracy Island." Scott reminded him. "But I do think that we ought to collect her. We've got to stick as close to normal procedures as possible to minimise errors."

Giving a slow nod, Jeff considered all that had been said. "All right, Scott, I'll reverse my decision – on one condition. You don't pilot a plane on the flight home, and if you do you ensure that someone capable of taking over is close by on the flight deck with you. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And if something happens that blows all our theories out of the water you're off the team until such a time when Virgil's not at risk."

"Agreed."

"Anyone else have anything to say?"

"No."

"Nope."

"No, Mr Tracy."

"I'm comfortable with that."

"I think that's the right decision."

"We need Scott bossing us around."

As International Rescue filed out of the room, Scott pulled Alan to one side. "Thank you."

Alan shrugged. "I did what I thought was best for the team."

"But…" Scott stopped pointing out that Alan would have had every reason to get revenge for the scolding he'd received earlier. "Thanks."

The lounge was a hive of activity as masked and hazardous material-suited people buzzed about, cleaning away the extinguisher chemicals, soot, and other residues.

Hamish sauntered over to his friend. "Everything okay?"

Jeff managed a grim smile. "We're okay… Thank you for the warning."

"Not a problem." Hamish shifted his sling and winced.

"Is that arm still hurting you?"

Hamish gave a one shouldered shrug that didn't look as casual as he'd hoped. "I might have pulled the muscle a little bit."

"Hamish…"

"I'm all right, Jeff. You've got enough to worry about. Forget about me."

"That's easier said than done. And what about Edna?" Jeff looked across to where Edna Mickelson was directing the cleaners. That her attention wasn't fully focussed on her task was evidenced by the way she kept on glancing at her husband. "She's worried about you."

"I'll tell her she doesn't need to."

Jeff coughed. "Let's get out of here. I need the fresh air."

"Good idea. We've spread some blankets on the lawn. Or we could take out some of these…" Hamish went to pick up one of the dining table chairs.

With a warning look, Jeff took it from him. "You're not lifting anything you can't do one handed." He picked up another chair with his other arm.

The two men exited the front door into fine sunlight.

"Mr Tracy!" Olivia ran over to his side and took one of the chairs from him. "Let me."

"I can manage it."

"I know, but you'll bruise your shins if you carry two." Olivia lowered her voice. "Can you do something for Bruce, Mr Tracy?"

"If possible."

"He's scared. The Skulz threatened him because of the evidence he gave last time. He needs protection, but he doesn't know how to get it and he doesn't want to ask."

"I've already contacted a security company," Jeff reassured her. "They'll stand guard until we can come up with a more substantial, less obtrusive security system for this place."

"Good. But Olivia's smile was unsure. "But what about when he leaves here? He can't stay locked inside, as nice as it is. It would be like a prison."

"Let me take that," the object of their discussion claimed the chair off his girlfriend.

"I'm expecting security experts to arrive at three," Jeff told Bruce. "I'm going to ask them to discuss with you what security precautions you need to take."

"Oh…" Bruce scowled at Olivia who blushed. "I don't want to cause trouble, Mr Tracy."

"You'll cause more trouble if Virgil hears that his friend got into trouble because I didn't take the trouble to help him." Jeff frowned at his words. "I sound like Alan."

His companions didn't understand.

"Well…" Bruce didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Mr Tracy."

"Have you heard how Mr Crump is?"

"Wrench?" Bruce corrected. "He's over there." He pointed to a blanket where the four Crumps were seated together. He took Jeff's chair, which was promptly taken from him by Olivia.

Leaving the couple to the mild argument that sprung up over who could carry what, Jeff wandered over to the blanket. "I'm glad that you're feeling better, Mr Crump."

Ignoring the pain from the pulling stitches, Crump Senior scrambled to his feet. "'Ello, Mr Tracy."

"Call me Jeff."

Crump Senior started at the unexpected privilege. "Thanks. Erm… My name's Wrench, I mean," he looked embarrassed, "Ariel. My name's Ariel."

"And what would you prefer me to call you?"

The former Skulz member looked surprised at this gesture of respect. "Wrench."

"Very well. My family's just told me everything that happened, Wrench, and I want to thank you for all you did. It can't have been easy. It must have been like fighting your family."

"Th' Skulz ain't my fam'ly." Wrench Crump looked over his shoulder to where Butch and Lisa were quietly reading and playing with Ginny. "They're m' fam'ly."

"And a special family they are too."

Ariel "Wrench" Crump felt a previously unknown warmth fill his system at the praise. He may not have a permanent building over his head, but he knew he was home.

And that felt good.

_To be continued…_


	36. Chapter 36

It was two days after the fight with the Skulz before the Tracys were allowed to visit Virgil.

When they finally saw him, they were shocked by the way he'd deteriorated. Changes had been happening when they were last there, but they had been so gradual that they hadn't noticed. Now, with 48 hours between visits, seeing the emaciated figure lying on the bed was like a punch in the gut from a member of the gang.

Virgil looked gaunt and frail, and not at all the robust picture of health that they remembered.

He lay there, unmoving, and appearing to be only just on the right side of death's door. The change was so dramatic and shocking that even the strong and steadfast Grandma had burst into tears upon seeing him.

Jeff had done his best to comfort his mother, but it wasn't easy. Not when he was as shaken as she was. His sons were subdued. No one felt like talking and any conversation was made in the sole hope that Virgil would hear them and know his family was with him. They tried joking and teasing with one another, but all light-hearted comments sounded forced and unnatural.

It was a torture that dragged on for five days.

Jeff had been holding a rather morose conversation with Colin Eden in the corridor when he'd nearly been bowled over before being deafened by a "Dad!" in his ear. "Alan!"

"I've been trying to find you."

"I'm sure the whole hospital's aware of that."

"You've got to come!" Alan pulled at his father's arm like a five-year-old. "Virgil's waking up!"

"What?" Jeff glanced at Colin, who was checking his clipboard tablet.

"The signs are positive, Jeff."

With barely a "Thanks," Jeff set off after his youngest son at a fast jog. "Why … *puff* …. didn't you … *pant* … try to … *gasp* … call or … *puff* … page me?"

Even Alan was breathing heavily after days of reduced activity. "Didn' think of it." They reached the door to Virgil's room and he burst inside. "Is he awake yet?!"

"Not yet," Grandma reassured him as Jeff asserted his place opposite her at the head of the bed. His sons shuffled along without complaint.

"Is it true, Brains?" he asked, glancing at the figure hovering behind Scott's shoulder.

"It is p-possible, Mr Tracy. I am, ah, quietly hope…"

"He moved!"

No one looked at Gordon. Instead they fixed their gazes on Virgil's face.

"What moved?" John asked.

"His eyes. His eyelids flickered!"

"I didn't see them," Alan complained.

"Then keep looking. Come on, Virgil, do it again… There!"

"I saw them that time! Open your eyes, Virgil!"

"Let him do it in his own time," Jeff instructed. Followed by a soft: "We're here, Virgil. Can you hear us?"

There wasn't even a flicker from the figure on the bed.

"Wake up, Darling," Grandma crooned, ignoring her son's instructions. "We've missed you."

Virgil's lips moved.

"Look!" she said, excited by this small development. "He's trying to speak!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mother."

Virgil frowned. His rolled his head a little to the left. Then he rolled it back to the right. He repeated the action, each time with more vigour and, judging by his expression, increasing stress.

Jeff reached out for his arm, his concern for his son masking the hardness of the shell beneath his hand. "Relax, Virgil. Don't try to fight it."

"He can't feel you there, Father."

Heeding Scott's warning, both Jeff and Grandma reached upwards; Grandma to caress Virgil's cheek, Jeff to gently ruffle his hair.

"Relax, Virgil," he repeated and, smiled when his son appeared to calm at his touch. "That's good. Just relax and when you're stronger we'll tell you everything. A lot's happened in the last ten days."

Virgil opened his eyes.

Everyone grinned at him.

He closed them again and appeared to fall asleep.

As one they all deflated.

"Virgil," Grandma called. "It's time to wake up, Honey," she repeated.

No one knew if he was obeying her, but his eyes opened again.

And then closed and stayed closed.

"Come on, Virgil," Alan complained. "We're getting tired of our own company. You've got to join us."

It was another five minutes before his brother showed signs of obliging him. Virgil's eyes roved over each family member.

"Hiya, Virg," Gordon said when the brown eyes fixed on him. "Trying to give me a taste of my own medicine, are ya?"

Virgil opened his mouth in an apparent attempt to speak. He frowned at the lack of vocal response.

"You're breathing through a tracheotomy tube," Jeff explained. "Talking's going to be difficult for a while."

"But not, ah, impossible," Brains moved closer, leaning over Scott's shoulder so Virgil could see him.

"Here, Brains." Scott vacated his chair, allowing the scientist to move closer to the patient.

Virgil watched the exchange, his eyes following his elder brother as he moved further away from the bed.

Brains waited until he had Virgil's attention again. "There is a valve in the tracheotomy tube that will allow air to pass through and across the larynx." He gave a brief tutorial in the process. "Do you want to try?"

There was a slow nod. Then Virgil opened his mouth again, frowning as he tried to work out the processes required to form a single word. He managed a grunt.

Gordon applauded the effort. "That's the best sound you've made in days."

Virgil gave him a look that said he was less than happy with the result. Then he tried again. A bubble rose up into the clear apparatus connected to his throat and popped.

"Nurse…" Brains looked over his shoulder to where an unobtrusive nurse was monitoring the patient from a desk. "His breathing tube needs clearing."

The nurse gathered the necessary tools together and, after a quiet "excuse me" to encourage Mrs Tracy to move so he could get closer to the patient, began the task. As Brains explained that the anaesthetising of the thorax meant the suppression of the cough reflex designed to clear the bronchial tubes, those listening tried not to cringe at the sound of viscous liquid being sucked out.

"Is that going to have to be done frequently?" Jeff asked.

"More frequently than before," the nurse told him. He smiled at the patient. "Now that you're awake and communicating."

Virgil looked like he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea.

"Try again," Grandma coaxed. "Say _hello_."

Virgil shook his head.

"What about _hi_?" John suggested. "It's one syllable."

Virgil shook his head again, this time without stopping. As the motion increased in frequency and strength those close to his reinstated feet could feel the bed shuddering.

"Virgil!" Alarmed by what appeared to be a seizure, Grandma once again vacated her seat, allowing Brains and the nurse closer access. "What's wrong?"

Virgil attempted to speak again. "K…" Despite the intervention of the nurse his shivering became even more violent.

"Virgil." Brains spoke with calm authority. "Speak clearly and slowly. Can you tell me what is wrong?"

"K… K-K…" Virgil closed his eyes and put all his concentration into speaking one word. "C-C-Co'."

Brains looked at the monitor above the bed. "His temperature's dropping."

"What?" Alarmed by this new development, Jeff leapt to his feet. "What's causing it?"

"Do not worry," Brains soothed. "We can treat this." He tapped instructions into his tablet, sending messages around the hospital.

The nurse hurried back to his desk and entered something into the computer. "I've increased the room's temperature."

"I should have foreseen the problem," Brains admitted. "Virgil has, ah, the same surface area as he did before the accident, but his body no longer has the ability to regulate temperature to the degree that it did before. As his blood passes through the polymer arterial tubes in his abdomen and legs, without muscles, skin and body fat, there is, ah, nothing to insulate it. It cools before it passes back into his torso and returns to his heart. The extra metabolic activity required to be awake is increasing the rate of heat loss." More nurses bundled into the room pushing a trolley before them. "You may all prefer to leave while we warm him. I doubt that you will wish to see the results of the operation so soon."

"Be glad to," Alan joked, running his finger around his collar as a bead of sweat slipped down. "It's getting too hot in here."

"W-We had to turn the room's temperature up."

"We know, Brains." John clapped him on the back. "Call us as soon as it's safe to return."

"I will." Brains cuffed his own sweat off his brow. "F-Feeling warmer, Virgil?"

"N-N-N…"

"Don't worry. You will soon…"

The next five days were a mixture of highs and lows. Virgil alternated between minutes of lucidity, delirium, and unconsciousness. His family took advantage of the all too brief moments when they could communicate and tried to explain everything about his and their situations; in between jokes about how he had probably developed super powers like Spiderman with the spiderweb polymers inside him; how he must feel like a baked potato being wrapped in the space blankets to keep him warm; and how it was unfair they were expected to cook as well.

When he was awake enough to do so, Virgil practised speaking; each syllable uttered on the breathing machine's exhalation, which left his speech stilted and incomplete. Often the family commented to one another on how they longed for the day when they would be able to hold a proper conversation with him.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Virgil awoke.

Something seemed different. This time there was no feeling of limited time. This time there was no irksome irrationality nagging at the back of his mind, nor the feeling that sleep was creeping up on him.

Virgil felt calm, rational, and awake.

Then he heard a sound. A sound like the tranquil whisper of breathing.

It wasn't his lungs making that sound, Virgil knew that. Every breath that was made was accompanied by a hypnotic hiss of oxygen passing out of a cylinder, down a tube, through his throat, and into his lungs. Followed by a different sound as the process reversed.

This sound was just as regular, but at a different tempo.

Trying not to nudge the life-giving tube, Virgil looked down.

Scott sat by the bed's side. The elder Tracy's arms lay on the shell that covered Virgil's good arm and his head on his brother's hard torso. His closed eyes and the regularity of his breathing told Virgil that he was asleep.

"He's been like that for about an hour," a quiet voice stated, and Virgil looked over to the duty nurse. She stood and moved closer to the bed. "Using a patient as a pillow is not standard practise, and under normal circumstances I would have chased him out of here, but as he can't hurt you and the rest of your family are off doing other things, I thought you'd both prefer it if he stayed. Plus, he's been looking tired these last few days and I thought the sleep would do him good." She smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil thought he'd attempt the impossible. What, for him, would be the equivalent of a full sentence. "O–kay," he enunciated.

Unfortunately, his ability to speak didn't extend to his ability to control his volume and Scott stirred. Bleary eyed, he sat up.

"Sor–ry."

Scott rubbed his eyes. "Wha'…" He cleared his throat and pretended not to notice the nurse's understanding smile before she returned to her station. "What for?"

"Wa–king ... you."

"Waking me? I wasn't asleep." Scott yawned.

Virgil didn't comment on the obvious lie. "Where–'s … 'vry–one?"

"Where're everyone?" Scott rolled his head and rubbed his neck as he tried to massage the stiffness away. "The scientists' visas have finally been granted. They've gone to get them." He grinned. "Our family wanted to make sure they got here safely to look after you."

"All ... of ... them?"

"No. Grandma's checking that their rooms are ready and is cooking a welcome dinner. Father said they'd probably be more interested in getting some sleep after the flight."

"Where–'s … he?"

"He had some business to attend to. I think he was muttering something about paying the bills."

"Where–'s ... Brains?"

"From what he's told us about them, preparing himself for the onslaught of when those two arrive."

"On–slaught?"

"He said they were a bit single-minded, which, coming from him, must be something. I think he's gathering some notes together."

"How–'s … Tin–Tin ... and ... Ky–ran–o."

"Haven't seen that much of them," Scott admitted. "I've been over here most of the time."

"Why ... did–n't ... you ... fly ... the ... plane ... to ... get ... th'm...?"

"Someone had to stay here with you." Scott didn't say that his father, with his grandmother's and brothers' backing, had grounded him. Even though Virgil seemed to be finally stepping out on the long road to recovery, he'd still had trouble sleeping and was exhausted. A fact that had been obvious to everyone: including himself. Which was why he hadn't protested when his brothers had drawn straws to see who would pilot the Odonata.

John had won, and Alan had gone into a sulk. Gordon was just glad for the opportunity to see some ocean.

Virgil knew his brother well enough to get a sense of the real reason. "Are ... you ... o–kay?"

Scott hesitated, glancing at the nurse.

Understanding their wish to be alone, she stood. "I have a few errands to run. Will you keep an eye on Virgil, Scott?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Thank you. Push the buzzer if you need anything."

Scott waited until she'd left the two men alone. "What can you remember us telling you?"

"Bits. ... … But ... it ... all ... runs ... in ... to–geth–ther. … … I ... don' ... know ... what ... I' ... heard ... and ... what ... I' ... dream'."

"What do you remember about your condition?"

"That ... I' ... lost ... both ... legs ... and ... my…" Virgil's eyes glanced down to his left. "Thumb ... and ... fore–fing–ger… … That ... Brains ... knew ... some ... sci–en–tists ... who ... have ... work'd ... on ... r'pl–acing ... limbs."

"Not only limbs, Virg. You've lost a lot more than that."

"More?"

Scott spoke quietly. "That's why they've had to immobilise you. Because of the, erm, internal damage."

Virgil looked troubled. "I ... for–got ... that."

"Do you remember signing a paper giving your authority for the operation to proceed?"

"No… Signed ... it ... 'cause ... I ... trust ... Brains?"

"We all trust Brains. There's no way we would have let them anywhere near you without his reassurances."

"Was ... the ... op–er–a–tion ... suc–cess–ful?"

"I don't know. No one's said it hasn't worked so far and I'm sure Brains would have told us the truth, even if it wasn't good news… But it's all experimental." Scott hesitated. "What can you remember of your accident?"

"I…" This pause wasn't to wait for the next breath. It was made while Virgil tried to recollect what memories were there and decide what could safely be said. "I ... was ... res–cued ... by ... In–ter–na–tion–nal Res–cue."

Scott smiled at the slow wink that accompanied this statement. "That's right."

"Are ... Bruce…"

Scott saved Virgil his breath. "They're fine. Do you remember us telling you that John's bought a property? We've all chipped in. It had a motel out the back and Hamish and Edna…" He saw a raised eyebrow. "We're under orders to dump the Uncle and Auntie. It's taken me this long to get used to it. Anyway, they've got one unit, the Crumps have another, Butch's dad has number three…"

"But–ches ... dad?"

"Apparently, you met him at their wedding anniversary party. That's another long story that can wait. The Watts have another unit. Rex and Winston have one… Did we tell you they've got engaged?"

Virgil smiled. "Good ... for ... them."

"Yeah. Olivia's sharing a unit with Rex's Auntie Alicia. Although I'm not sure if that's their choice or not."

Another raised eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because Bruce is sharing his unit with Freddy when Freddy's not at the hospital with Angela, and their parents have the last unit…" Scott counted everyone off on his fingers. "I think that's everyone."

"An–ge-la?"

"Freddy's sister."

"I ... know ... that. ... What ... happened ... to ... her?"

"Don't you remember?"

Giving up on trying to talk for a moment, Virgil shook his head.

"She was injured in the quake. She was in the bed next to yours in the days after you were brought here, so it must have been bad."

"How ... is ... she?"

"I haven't heard."

"Find ... out?"

"If I can."

"Where ... are ... the ... rest ... of ... ACE?"

"Scattered around the countryside I think." Scott was still counting on his fingers. "Oh, and Greg and Mavis Harrison have the last unit."

"John ... okay?"

Scott frowned. "John?"

"Head."

It had been so long ago that Scott had forgotten that another brother had been injured during that rescue. "He's fine. He went a bit loopy when he got overtired while we were waiting for you to go into surgery. But that's normal and we all did to a certain extent. There's nothing wrong with him." Scott sighed. "I wish we had John's masking gizmo in here," he admitted. "We've got so much to tell you, most of which needs to be kept out of the public domain. But none of us are prepared to risk it…" He looked at the artificial lungs. "Not while you're wired up to the mains."

"A–bout ... work?"

"Yes. And… And other stuff."

"'Oth–er ... stuff' ... us?" Virgil fixed Scott with a stare. He waited until the moment when he felt that sufficient air was passing through his airway. "Some–thin's– wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Yes … there … is. ... What?"

"Nothin'"

"Is … it … me?"

"You're getting the best care possible."

"The … family?"

"You definitely don't have to worry about any of us."

Virgil knew his elder brother well enough to know that he could avoid the question till everyone returned and the chance to press for information was gone. Giving up, he rubbed the right side of his face against the pillow. "Could ... you ... do ... me ... a ... fav–our?" he asked, rubbing again.

Eager to help, Scott leant forward. "Anything."

Virgil looked embarrassed. "Prob–ab–ly ... a ... hair ... or ... some–thing ... tick–ling, but ... I've ... got ... an ... itch ... and ... it's ... kill–ling ... me… Would ... you ... mind ... scratch–ing ... it?"

"You want me to scratch it? Sure… Where is it?"

"Be–hind ... my ... right ... ear."

Scott reached out and touched the supposed spot. "Where? There?"

"Bit ... fur–ther ... back."

Scott pushed further behind Virgil's head. "Is that…?"

Virgil rolled his head to the side, trapping Scott's hand under his cheek. He looked up into his brother's eyes. "Don't … let … what … hap–pen'd … to … me … hurt … you, ... Scott," he breathed.

Surprised by the unexpected contact, Scott stared at where his hand lay against his sibling's face. "I…"

"I ... know ... it' ... not ... going ... to ... be ... easy. ... … I ... know ... it' ... go–ing ... to ... be ... frus–tra–ting. … … And ... I ... know ... it ... will ... most ... like–ly ... be ... pain–ful… … And ... I ... am ... sure ... that ... there ... will ... be ... times ... when ... I ... wish ... I'd ... died…"

"Don't say that!"

"But ... I ... know ... I ... can ... cope… … I ... know ... be–cause ... you ... will ... all ... sup–port ... me… … Even ... when ... you ... can't ... be ... here ... with ... me … phy–si–cal–ly, ... I ... know ... you'll ... be ... sup–port–ing ... me ... in ... spir–rit."

"I'm going to stay with you until you can leave here. Just like I did with Gordon."

"You … can't … do … that."

"Yes, I can."

"They ... need ... you. ... … They ... can' ... do ... it ... with–out ... you."

"Yes, they can," Scott echoed.

"No." Virgil shook his head. "They–'ll ... be ... short–staffed."

"Tin-Tin can help. You need me more than they do."

Virgil decided he didn't have the strength for that argument at the moment. "What–ev–er … you … do... … Where–ev–er ... you ... are. ... Wheth–ther … you–re … with … me … or … at … work, … you ... have ... to ... be ... well ... enough ... and ... a–wake ... enough ... to ... con–tinue, … and … I ... can ... see ... you're ... not. ... … You ... need ... some ... prop–per ... rest."

"I'm okay."

"No, ... you're ... not."

"So, I dozed off. Big deal! It's hot enough to fry an egg in here."

"Don–n' ... want ... to ... be ... a ... bur –den."

"You must remember from Gordon's accident that being with him and having him as the most important thing in our lives wasn't a burden."

Remembering that at times Gordon's accident had been a burden that was almost too hard to bear, Virgil said nothing.

"I can deal with this, Virg." Scott bit his lip. "But what I can't deal with is knowing how scared you were. I don't want you to go through that fear again."

"I … was–n't … scared."

"When you were trapped you were terrified. I could feel it. Don't you remember?"

"I ... re–mem–ber… … But ... I ... was–n't ... scar'd ... of ... dying… … I ... was–n't ... scar'd ... that ... my ... life ... be ... chan–ged ... for–ever… … What ... scar'd… …" Virgil paused for three breaths. "… Scares ... me ... is ... I ... re–mem–ber ... what ... it ... was ... like ... when ... we ... lost ... Ma. ... … I ... re–mem–ber ... what ... it ... was ... like ... when ... we ... thought ... we'd ... lose ... Gordon. … ... I ... re–mem–ber... what ... we ... went ... through ... when ... he ... strug–gled ... to ... re–cover. … ... I ... was…" Another full breath. "… I ... am ... scar'd ... that ... I ... will ... put ... the ... fam–'ly ... through ... that ... again." He stopped talking, feeling slightly dizzy after such a long speech. Wishing he could take some deep lungfuls of air to help re-oxygenate his brain, Virgil closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing.

"Too late. We've already been down that road. We were told you were dying…" Scott hesitated at the memories. "We were told you'd died."

Virgil opened his eyes. "Died?"

Scott nodded.

"Why?"

"It was soon after you'd been brought here. The hospital was in an uproar and it was a computer error… But you did die, Virg. On the operating table. Brains had to bring you back."

"I ... did–n't ... sign ... a ... D–N–R?"

"Do not resuscitate? I'm glad you didn't."

Virgil waited until five full breathing cycles had passed.

"You don't need to be scared, Virgil. I'm not leaving you."

"You ... can' ... stay. ... … Things ... are ... diff'–rent ... this ... time. ... … You–'re ... need'd."

Scott snorted. "I'm not sure about that. There's already been a mutiny to try to kick me off the team once."

"Mut–'ny?" Virgil frowned. "Who?"

"Dad, Gordon and John. Alan stood up for me, which was a surprise."

"Why? ... What ... hap–pen'd?"

Scott looked him in the eye. "Can't you guess?"

"Me?"

"You and me."

"Why?"

"This is where we need John's gizmo."

"You–'ll ... tell ... me ... late–ter?"

"Of course."

Virgil, reluctantly, accepted the promise. "You ... have ... to ... work, ... Scott. ... … Don–n' ... give ... up."

"I'm not giving up. I've had time to assess my priorities and you're my top priority."

Virgil frowned. "You ... should ... be ... your ... pri–o–rity. ... You ... need ... rest."

"No, I don't."

"You ... fell ... a–sleep ... on ... top ... of ... me."

"You were asleep, and it was hot, so I nodded off. I'm okay."

"O–kay? ... You ... could ... have ... flown ... a ... plane ... and ... you ... did–n't."

"John needed the practise."

"John' ... a ... good ... pi–lot."

"He is, but it's tricky landing the Odonata on the tennis courts. He needed to practise doing that."

"You ... would ... have ... han–ded ... o–ver ... the ... con–trols ... and ... kept ... an ... eye ... on ... him … dur–ing … the … land–ding."

Realising the truth of the statement Scott looked down.

"Was ... this ... the ... mut–'ny?"

"No. That was a few days ago. That's behind us."

"Un–til ... they ... decide ... that … you're ... a ... liability."

"Hey! Multiple syllables on one breath! Well done."

"Don–n't ... change ... the ... subject! You–'re ... not ... o–kay."

"I am!" Suddenly feeling too tired to argue, Scott gave up on the pretence. He lifted his free hand helplessly. "I… I dunno, Virg. Maybe I'm not." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I can't seem to think straight. The other day we were out on a job and we ran into trouble and I couldn't think of a solution. You know me, normally I thrive on that kind of thing. But this time I was blank… Then Alan did something to resolve the situation and I still can't decide if it was pure genius or rabid foolhardiness."

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

"Gordon looked like he was going to have kittens... Or at least spawn a school of fish."

Virgil, unsure if chuckling was an option in his current condition, smiled. "Did ... you ... get ... ev'ry–one ... out?"

"Yes."

"Any–one ... dead?"

"No."

"In–jured?"

"No."

"Equip–ment ... dam–aged?"

"No."

"Sounds ... like ... gen–ius ... to ... me…"

Scott didn't respond.

"Alan's ... not ... stupid, ... you ... know."

"I know. But sometimes he acts before thinking." Scott sighed and sat back as far as he could with his hand trapped. "And this time I couldn't think of anything."

"You're ... jea–lous?" This was said as a simple inquiry, not as an astonished statement.

"No… Just scared. Scared that I'm never going to come up with another plan as audacious or clever as that one."

Wishing that he could offer more comfort, Virgil rubbed his cheek against Scott's hand. "You ... will… ... Did ... this ... lead ... to ... the ... mut–'ny?"

"No… Not directly anyway. I'll explain later."

"Promise ... me ... you'll ... look ... af–ter ... yourself. … Get … some … sleep."

Scott gave a slow nod. "Okay, Virg. As soon as the researchers have given us their verdict, I'll try and get some sleep. And I promise to look after myself. But I can only do that if you promise to look after yourself."

"I'll ... do ... my ... best…" Pleased with his brother's promise, Virgil decided that it was time to change the subject to something less confronting... and more intriguing. "Why ... have ... I ... got ... this ... im–mage ... of ... you ... kiss–sing ... La–dy ... Pen–el–ope ... going ... through ... my ... mind?"

Scott looked surprised. "I think the only time that was mentioned was when you were in the coma."

It was Virgil's turn to look surprised. "You… kiss'd… Pen…ny?"

"Yeah." Then Scott smirked. "We were…"

Virgil didn't get to hear what "they were" doing when the door opened. He allowed Scott the dignity of pulling his hand free before the intimate touch was seen by the newcomer.

Jeff stepped into the room, smiling when he saw that his invalid son was watching him. "Hello, Boys."

"Hel–lo."

Scott grinned in delight. "We've been having a conversation. A full, complete, uninterrupted conversation."

"Yes?" Jeff's smile broadened, and he reached out, caressing the side of Virgil's face with the backs of his fingers.

Normally his sons would have pulled away with a protest at what would have felt like excessive and unnecessary familiarity, but now that Virgil was cut off from most tactile sensory stimulations, he welcomed his father's caress.

That was until Jeff realised what he was doing and, almost embarrassed, pulled back. "What have you two been having a conversation about?"

Scott shrugged and looked at his left hand. "Stuff."

Virgil raised an eyebrow and Jeff got the message. Even in that short time he could see that Scott seemed brighter and less weighed down by his concerns than he had before. Clearly a "conversation" had been the tonic that the doctor had ordered.

Seeing that his eldest had relaxed, eased some of Jeff's own concerns and he looked over at the desk. "Where's the nurse?"

"She had stuff to do."

"Ah… Interesting stuff, _stuff_… How are you feeling, Virgil? Any pain?"

"No. ... I'm ... not ... feeling ... any–thing ... except ... odd."

"Odd?" Jeff frowned as he pulled a seat closer and sat down. "What do you mean odd?"

"Are ... you ... sure ... they ... didn't ... ampu–tate ... at ... the ... neck?"

Jeff chuckled. "Quite sure. I wouldn't let them."

"Has … anyone … said … when … I … can … breathe … on … my … own?"

"No." Jeff shook his head. "Sorry."

"I wish we knew," Scott admitted. "I think, Virg, that we're going to have to get Brains to tell you everything about your condition again."

"Or else we'll let the geniuses behind your recovery do it."

Scott looked over the bed at his father. "How far out is the plane?"

Jeff glanced at his watch. "Three hours?"

"That close?" Surprised, Scott looked at his own watch. "Where'd the time go?"

"You ... slept," Virgil reminded him. "Using ... me ... as ... a ... pillow."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, ... you ... did."

"Settle down," Jeff growled. But his glare was directed towards Scott. "The earthquake authorities have opened up parts of the city to give residents limited access, so Tin-Tin's hired a helijet to take Hamish and the rest of ACE to check out their homes. I'm dreading what they'll find."

"I hope everyone's fully insured."

"So, do I. And that the insurance companies don't try to wrangle their way out of their responsibilities."

Scott snorted. "I wouldn't put it past them."

"Me neither. That's why I've got Carter Cyval on standby. It's the kind of thing he'd love to get his teeth stuck into."

"Do ... you ... know ... how ... Angela ... is?"

"Angela Eagles?"

Virgil nodded.

"The last time I was talking to her mother, Amelia said she's responding to treatment. But she's like you. It's early days yet."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The three Tracys spent an amiable half hour talking, Jeff and Scott telling Virgil heavily edited and de-dramatised tales of the events of the previous ten days; steering clear of anything that might cause him concern or could be dangerous to International Rescue if overheard by the wrong people.

Scott yawned.

"You ... should ... go ... get ... some ... sleep."

Scott sighed in mock exasperation. "It's the middle of the day, Virg. It's not the time to sleep."

"I've ... been ... sleeping ... through ... the ... middle ... of ... the ... day ... for ... the ... last ... ten ... days. ... If ... it's ... good ... enough ... for me ... it's ... good ... enough ... for you."

Scott turned to their father. "Two words in one breath. He's showing off now."

"He's also talking sense. It wouldn't hurt you to catch forty winks. If you go now you can be back here before your brothers arrive. They need never know."

"Do ... I ... have ... to ... banish ... you?"

Scott grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

"You … couldn' … stop … me … I have… have … re–in–force…" Virgil stopped speaking, wishing he could clear his throat. He tried again. "re … in … force … ment…"

There was a gurgling sound.

Concerned by the noise and hesitations, Scott frowned. "Are you all…?"

A bubble rose up the clear plastic tube in his brother's throat.

Jeff sat forward. "Don't try to speak," he said when Virgil opened his mouth. "Are you having trouble breathing?"

Virgil managed a small nod, but Scott had already pushed the button to summon the nurse.

They expected her to rush back, but were still waiting after a long five minutes.

Scott pushed the buzzer for what seemed to be the 100th time. "Where is she?"

"I'll go and see if I can find someone," Jeff offered.

He was back a short time later. "I spoke to one of the admin staff. There's been a major road accident and all available staff are treating the casualties. They're waiting on reinforcements." He sat down again. "I've tried to contact Colin Eden, but even he's tied up with the accident and emergency department."

Virgil was acutely uncomfortable. A headache was building, and he thought that his lungs would have been burning if they weren't anaesthetised.

Scott stood.

Jeff looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

"Being a good Boy Scout." Scott went over to the nurses' station and collected the paraphernalia that he'd seen various medical practitioners use over the previous five days.

"You're not going to attempt to clear his tube, are you?"

"Not unless I have to."

"Do you know what to do?"

Instead of answering the question, Scott applied some sanitiser to his hands. "Why don't you try the buzzer again? With any luck, the nurse will be free now." He looked down on Virgil. "Let me know if you need my help."

Closing his eyes, Virgil nodded.

Scott pulled on a pair of gloves.

Jeff watched, unsure that Scott's plan was the right one. Not because he didn't trust his son, but because he wasn't convinced that attempting the procedure was necessary or advisable.

That was until Virgil's body reacted to the decreasing levels of oxygen. Despite having no way of drawing air into his lungs, his instinctive reaction was arch his head to try to open his blocked airway. His immobilised body thwarted his instincts and he gasped; inhaling nothing.

Through the clear shell that protected his torso they could see that his chest was barely moving.

"Virgil!" Scott tried to look his distressed brother in the eye, but Virgil's eyes remained tightly closed as he fought the battle against his body. "Do you need me to help you?"

There was no response.

Ripping into the first of the sterile packs, Scott glanced at their father. "Are you okay with this? You don't have to stay."

"I'm staying." Alarmed, Jeff looked at Scott. "What can I do?"

"Keep pressing that buzzer."

Jeff grabbed it like a lifeline and held the button down.

Scott grabbed another pair of gloves and held them out to him. "Put these on and hold the oxygen tube near the stoma. We may be able to induce enough oxygen into his lungs to keep him… ah… comfortable. But don't touch anything!"

"I won't."

"Right…" Scott told himself to keep calm. "I'd say to take a deep breath and hold it, Virg, but…"

Virgil's skin was turning blue.

"We're running out of time, Scott!"

Trying to remember exactly what the various nurses had done, Scott reached for the oxygen tube and popped it free of the outer cannula, before handing it to his father. "Withdrawing inner cannula…" He pulled the smaller tube free from where it resided inside the larger one that sat inside the trachea. "Man, that's clogged!"

Keeping the hose that was issuing the life-giving oxygen pointing towards the hole in his son's throat, Jeff pressed the button on the buzzer and willed someone who knew what they were doing to arrive.

Virgil's chest wasn't moving.

After wiping down the exterior of the breathing tube, Scott quickly suctioned the interior. "Reinstating the inner cannula… Hang in there, Virg. I'm reattaching the oxygen." Hoping that he wasn't nudging something that shouldn't be nudged and that the seal around the oxygen tube wasn't compromised, he followed his own instructions.

Nearly as breathless as Virgil had been, Jeff watched as his invalid son's chest rose. It fell before rising again. "You did it, Scott." Relieved, he released the buzzer's button and sat back, for a moment forgetting that the chest movement was thanks to the machine at his side and not involuntary muscle contractions.

Scott pulled one of his gloves off and laid his bare hand against his brother's forehead. "Can you hear me, Virgil?"

"He's breathing."

"His chest is moving, but is he getting oxygen?" Keeping his hand clear of the tracheotomy, Scott checked for a pulse at Virgil's neck. "Can you open your eyes, Virg…? Please…"

There was a flicker as Virgil obeyed, quickly shutting them again.

"Do you need a moment to get your breath back?"

There was a tiny nod.

"Okay. Take as long as you need." Scott collapsed into his seat and pulled off the other glove, disposing of them both into a bag. He rubbed his face before giving his father a wry grin. "That was interesting."

"Well done," Jeff congratulated, him. "Have you ever done that before?"

"Nope. I'd learnt how to do emergency tracheostomies, but never had to do it on a real patient."

"I'm impressed."

Scott gave a nonchalant shrug. "I've done worse…" He looked down at his brother. "I nearly had to ten days ago." Determined not to lapse into morose thoughts, he glanced at his father. "Do you still think I should head back home for some sleep?"

"Yes…" Jeff growled. Then he softened his voice. "But I'm glad you were here. Why don't you pull up another chair and try to catch some shuteye on that?"

Scott made no comment.

A nurse bustled into the room. "I'm sorry that you've been left alone," he apologised. "But things have gone crazy in A&E. You were paging us?"

Jeff explained about the emergency. "…The breathing tube was blocked, and no medical staff were available to help us. That's when we started to get worried."

"Scott … clear'd … my … tube."

At hearing his son's voice, Jeff leaned forward so he was in Virgil's line of sight. "How are you feeling now?"

"Bet–ter." His younger son looked across to his eldest. "Thanks."

Scott smiled. "You're welcome."

Virgil had closed his eyes again.

With a small frown, Scott stood so he could get out of the nurse's way. "Do you want to check that I haven't done something I shouldn't?"

"Would you mind?"

"Not at all. I'd like the reassurance."

The nurse leant over the patient. "Are you ready for me to check your tube, Virgil?"

Without opening his eyes, Virgil nodded.

After a burst of lung-filling oxygen, the nurse checked the cannulas. Having had more practise, he was quicker and more assured than Scott in his actions.

Seconds later was he was reattaching the oxygen line. "All done." He stepped back and allowed Scott to reclaim his seat. "I couldn't have done a better job myself. You've had medical training?"

Virgil finally opened his eyes.

"First aid," Scott prevaricated. "But I've been watching each time the procedure was done. I hoped I'd learnt enough to clear the tube without doing any damage."

"Only first aid?" the nurse echoed, surprised. "You must be a natural. Have you ever considered medicine as a profession?"

Scott chuckled. "Labouring all hours, getting exhausted and covered in muck while people's lives hang in the balance? That sounds too much like work. Right, Virg?"

There was a tiny smile and a minute wink from the figure on the bed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was five hours before there was a commotion outside the door, followed by multiple, loud shushing sounds.

John stuck his head through the door. "Is it safe to come in?"

"Get out of the way, John," Alan grumbled, pushing past his elder brother. "We've waited weeks for this… Hi, Dad."

"Hello, Alan"

"Hello … every–one."

Gordon's face lit up. "Virgil! How are you feeling?"

"Okay … … Once … Scott… saved … my … life."

"What?" Grandma turned to her eldest grandson. "What happened?"

Scott looked suitably embarrassed by the praise. "I'm sure that's an overstatement."

"Didn' … feel … like … it."

In preparation for meeting the two Australasian researchers, Jeff Tracy had vacated his seat. Stepping around his family, he extended his hand to the first of the two strangers that he'd only met via a video link. "Good to finally meet you face to face. I'm Jeff Tracy."

"And you, Mr Tracy," Timoti pumped his hand. "You've given us an opportunity we'd only dreamed of."

"A-And this is Bryce Dower, M-Mr Tracy."

"Mr Tracy!" Bryce was just as enthusiastic at meeting the man who was bankrolling their experiment as Timoti was. "We can't thank you enough. We're told that your connections have scored us the fastest visas in American history."

Brains completed the introductions, "Timoti… Bryce… Th-This is Scott, Mr Tracy's son, V-Virgil's eldest brother."

Scott reached out to replicate his father's actions but was ignored as Bryce pushed through the throng of Tracys to the sole bed in the room. "I take it that this is our subject?"

Virgil gave him a somewhat uncertain smile. "Hi."

"Virgil's communicating clearly, but you have to be patient and listen to him," Jeff warned. "The sooner he can breathe normally and without the tracheotomy tube the happier we'll all be."

Scott decided to ignore the earlier snub. "Do you have any idea how long before it can be removed?"

"And skin!" John chimed in. "When will you replace his skin?"

"And what about his arm muscles?" Gordon queried. "He needs to exercise them, so he can build up some muscle tone. When are you going to remove the shell stopping his right arm from moving?"

"And when can his sit up?" Alan added. "It must be boring staring at the ceiling all day. Right, Virgil?"

"Ri…"

"Once we've examined him we'll have some idea." Timoti pulled at the sheet that was tucked in under the mattress at Virgil's feet. "How does the restoration look?"

Brains held the sheet down. "Ah, I think the f-family should leave first. Th-They haven't seen the results of the operation, and I'm sure that, at this early stage, they would, ah, prefer to keep it that way."

"Oh… Okay…" Bryce almost seemed surprised. "In that case you should all leave." He began shepherding the Tracys and a bemused Brains to the door. "We won't take long."

"We'll take as long as necessary." Timoti had already resumed releasing the blankets on the far side of the bed.

"Which shouldn't be longer than a couple of hours… You too, Mr Tracy." And Jeff found himself in the unusual position of being forced towards the corridor.

"Wait!"

As one everyone in the room turned to look at the figure on the bed.

"I … want … …" Virgil hesitated for two exhalations, unwilling to exhibit any signs of weakness even in his weakened state. "Brains … to … stay."

Rather than looking startled, Brains approached the bed. "You want me to stay?"

"I need … you … explain … every–thing … to me." Virgil darted a look at the two impatient researchers.

"I'm s-sure Bryce and, ah, Timoti will explain everything, ah, s-satisfactorily."

"I need … someone … to be … my … voice. … … Since … I … can't … talk … proper–ly."

"And I c-c-can d-do that?"

"I … know … you can."

Brains collected a face mask from a box on the nurse's desk. "Then I'm happy to stay."

Virgil managed a smile. "Thanks."

Alan sidestepped Bryce, who was standing like he was prepared to tackle the lot of them to stop them from approaching the bed again. "You'll call us when it's safe to come back, Brains?"

"Of course."

"We'll be over at the house."

"I'll phone Mr Tracy."

Timoti plucked at the bedclothes. "The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

If he thought that his words would hurry the group along, he was wrong.

"You'll call us as soon as you've finished, Brains?" Jeff checked.

"I promise."

"Thank you."

As impatient as the researchers to know that everything was going to plan, Scott began guiding his family out the door. "Come on, everyone, I want a nap and I'd rather have it on a proper bed than on the floor here." He glanced at the figure on the bed and saw a relieved expression. "Father will wake me when it's visiting time again."

Gordon rounded on him. "_You're_ going to have a nap? In the middle of the day!? Are you feeling all right?"

In the time that Scott took to consider his answer, (should it be the automatic, accepted: "I'm fine" or the more truthful: "I'm so washed out that Thunderbird Four could motor through me,") Bryce clapped his hands at the group. "Everybody out!"

And the six Tracys found themselves out in the corridor.

"Well!" Grandma hmphed. "Of all the nerve! Shooing us out of there like school children!"

"It's the first chance they've had to see their work up close," Jeff soothed, even though he was just as unhappy at his treatment. "They're keen to see how it's progressing."

"And, to be fair, they weren't going to chuck us out initially," John reminded his grandmother. "If Brains hadn't stopped them we would have seen everything."

"And I'm quite happy that he did stop them," Gordon added. "I'm not that keen on the idea of seeing Virgil's insides."

Virgil wasn't that keen either and wasn't happy when his sheets and space blankets were whipped off the bed and deposited on the floor. He kept his eyes glued to the ceiling.

The two researchers took a moment to stand back and admire their handiwork.

"It looks just as I imagined," Bryce admitted.

Timoti nodded his agreement. "That robot and printer have done an awesome job."

Even Brains moved in for a closer look. "It is r-remarkable the amount of regeneration that has occurred in such a short sp-pace of time."

Encouraged by his friend's words, Virgil stole a look down his body. From this angle, it appeared that Timoti was leaning over his nether regions, examining them in detail.

"Beautiful," the latter sighed into his surgical mask. "Simply beautiful."

Brains chuckled at Virgil's look of astonished embarrassment. "He means the 3D printouts."

"Oh." Deciding it was safer, Virgil resumed his inspection of the ceiling. "Are … they … going … to be … much … longer? … I'm … getting … cold."

"I'll cover the areas they're not…" Out of respect for his friend's feelings, Brains managed to avoid the word "admiring" and a smirk, "looking at with a space blanket."

Neither Australasian heard their conversation and both uttered exclamations of alarm as shiny gold and silver coloured blankets covered their subject. "Hey!"

"Virgil's temperature's dropping," Brains informed them. "You can remove the blankets as you, er, wish, but I'm sure you agree that it's important to keep him comfortable."

By the tone of the two men's replies, Virgil wasn't sure that they agreed. He was glad that he'd insisted the Brains stay behind.

What followed was an hour of almost continuous rustling of space blankets as each millimetre was pored over and notes made of what was seen through the clear armour that protected the temporary structures. Finally, the announcement was made that it was time to remove the shell for an even closer inspection.

"We won't be able to, ah, leave Virgil uncovered for too long," Brains reminded his associates. "He'll lose body heat even quicker without the insulation of the shell." He picked up a space blanket. "Once it's removed, I'll place this over his upper torso to keep him warm."

Bryce nodded his approval of the plan. "We just want to see how the original tissue is taking. We already know which areas we want to examine closer, so we won't be long."

Virgil had grown tired of staring at the blank white space over his head and had closed his eyes, slipping into an almost relaxed stupor as he realised that nothing the scientists were doing was painful nor concerning.

That was until the shell that had protected his body for the last ten days was removed. Then Virgil was glad that his gag reflex was anesthetised. If it hadn't been he was sure that he would have been heaving the contents of his stomach all over himself and his bed… If he had a stomach.

The stench that his body emitted was so bad that all three scientists were sent reeling backwards away from the bed and the nurse started dialling up the air filtration in the room to the maximum. Only Virgil, without even a surgical mask to protect him, was unable to do anything to escape that horrible odour. It was the kind of smell that once it had entered your nose, seemed to stay there forever.

Virgil could count on the fingers of one hand (his right, not his left) the number of times that he'd had to deal with similar odours in the past. It was something that he'd encountered on occasions when International Rescue were called in days too late. It was not one of the better rescue memories.

And to know that his own body was the source of that foul odour…

Brains was the first to realise the patient's predicament. "I-I'm sorry," he said as he placed a mask over Virgil's nose and mouth. "You can smell that, can't you?"

Virgil nodded.

Even without his stomach he was feeling sick. But this wasn't a nausea-induced sickness. He was sick with fear.

"I think we've got some necrotising tissue," Bryce hypothesised, as he approached the bed cautiously. "Look. There… And there…" He pointed at what a lay person would describe as bits of dead meat.

"And there," Timoti added. "It will have to be debrided."

"At least that will be simple. There's no healthy tissue to damage."

Brains looked into Virgil's eyes. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will be all right."

Virgil would have liked to have thanked his friend for the reassurance, but he kept his lips clamped together, unwilling to open his mouth in case he could also taste that atrocious stench.

Bryce was examining a kind of surgical map; a record of what tissue had been installed where on the polymer framework. "It's not all bad. I think that the necrosis has occurred in tissue that had been stored after the original amputation."

"Do you think it wasn't stored correctly?"

"My hypothesis is that as the tissue wasn't cooled before removal from the subject, structural changes occurred during and after the removal process, allowing bacterial growth. The tissue that was removed in the process of the attachment of the polymer structures still appears healthy." Over the top of his surgical mask, Bryce beamed at Brains and Virgil, (who was examining the ceiling again as he tried to focus on something other than the fact that his world appeared to be literally disintegrating beneath him). "This is good. We're learning a lot."

Virgil couldn't see anything good in the situation.

"Can we replace th-the necrotic with living tissue?" Brains asked. "Or has it damaged the polymer substructure?"

He watched as Timoti poked something black and dead on the white polymer skeleton with his gloved finger. "The substructure appears intact." Stepping back from the bed, he removed his gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair. "I have no concerns about replacing it. Was there any good quality donor tissue remaining after the operation?"

Brains nodded. "Some. I requested that it be preserved in case it was needed."

"Good. Nothing to worry about then."

"Apart from the fact that Virgil's body temperature is dropping again," Brains warned him, aware that the only un-anaesthetised part of the patient's anatomy was shivering. "Do what you have to do and get him covered."

Seeming to be disappointed to have to hide their craftsmanship out of sight beneath a multitude of blankets, Bryce and Timoti obeyed.

_To be continued…_


	37. Chapter 37

Hamish Mickelson smiled across at the pilot. "Thank you for doing this, Tin-Tin."

She returned his smile. "It is my pleasure. Although I am sure that you could have piloted yourself."

"I'm sure I could too, but Edna won't let me." Hamish glanced at the lady on his other side.

"It's not me that won't let you," his wife reminded him, "but your shoulder. You know the doctor told you to rest it."

"The doctor didn't have an earthquake knock his world around. We've got things we need to do…" Hamish waved his good hand at the scene below them. "Down there."

"Do you still want me to land at ACE?" Tin-Tin checked.

"Yes, please. Everyone's vehicles are there…" This time Hamish indicated the people in the cabin behind them, "and so are the keys to our homes."

"Tin-Tin…" She heard Bruce's voice in her headphones. "Would it be possible for you to do a flypast type thing? I didn't have time to see what state ACE was in before International Rescue flew us out."

"I had plenty of time," Lisa told him. "It's a ruin."

He glanced across at her. "That bad?"

She nodded. "Keegan's truck totalled it."

Olivia leant forward so she could see the other woman. "Have you heard how he is?"

Lisa shook her head and looked over to Greg Harrison.

"No," he confirmed. "I'm hoping that no news is good news."

Mavis slipped her arm through his. "At least you gave him a chance. Without you and Lisa doing what you did, I doubt that even International Rescue could have done that."

"And if International Rescue had been concentrating on rescuing him, _anything_ could have happened to Olivia and me!" Winston exclaimed.

Rex sat back. "I don't want to think about that."

Lisa grasped Butch's hand. "Me neither."

Rex turned to his Auntie Alicia. "Are you all right?"

She rolled her eyes. "This isn't the first time I've been in a helijet, you know."

"I know. But… Returning home."

"Then I won't know if I'm all right until I see home."

Tin-Tin's voice intruded into their conversation. "I have requested air traffic control's permission to do a circuit of the grounds and they have no issues with that, so long as we don't create any aviation or dust hazards."

"Dust?" Max Watts queried. "What dust?"

"If the jet units kick up liquefaction," Tin-Tin explained.

There was silence in the cabin as those inside watched the ground beneath them pass by. Much appeared unscathed, but every now and then a patch had the jagged appearance of crazy paving.

"Look!" George pointed out the window. "Isn't that a car sticking out of that crack? It's buried halfway up the roof!"

Remembering the motorcyclist who hadn't been so lucky, Greg closed his eyes. "I hope the driver escaped okay."

"Don't think about it." Mavis held his hand. "You couldn't have done anything."

"You know," George Watts stared out a window at the trashed terrain, "I can't recognise any of this."

"There's ACE." Tin-Tin pointed through the windscreen. "Dead ahead."

Edna stared at what had been almost been her husband's dominion. "That's ACE?" As they drew closer she began to recognise the industrial blue paint and the other architectural features. "What a mess."

Hamish looked grim. "A mess we're going to have to put back together somehow."

"Has Jeff said anything about that? Is he going to rebuild on a new site or try to rehabilitate this one?"

"I don't think he's given it much thought. He's had something else on his mind."

"Mr M?" Winston leant forward to ensure that his boss could hear him. "Some of the staff were saying that they thought that Mr Tracy would close ACE. What do you think?"

"ACE is a profitable part of his portfolio," Hamish stated, "and he's loyal to his employees, so I can't see him giving up on us or the company. However, whether he chooses to rebuild here or in some other location, or even city, will depend on what advice he receives from the experts. And that could take months."

"I'd follow ACE anywhere!" Winston proclaimed. "I'm sure we're all as loyal to ACE…"

"And you, Mr Mickelson," Max interjected.

"…as Mr Tracy is to us," Winston finished.

"I wonder…" Auntie Alicia began, and then stopped.

Rex gave her a gentle nudge. "You wonder what?"

"It's not my place to say this, since I'm not a part of ACE and I barely know Mr Tracy, but…" She hesitated again.

"Yes?"

"Is there a possibility that, ah, other events that have happened will, erm, diminish his willingness to reopen ACE?"

The passengers on the helijet were saved from trying to formulate an opinion when Tin-Tin announced that they were coming in to land.

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she would rather share her Rolls Royce with a recently de-patched ex-gang member than an un-chaperoned three-year-old.

"Now, Ginny, do sit down," she entreated, and gave a delicate grimace as a smear of chocolate appeared down the cream leather interior. "Uncle Parker will be back sometime soon."

"Pretty car," Ginny told her. "It's pink."

"Yes, it is pink. I like pink. Do you like pink?"

Ginny gave an emphatic head nod. "And red, and yellow, and orange. I can sing a rainbow," she added proudly.

"Can you? And, pray tell, how does one _sing_ a rainbow?"

Ginny giggled. "You talk funny."

Lady Penelope decided against explaining the intricacies of the English language. "Can you sing me a rainbow?"

Ginny, happy to have an audience, began to sing – off key and out of tune. "Red, and yellow, and pink, and green, and purple, and orange, and blue, and yellow, and brown, and black, and white, and I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, you can sing one too!"

Lady Penelope blinked.

"Listen with Eunice, listen with Eunice, and sink everything you see. You can sink a rainbow, sink a rainbow, sing a long with me." Ginny giggled.

"Oh, er, very good, Ginny." Lady Penelope gave a quiet pattering of polite applause at the rather shaky rendition. She looked out the window, desperate for reinforcements.

She should have known that Wrench Crump and Parker together would spell trouble.

It had all begun innocently enough the previous day. The two men had enjoyed a quiet conversation. Of course, Parker had to disclose to the former gang member that his own past wasn't exactly squeaky clean.

Wrench had been astonished to discover that someone who had done time was working for, he assumed wrongly, a member of the British royalty. "She trust ya?"

"She trusts me," Parker had assured his newfound friend. "But I 'ad to h-earn h-it."

Wrench had looked over to where his daughter-in-law was playing with his granddaughter. "'Ow?"

"Loy-halty."

"Loyl'ty?"

"Yep. Be loy-hal to 'er h-and do nothin' h-against 'er, h-or those she cares h-about; like the Tracys."

Wrench wasn't sure if Parker was referring to Lady Penelope, or if he were giving him some gentle advice. "'Ow long did tha' take?"

"Donkey's… Pardon. Years. But now we're like that." Parker crossed his fingers. "Course there's nothin' unseemly goin' h-on. That wouldn't be right, h-and I respect 'er Ladyship too much, but she's h-as loy-hal to me h-as I h-am to 'er."

"'Ow do ya know tha'?"

"Little things. I'm not perfect, but she don't h-expect me to be. I give 'er good service h-and she respects that."

Wrench Crump looked down. "No one would 'ire me."

"Dunno h-about that. What can you do?"

Wrench looked up again. "Fix stuff."

"Like what?"

"Engines. Motorcyc'ls."

"I 'ad a motorbike once," Parker confided. "H-A Triumph. Bee-u-tiful she was. H-And she went like the clappers. The cops 'ad no chance tailin' me when I 'ad 'er between me legs."

Wrench perked up in interest. "What model?"

"Thunderbird Freedom 2000."

"I 'eard about them. S'pposed to be the fastest blown cycl' out of th' UK."

Parker grinned. "H-It is that, and some. H-I used flog it as I carved h-up the motorways."

"Get many fast riding awards?"

"Nah. H-I was so fast h-even the speed cameras couldn't catch me. The h-only thing that did was rainbows on the street. I 'it the oil and h-ate the h-asphalt. H-even me h-armour didn't prevent me road rash. I was lyin' there, tryin' to work h-out h-if I'd broken h-anythin' when I found meself lookin' h-at these great pair h-of clod-'oppers. I did four years h-at 'is Majesty's pleasure h-after that."

Wrench was astonished at the harshness of English law. "Four years f'r speedin?"

"Nah. Four years for what I was speedin' from. Plus, the collection of tomfoolery in me panier…"

"Tomfool'ry?"

"Pardon. Jewell-hery. H-A nice little job h-it was too. I could'a retired h-on what I scored."

"An' in spite o' tha', Lady Penelope trusts ya?"

"Yep."

"'Ow'd ya meet?"

"She set h-a trap for me and caught me breakin' h-and h-enterin'."

Wrench stared at his newfound friend. "An' she hired ya after tha'?"

"Yep. She wanted someone 'oo could think like h-a crook to look h-after 'er."

"Didn't think she needed no one t' look afta her. I saw her in action th' otha day."

"I'm backup," Parker said modestly. "Plus, I keep h-an h-eye h-on 'er motor."

"The Rolls?"

"Yup." Parker puffed up in pride. "She's practic-hally mine, that car."

Wrench looked impressed.

"Want to check h-under 'er, ah, '_ood_?"

It took Wrench a moment to realise that Parker meant FAB1. He nodded and Parker, pleased for a chance to show off, led him outside to the big car.

The bonnet was raised. "What'd'ya think h-of that?"

Once again Wrench was suitably impressed. He reached towards the engine block and then pulled his hand back. He looked at Parker as if he were asking for permission.

Parker nodded.

The next time Lady Penelope looked outside she was treated to the sight of two bottoms sticking out of the engine bay. She smiled over at Butch. "It appears that your father has found a new friend."

"Yeah?" Carrying Ginny with him as easily as if she were a feather pillow as he lumbered to his feet, Butch looked out the window. "Oh… Parker. Are they checkin' out ya car?"

"It appears so."

Butch was suddenly eager. "Could I look too?"

Lady Penelope was about to give her assent when Lisa reached up to her husband. "Not now, Butch," she cajoled. "Let your father think he's something special."

"But he is special." Surprised, Butch looked down at her. "He's m' dad." He tickled his daughter who burst into a fit of giggles. "An' your gran'pop. Right, Ginny?"

As she could never help but do when she heard her daughter's laughter, Lisa smiled. "I know that. But he feels like he's an outsider. He hasn't worked at ACE, he's not a Tracy or one of their friends, and he hasn't had any contact with us for years. Parker's helping to make him feel accepted. If you go out there we all know that you won't mean to, but he'll feel that he's being pushed to the background again."

Butch's face creased up as he thought about what had been said.

"You are quite welcome to examine my Rolls Royce later," Lady Penelope reassured him. "And you have my permission to ask Mr Crump to show you."

Butch's face uncreased as it lit up. "Thanks!" He sat back down on the floor with a thump.

And Lady Penelope felt that all was well.

It was a short time later that Parker approached her. "M'Lady?"

"Yes, Parker?"

"May I 'ave h-a word, m'Lady?"

"Of course." The pair of them withdrew from those sitting in the lounge.

"Can I h-ask you h-a favour, m'Lady?"

Rather than responding with the hackneyed, _depends what it is_, Lady Penelope gave a gracious nod.

"Can I borrow FAB1 h-and take Wrench, erm, Mr Crump for a ride?"

Alarm bells started ringing. "Where to?"

Parker lowered his voice. "'E's h-a little h-embarrassed because 'e's h-only got one set h-of clobber to wear h-and nothin' to buy h-any more. So, we're gonna get some."

"And how is he going to pay for these garments?"

"I said I'd shout him."

"Parker? Couldn't he ask his family for assistance?"

"'E's too h-ashamed to. 'E's only just got back with them h-and 'e don't want them to think that 'e's sponging h-off them. You pay me h-a good wage h-and I don't use much of h-it, h-and I'd like to give the poor devil h-a chance. 'E's lost one fam-hily, h-as h-it were, when the Skulz dumped 'im, a-and 'e's scared 'e'll lose 'is real fam-hily too."

"I don't think that is likely to happen. Even Lisa seems inclined to look more favourably on him since he saved Butch's life."

"Please, m-Lady, I'd like to do this. I feel like h-a fairy godfather wavin' me magic wand."

Lady Penelope couldn't imagine anyone less like that mythical creature… nor Cinderella.

"We won't be goin' to 'Arrods or h-any place like that. Just getting h-a couple h-of 'utfits from the local department store."

Put like that, Lady Penelope couldn't really resist his plea. "Of course, Parker. Take as long as you need."

She was almost blinded as a huge smile wrapped around his equally large nose. "Thank you, m'Lady. I promise we won't do nothin' to make you regret h-it."

"I should hope not. I would not look favourably on receiving a phone call from the local constabulary telling me that you were both being held at their establishment, simply because you decided to show off to one another and relive your _misspent youth_. Especially if this phone call coincided with a request that I bail you out."

"Don't worry, m'Lady, that won't happen."

Lady Penelope smiled. "I know that I can trust you to behave responsibly, Parker. Enjoy your afternoon."

"Thank you, m'Lady…" But Parker didn't move away. "Erm…"

"Is there something more?"

"This h-is h-a liberty h-and you won't like h-it."

"Perhaps you will permit me to make up my own mind on that?"

"Would you mind h-if Wrench were to drive the car? I want to show that we, ah, I trust 'im."

"When it comes to the Rolls Royce, you are the final arbiter, Parker. If you are willing to trust Wrench Crump behind the wheel, then so am I."

The blinding smile reappeared tenfold. "Ta, m'… I mean…" Parker composed his voice and features into something more respectful. "Thank you, m'Lady."

Lady Penelope looked at her watch. "It is 2.00pm. Perhaps you should, ah, _get moving_?"

"Yes, m'Lady." Parker bobbed his head in acquiescence. "Thank you, m'Lady."

And he practically ran to the door.

The two men had returned several hours later in high spirits, Parker quietly pleased with himself and Wrench Crump in clean jeans, a white open-necked shirt, his hair cut short, and his Skulz tattoo on his face bleached out. "When they said they could use concealer t' hide it, I nearly decked th' guy," he told anyone who would listen. "Tha' was till Nosey here told me they didn' mean makeup."

"H-It's something that reacts with the pigment h-in the tat," Parker expanded. "H-It's only temporary and doesn't change colour when the skin does. I told Wrench 'e's not to get too h-excited, h-else 'e'll be too patriotic. H-All red, white h-and blue."

Both men collapsed into fits of laughter, Wrench's face turning slightly pink in the excitement and causing the faint outline of a skull to appear.

Ginny, staring at her grandfather's face in fascination, reached out to touch the mark.

Wrench picked her up. "D'ya know wha' was the best?" he asked her. "Mr Parker let me drive the Rolls Royce on the freeway. Bu' I didn' speed," he reassured Lady Penelope. "I wouldn' do tha' t' Nosey. P'raps I'll be able to drive you some day?"

"'E's h-a natural," Parker enthused. "We was thinkin' that maybe tomorrow, when h-everyone goes 'ome with Miss Tin-Tin to check h-on their 'ouses, we could take Miss Ginny to the zoo."

"I took Butch when he were a kid," Wrench remembered. "I' was fun, wasn' i' Butch?"

Butch beamed. "Lotsa fun."

Lisa had thought it was a wonderful idea, especially when Lady Penelope had offered to go too, to handle the more 'womanly aspects' of a young girl's day.

That was yesterday and now Lady Penelope was regretting her offer. "Sit down, please, Ginny," she repeated. "Uncle Parker is getting you a special seat so that you can see out the windows, but we must sit like a lady until he and your grandfather arrive back…"

"How's a lady sit?"

"Knees together, hands resting in our laps…" Lady Penelope spied reinforcements. "There they are!"

"Where!" Forgetting her lessons in etiquette, Ginny clambered over Lady Penelope's lap, digging her small hard knee into a trim adult lap, and stood on the seat to look out the window.

Wrench, carrying a small chair in his big hands and looking almost unrecognisable in his clean clothes and without his tattoo visible, chatted with Parker as the pair walked towards the car.

The latter opened one of the Rolls Royce's gullwing doors. "We're back."

Lady Penelope was aware, and glad, of this.

"How's m' little pumpk'n?" Wrench enthused. "Been havin' fun wi' Lady Penelope?"

Lady Penelope was of the opinion that the way the two men had been laughing together, they'd had more fun than she. "I see you found a booster seat for Virginia."

"Yep," Parker took it from Wrench. After a quick read of the instructions, he locked it into place. "Just the right 'eight for a little tyke," he quoted. "In yer pop, Miss Ginny."

Ever obedient to the adults in her world, once again Ginny crawled over Lady Penelope, who only just managed to avoid a few well-chosen words of complaint, and sat in her newly installed seat.

Lady Penelope evacuated the car. "Perhaps you would prefer to sit next to Virginia, Mr Crump?" she suggested. "And I shall sit next to you."

"Good h-idea." Parker enthused. "H-In yer pop, Pop," he joked, and a laughing Crump Senior claimed the seat on the other side of his granddaughter.

Glad to have a barrier between her and the little girl, Lady Penelope sat back in the car.

She waited until her chauffeur had reclaimed his traditional seat in the front. "Drive on, Parker," she instructed.

"Drive on, Parker," Ginny parroted, and both men burst out laughing.

"She's h-a right caution, h-ain't she?" Parker laughed.

"Indeed," Lady Penelope agreed through gritted teeth.

-F-A-B-

The helijet touched down and the group got out, stopping to survey the scene and get their bearings.

"I can't believe this is ACE," Mavis mused. "It's a mess!"

"That's where Thunderbird One landed," Greg pointed to the far end of what had once been a green and leafy Patillo Park. "And that's where we set up the first aid station. We had to knock down the fence to build a bridge, so the forklift could get across… Where's the forklift?"

"At a guess, the Tracys put it away after they'd used it for loading their helijet," Hamish mused.

"Either that or it's been stolen," Winston offered in a cheerful voice.

Edna regarded the blackened factory. "How many explosions were there?"

"One that I'm aware of," her husband told her.

She stared at him. "Only one?!"

"It was big enough to launch that sheet of metal from there," Hamish indicated the direction of where the paint bay had been, "to there. It must have missed S… us by that much." He held up his good hand, his fingers an inch apart.

"Aren't we gonna get our things?" Butch asked. "I wanna check out our home."

Lisa held his arm as if she were holding him back. "We have to wait for the all clear from the authorities before we can enter the building."

"I know tha'. Wher's he?"

As if in answer to Butch's question, a car coated in a thick layer of liquefaction pulled into a nearby parking area. A man wearing a high visibility vest got out of the car, retrieved his bag from the boot, and walked over to them. "Are you the people from ACE?"

Considering that the earthquake authorities had been told that a helijet was going to be their mode of transport and that they were all standing next to one looking at what remained of the factory, no one felt inclined to confirm his question.

Hamish did anyway. "Yes, that's right."

"Okay, we've shored up the structure and it should be safe for you to enter the locker rooms, retrieve whatever it is in there that you require, and leave. Please do not attempt to enter any other part of the building as we can't guarantee your safety. As it is, we can only offer you ten minutes to get in, get your things, and get out."

That the factory that had always been a place of safe solidity was now a potential death trap, was a sobering thought.

"When you do leave, we ask that you drive slowly. The repairs to the road are only temporary. Any questions?"

"Yes." Lisa raised her hand to get the man's attention. "You wouldn't happen to know how the truck driver who was injured when his truck smashed into the building is, would you?"

"Sorry. I'm a civil engineer and the only personnel I've had anything to do with relating to this site are you. Are you ready to enter?"

Max squeezed Ashley's hand. "I'll be back in a minute."

She seemed reluctant to let go. "Be careful."

As the staff members moved forward, Bruce became aware that one of their group wasn't joining them. "You're not coming, Mr M?"

"All my belongings are in the office," Mickelson told him. "As curious as I am, I'd only be in the way if I were to come with you."

"I'm sorry, Sir," the man in the hi-viz vest apologised. "If I could let you in there I would."

"It's all right," Hamish assured him. "I've already returned there once," he rubbed his sore shoulder, "and I don't need to return again."

"You're not going in, Winston?" Edna enquired.

"My jacket's in the CAD room."

"My keys are in my office," Olivia said. "Are you sure I can't go in there and get them?" she asked the official. "I'll be quick."

"Sorry, ma'am. It's too dangerous."

"I'm sorry, Olivia," Hamish apologised. "I should have thought and got your things when I went back."

"You had more than enough to worry about," she reassured him. "I'll break into my house somehow."

Not being part of ACE's team, Tin-Tin had been standing quietly to one side. She'd seen the furnace and the concrete beam as they'd flown in, and their sheer size and obvious weight had appalled her. She imagined Thunderbird Two shifting them to their final resting place. "Where is the furnace room?"

"Over here." After a glance at the factory to reassure himself that no disaster had befallen his team, Hamish led the way to a pile of rubble.

Ten people stood and regarded what had once been a state of the art building.

"What a calamity." Winston gnawed his lip. "How did he survive?"

"Judging by the damage and the fact the roof's over there," Hamish pointed with his good hand, just in time to see some of his team approaching them. "International Rescue must have made the walls collapse outwards, so they could get to him without it all falling in on them."

"But to have that!" Winston indicated the circular object that lay innocuously near the boundary, "on top of him! How did he survive!? I've said it before and I'll say it again: International Rescue are miracle workers… Have you got your things, Bruce?"

Bruce held up his bag. "Yep. Butch can't open his locker door. He's trying to wrench it open with his bare hands, so I thought it would be safer out of there… Why are you over here?"

"Tin-Tin wanted to see where, erm… here."

"Ah… He never liked that furnace." Bruce took his new phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his images on the cloud. He came to a simple, but effective, drawing. "I scanned this when they built the new building, so we would always have a copy, even when the original became old and tatty," he said as he handed it to Tin-Tin. "He said it reminded him of Medusa."

Tin-Tin looked at the image of the bust of a woman with a spherical head and smoky hair, like snakes writhing above her head. "Virgil drew this?"

"Yes. On the day when Lisa was modelling for the Tuffas advertising campaign. The camera crew were mucking about so much we were bored. We challenged him to draw a picture good enough for a catalogue in the time it took them to set up the cameras. He almost succeeded."

"Still got that pitcha," Butch announced. "It's on th' wall at home."

Lisa pulled at his arm. "We've yet to see if we still have a home. We'd better get moving. We don't want to keep Tin-Tin waiting longer than necessary."

"Do not worry," Tin-Tin reassured her. "I have other things I am planning to do."

"Such as?" Edna asked, as the group began their slow walk over the rubble and cracks in the ground towards the carpark.

Tin-Tin smiled at her friend. "I have contacted the authorities. There are some people who need to get away from the city. I have offered to fly them to their destinations." She pulled her own phone from out of her pocket. "Do you all have my number, so you can call when you are ready to return to Bearston?"

They assured her that they did.

Olivia's was the first car that they came to, and, as she used her thumb print to gain access, Bruce stopped next to her. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She smiled at him. "You have to get to your own place."

"Yeah, I know. But I thought you might like some company."

A minor earthquake rumbled through the city, causing those at ACE to stumble and cling to their vehicles for support.

Olivia's smile slipped. "I think I'd like that, Bruce."

"Good. My car or yours? Do you want me to drive?"

Tin-Tin had left ACE at their cars and returned to the helijet. She was inside it when she felt the quake and had felt a momentary fear. If this was a small one she was so glad to have not lived through the major one that had decimated the city.

But despite that she didn't ignite the jets, preferring to wait until all the cars had safely negotiated their way off the premises. Only then did she consult her notes and navigation system, and lift off the ground.

-F-A-B-

Lady Penelope had always enjoyed trips to the zoo; especially at the feeding time of the predatory animals. Then she would study their moves and actions closely as they, thanks to the enrichment programmes created by the zoo staff, hunted down their prey.

She was disappointed to learn that the only animals being fed publicly during the short time they were to be present, were the macaws and porcupines. While she had no doubt that this was entertaining and informative in its own right, she could not believe that this would assist her in her aim to protect International Rescue.

Still she resolved to remain cheerful and enthusiastic about everything.

It was a hard promise to keep as she watched a pride of lions snooze in the sun showing no more signs of animation than an occasional flick of their tail.

Ginny, however, was having a ball as she rode high on her grandfather's shoulders, exclaiming at each new bird and beast, and giggling as he imitated their screeches and sounds.

Parker, and Lady Penelope tried not to feel churlish about this, was letting his hair down too and enjoying the opportunity to not be stiffly formal. His quips and accent had Ginny in nearly as many fits as her grandfather's impersonations.

If the truth be told, Lady Penelope was feeling like an outsider. One who was hoping that Virginia would not require her services to "go to potty." She shuddered at the thought.

Feeling something tug at a finally tailored leg, she looked down. Ginny had descended from Wrench Crump's shoulders and had her arms stretched upwards. "Pick me up."

"Pick me up, please," Lady Penelope corrected.

"Pick me up, pwease," Ginny echoed.

Wondering how one precisely did such a thing, Lady Penelope attempted to obey, and seemed to wind up with a tangle of legs and arms hanging off her hands.

"Let 'er sit on your 'ip, m'Lady," Parker suggested, and with a little manoeuvring and a lot of giggles from Ginny, she succeeded.

"Are you comfortable, Virginia?" she asked.

Ginny gave a firm nod that almost caused Lady Penelope to drop her.

-F-A-B-

Hamish and Edna Mickelson stood in front of their family's house.

The door had a green notice taped to it saying the building appeared to be safe.

"It looks all right," Hamish mused.

"It stood up all right," Edna reassured him. "We've lost some ornaments and a few books fell off the shelves, though. At least you'd bolted all the shelving to the wall."

"I did that so children wouldn't pull the furniture onto themselves. Not to stop you from being squashed in an earthquake."

"I don't care why you did it, I'm just glad you did." Edna squeezed his hand. "Are we going in?"

The pair of them approached the door with the optimistic green notice.

-F-A-B-

Butch and Lisa stood in front of their home.

The door had an orange notice taped to it saying the building could be entered with caution, but that living in it wasn't recommended.

"Looksall right," Butch said optimistically.

Lisa was more cautious. "It _looks_ all right, but is it?"

"Best we go and see."

Lisa nodded, suddenly nervous. "All right."

With some trepidation, the pair approached the door with the cautionary orange notice.

-F-A-B-

Bruce and Olivia stood in front of Bruce's apartment building.

The door to the lobby had a red notice taped to it saying the building was condemned and not to be entered. On that same door was a series of spray-painted symbols and codes. Squares, initials, and dates told those who needed to know that the building had been checked and that no one had remained inside in need of rescuing.

"It looks like a bomb site," Bruce grumbled.

Olivia rubbed her boyfriend's arm. "I know the media are reporting that the casualty toll was so high because the earthquake happened during working hours, but I'm glad you weren't at home."

Bruce had mixed feelings about that as he surveyed the damage. "I might have been able to get some of my stuff before I evacuated if I had been."

"Or you might have been hurt or killed," she reminded him. "These are only things. You're more important to me."

"But they're _my_ things," he protested, before looking back at the derelict building. "Wait here." He stepped forward.

"Bruce!" Olivia caught his arm, holding him back. "Where are you going!?"

"Inside. I'll only be a minute."

"Bruce!" Olivia repeated, holding his arm tighter. "It's dangerous. You can't."

"It can't be that dangerous," Bruce bluffed, deliberately not looking at the lopsided structure in case he lost his nerve. "It would have fallen down in an aftershock if it was."

"It may in the next one."

Bruce pulled his arm free. "I'm sorry, Sunbeam, but I've got to do this."

Frightened for him, Olivia felt as if she were on the brink of tears. "Why?"

"I've been thinking about all the things I'd save if I'd got the chance. What if this is my only chance?"

As Olivia frantically tried to think of an opposing argument, Bruce took advantage of her preoccupation; running up to the barrier blocking the entrance.

"STOP!"

Realising that his chance had gone, Bruce obeyed. He turned to face the man who'd shouted.

The latter was clad in army fatigues and festooned with a radio along with what looked like other pieces of official kit. "What are you doing?"

Feeling undersized alongside this muscular individual and wishing Olivia wasn't there to witness his humiliation, Bruce sagged. "Trying to get into my home."

"You lived here?"

"Yeah." Bruce pulled an ID out of his wallet.

"I'm sorry, Buddy, but I can't let you go in."

"But surely you could look away? Just for a minute?" Bruce pleaded.

"Nope. That red flag's up there for a reason and it's to keep everyone safe."

"But what'll happen to my stuff?"

"That depends. Have you registered with the earthquake authorities?"

"They know I'm at Bearston."

"But do they know that this is where you live and that you want to clear your gear out?"

"Erm…" Bruce tried to remember. He seemed to have filled in so many forms these past nineteen days that he couldn't remember what he'd affixed his signature to.

"You'd better check that out ASAP," the soldier told him. "Once you're on the books they'll know to let you know when they decide to knock this place down." He saw Bruce's alarmed expression. "…Or if they're gonna give you the chance to get in there to get your stuff."

"Come on, Bruce." Olivia plucked at his sleeve. "Let's go and do that now."

Bruce's shoulders drooped. "Yeah… Okay." He directed a weak smile at the soldier. "Thanks."

Unhappy, he allowed Olivia to lead him away from his door with its angry red notice.

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin was happy. She'd airlifted a couple of families with young children away from the earthquake zone and delivered them into the waiting arms of extended family members. Seeing the delight of all concerned, coupled with the obvious relief of the rescuees at the knowledge that they were well away from broken homes and continuing earthquakes, filled her with a warm feeling. It was only a small victory, not like saving a life as the Tracys did frequently, but it still meant a lot to those involved.

And it was a lot less dangerous than going into a collapsing building.

She checked her watch. Time to return to ACE.

Her passengers had been grateful to have received this respite. So much so that Tin-Tin was the appreciative recipient of a small white teddy bear wearing the leather jacket and flight goggles of a pilot. She resolved to put it on her dressing table as a reminder that not all rescues were on a large scale.

-F-A-B-

There was the sound of crunching gravel.

Gordon looked out the window. "Ginny's back."

Happy to hear the news, Lisa grabbed a stuffed toy and hurried to the door. "How's my baby?" she called and swept her daughter up into her arms. "Look who's come to visit."

"Mr Bunny!" Ginny squealed.

"Yes, Mr Bunny knew that you were missing him and so he was hopping all the way from home to here," Lisa enthused. "Auntie Tin-Tin realised that because it was such a long way it was going to take a long time for him to get here, so she flew and got him. Are you going to say thank you to Auntie Tin-Tin?"

"Dank you, Aundy Din-Din," Ginny mumbled through a mass of faux-fur and stuffing.

Tin-Tin laughed. "It was my pleasure, Ginny."

"And what about you?" Lisa pulled the bunny away from Ginny's face so she could hear the answer. "Did you have a fun day with Grandpop, Uncle Parker, and Lady Penelope?"

Ginny nodded. "We saw lions and tigers and tor-toys and birds and chimps and arrows and tanteaters."

"Arrows?" Lisa directed the question at her father-in-law.

"Parrots," Wrench clarified.

"Gwandpop! Be a 'arro'," Ginny begged.

Laughing, Wrench made a screeching sound.

Ginny held out her newly reacquired toy to him. "This is Mr Bunny."

"Mr Bunny?" Wrench took the stuffed animal. "Is that its name?"

"Yep." Ginny nodded. "Cos he's a he and he's a bunny."

"Righ'." Wrench handed the prized possession back to its owner. "Where'z Butch?"

"In our room," Lisa admitted. She lowered her voice so Ginny, engaged in a conversation with Mr Bunny, couldn't hear her. "The Red Arrow was damaged in the quake and he's trying to come to terms with it."

"Oh… M'bee I can help 'im fix it?"

"I'm sure he'd love that. Why don't you go and ask him what needs to be done?"

Jeff sidled over to Lady Penelope. "How did the afternoon go, Penny?"

"Jeff… If I ever offer to babysit a three-year-old again, remind me of this day, would you?"

Jeff chuckled. "A handful, was she?"

"Not she. Them!"

"Them?"

"Parker and Wrench Crump."

Jeff frowned. "Did they get into trouble?"

"Not at all. However, they had Virginia so excited that the child was almost impossible to control. And!" Lady Penelope folded her arms in the nearest that Jeff had ever seen to a huff. "The lions were all asleep!"

Jeff decided that another chuckle at this juncture was akin to suicide.

"I suppose that I must admit that I am not the mothering type," Lady Penelope declared. "Now, Jeff, enough about our day. How is Virgil?"

Jeff beamed. "Great! He woke up and was _compos mentis _for long enough that Scott and I were able to hold a real conversation with him."

The huff had vanished as quickly as it had arrived. "That is wonderful news."

"We would have continued talking except that Timoti Bailey and Bryce Dower banished us all from his room, so they could examine him." Jeff checked his phone. "They were going to call us when they'd finished… That was hours ago. I hope everything's okay."

"I am sure that they are just being thorough. This is an experimental treatment and they haven't had the opportunity to see the results, ah, in the flesh, as it were."

"I'm sure you're right… One other bit of good news…" Jeff indicated the top of the stairs and Lady Penelope turned in time to see Scott Tracy start his descent. The way that his hair was sticking out at all angles and the rumpled nature of his clothes seemed to indicate that he'd been lying down. "Virgil managed to convince Scott to get some sleep."

"A miracle in itself."

"Agreed."

"Any news?" Scott asked, reaching the ground floor.

"Nothing yet," Jeff started to say and then stopped when he felt something vibrate at his hip. He whipped his phone out of his pocket. "_Examination over_," he read. "_All well. Virgil's sleeping. Come over when you're ready. B._" He pocketed the phone. "I'm ready now. Everyone else coming?"

There was a mass exodus as the Tracys headed back to the hospital.

_To be continued…_


	38. Chapter 38

Every day was like the day before.

Every day the bellows pumped and hissed and kept Virgil alive.

Every day he endured Timoti Bailey and Bryce Dower examining him minutely and picking off bits of dead tissue.

Every day he would wake with trepidation that today would be the day that his father would declare that International Rescue had been operating at less than full capacity for long enough and that it was time for them all to return to the island.

Every day Jeff Tracy gave no hint that he was prepared to do anything except keep the family at his invalid son's side.

Every day the family tried to remain upbeat and focused on getting Virgil through the day; never letting him retreat into boredom or depression.

Every day Virgil tried to count his blessings and remain positive…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

Brains straightened and removed his smell-combating respirator. "There is no dead tissue, Virgil."

"No dead tissue?" Virgil risked looking down his torso, but couldn't see anything past the protective covering on his face, the tube in his throat and the silver foil space blankets that kept his body temperature somewhere approaching normal. All he could see was Timoti and Bryce removing their masks and then Brains' hands as his own mask was removed.

He sniffed cautiously. After that first day, the first part of the daily procedure was to dress him in the mask to suppress the smells that decaying tissue produced. The last part of the procedure was to remove the mask; usually to discover that that horrible smell still hung in the air.

But today there was no hint of the stench. "How many days – has that been – now?"

Brains smiled at his friend's stilted question. The tracheotomy was still there, but at least Virgil had gained enough control over his speech to be able to link several words together in one breath. "Five."

"Five days!" Timoti beamed. "I think we can move onto the next stage now."

"The next – stage?"

"We reinstate your skin."

"Then I'll be – able to move?"

"Some movement, yes. We don't want to rush things. Don't forget we're still at the experimental stage."

Virgil resisted groaning in exasperation. It was a bit hard to forget that all this was experimental when none of them had no idea what was going to happen next.

"We'll leave the shell on your legs," Timoti continued. "And your lower arm. Just to prevent any knocks to the generating tissue. But I think we can release your upper torso and right arm."

"Good."

"This is when the hard work will start," Brains advised. "You will need intense physiotherapy to reverse the atrophy of your muscles, increase the movement of your limbs, and improve your cardiovascular fitness."

Virgil decided that it did sound like hard work. Hard work that he'd gladly begin now, if it meant he was closer to walking out of the hospital or playing a piano. There'd been times when the frustration had been so great that he'd almost begged Brains to release his good arm, just so he could experience _some_ movement. At those moments he'd stop, allow the machine to process a few calming breaths, and tell himself that he was lucky. One day the shell would be removed, and the paralysing anaesthetic stopped, and he _would_ move that arm again.

He _was_ lucky.

"Get rid of – the tracheo-tomy?"

Bryce consulted a tablet computer. "I'll think we'll be able to start you breathing on your own." He smiled in delight at his patient. "We'll be able to conceal that tracheotomy scar with the skin we don't use on the rest of your body."

"Talk – properly?"

"Yes." Brains nodded. "You'll be able to talk properly. I've called your family back and you can tell them the good news."

Virgil couldn't wait. Over the intervening days he'd learned what his family had gone through in the hundreds of hours since he'd been trapped at ACE. To be honest he'd also learned what he'd been through. His memories of the days after he'd been released were either hazy or non-existent; especially those relating to International Rescue. So fearful had the family been that John's cloaking device would affect Virgil's breathing apparatus or that someone would overhear any confidential information, that no one had said anything that might compromise the organisation.

But one thing that Virgil knew for sure was that his family had endured too much bad news these past weeks and he was looking forward to giving them something positive.

When they arrived, they did so warily. After the researchers' first examination the Tracys had returned with no concept of what they'd encounter. They'd walked into the room and stopped dead. Jeff and Grandma – who'd never smelt decaying human flesh before – had wondered what that stench was. Virgil's brothers – who had – knew.

It was a shock to them all.

Fortunately, Brains had hurried forward to reassure them all that there was nothing, he hoped, to worry about.

Today they could smell that for themselves. And the relief on their faces was plain for all to see.

"'Scuse me." Bryce pushed passed the Tracys. "I'm just going to book a theatre for this afternoon, so we can proceed with the next stage of the trial. Will you check out that the dermal polymer's ready, Timoti?"

"Already on it." Timoti was tapping into his tablet. He beamed down on Virgil. "By this time tomorrow we'll be able to get rid of the breathing apparatus and you will be able to begin moving that arm. Within a week we should have you sitting up. And your new skin will hopefully help you retain some of your body heat, so we won't need to have this room so hot!" He looked back at the tablet and frowned. "And we'll start getting some real data. Must check on the…" Forgetting that he wasn't alone, he hurried out of the room.

Grandma had seen her middle grandson's disappointed face as his first opportunity to give them good news was snatched from him. She kissed Virgil on the forehead. "So, today's going to be a big day, is it?"

Virgil smiled up at her. "Yes… Finally, I'll – be able to – have a proper – conversation – with you – all… And I'll be – able to do – something – other than – stare at the – ceiling."

"Not immediately," Brains reminded him. "We will take raising you into a sitting position slowly. And you'll need to, ah, exercise that arm to get to back to full strength and flexibility."

Virgil knew full well that he could only take one step at a time. And he was determined that one day that would be literally as well as figuratively.

"What time will the operation be?" Jeff asked.

Brains checked his tablet. "I don't know, M-Mr Tracy. That decision hasn't been made yet. But most of the preparations have already been made. I don't anticipate us having to wait for long."

"Morning? Afternoon?" John sounded as eager as Virgil felt.

"I d-don't know," Brains echoed. "Probably this afternoon to allow time for the final preparations."

"How long with the operation take?" Gordon queried.

"I'm sorry, Gordon, but I, ah, do not have that information. This is an ex…"

"…Experimental procedure," everyone chorused, well aware that they were treading an unknown path.

"But, I don't foresee any u-unforeseen issues. Provided there are no hold-ups – such as there not being an O.R. available. Virgil is in good shape… Relatively speaking." Brains smiled down on his friend. "So long as you behave yourself and don't go giving us any frights like last time."

"Not – part of the – plan."

Scott pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. "Feeling excited?"

"Yes… I'm fed up – with not being – able to do – anything… Just to be able – to scratch my – ear without – having to ask – you to do it – will be fantas–tic…"

Alan claimed his own seat. "And so will being able to tell you everything we haven't been able to tell you."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was late afternoon before the orderlies arrived to wheel the bed away.

Grandma gave Virgil a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck, Dear."

"He doesn't need luck," Gordon claimed. "This is going to be a piece of cake… Knock on wood." He rapped his knuckle against the hard shell that protected Virgil's torso.

"We'll be here when you come out of surgery," Scott promised. "We want to see that first movement."

"Is this – the overture?" Virgil's bed was rolled out the door to a refrain of "good lucks" and "see you soons".

The door closed between him and his family.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?" Gordon asked.

"Beats me." Alan shrugged.

"If it was, he must be worried."

"He's not the only one."

No longer needing to put a brave face on things, everyone sagged at the thought of the unknown number of hours of waiting before them.

Jeff looked at his watch. "Guess we've got some spare time. Anyone want to go back to the house?"

No one did.

"Anyone want a game of cards?" John asked, trying to drag everyone's thoughts away from the unknown. He reached into his bag.

Everyone pulled up a chair and settled in for the long haul.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

They'd been sitting there for an hour in near silence, trying to keep out of the way of the hospital staff who prepared the room for the return of the patient, when they heard a faint buzz.

John pulled his phone out of his pocket. He looked at the screen before raising an eyebrow at his father as he picked up his bag. "I'll just take this outside. 'Scuse me."

Everyone watched him go, wondering what message was being transmitted through Thunderbird Five.

John wasn't really planning on going outside where there was a chance of being overheard and he didn't want to delay answering the call. So, he retreated to the storeroom that had been the Tracys' home for so many hours, weeks ago.

The chairs they'd utilised had gone, replaced with more cartons.

John switched on his cloaking device to mask his voice and any transmissions from the outside world. Then, after making sure that the conversation was relayed to his father's earpiece, he finally spoke into the phone. "This is International Rescue. Go ahead."

"Ah! International Rescue! Good!" the person on the other end of the phone gabbled. "We need your help!"

During idle moments on Thunderbird Five, John had often wondered why people almost invariably greeted him in that way. Surely, they wouldn't have called him if they hadn't needed International Rescue's services?

But such thoughts were a long way when he replied with: "What's your situation?"

"Our company is called Hartzee Foods. There's a fire in the factory."

John declined to point out that they weren't the fire brigade.

"I suppose you're wondering why we've called International Rescue over a fire."

John decided against agreeing with the flustered individual.

"The fire isn't that big, but it could get bigger."

John considered telling the man to take a deep breath and get a grip.

"Y'see it's not the factory we're worried about. It's the dangerous goods store."

Finally, John saw a reason to interject. "Is it in danger of exploding?"

"There's the potential for that to happen."

"And lives are in danger?"

"Yes! Well… One."

"How?"

"Erm…"

"Are they trapped in the dangerous goods store?"

He could hear the relief of his caller when they heard his calm, steadying tones. "Yes."

"What's stored in there?" John ran a quick inventory check of the most likely suspects. "Flammable gases? Propane?"

"No."

"Oils for cooking?"

"No."

"Aerosols?''

"No. Walnuts."

John did a double take. "Walnuts?" He scanned his internal database, searching for any information to explain what made such an unexpected substance as dangerous as his caller suggested. Something niggled at the back of his mind and he pulled his tablet computer out of his bag and started a search.

"Yes." He had an odd feeling of déjà vu when he heard his caller begin to read the words that were printed on the screen before him. "They're classified under Class 4.2. of the International Maritime Dangerous Goods (IMDG) code: Flammable Solids (substances liable to spontaneous combustion)."

John knew of that particular code. He was beginning to share the caller's concern.

"And there are pistachios in a neighbouring bunker," the Hartzee Foods man continued. "They're just as bad. And brazil nuts, peanuts, almonds, hazelnuts, and sunflower seeds. Actually, there are a lot of corn starches, flour, and wheat nearby. But they're each in their own silo. Our guy's in the bunker with the walnuts."

John was beginning to feel that he was back on solid ground. Food energy, in the form of calories and joules (depending on whether you followed imperial or metric measurements), was just the same as any other energy. And could be just as explosive. He remembered an experiment performed by an admired science teacher, where a cloud of corn starch-based custard powder had erupted in a small, but unexpectedly awesome, explosion. During dinner that evening he'd made the mistake of telling his brothers all about the day's exciting lesson. Supper had proven to be Alan, eyebrows singed and blaming John for his misery, bawling for Grandma because he had been splattered by burning hot custard powder.

That evening Gordon had made himself scarce.

"I get the picture. How is the man trapped?"

"The fire tripped the lockdown isolation procedure; as it was supposed to. But instead of giving the standard one-minute warning to give our guys time to escape, which it should have done since the dangerous goods store wasn't in immediate danger, it slammed the doors home and shut off the electricity instantly."

"Is there an emergency evacuation system? Why can't your guy open the door from inside?"

"Ermmm… I don't know. I just know that he can't get out."

"Emergency escape route?"

"No."

"Is your guy in darkness? Can you correspond with him?"

"No, he's got some emergency lighting. He does have a low powered radio with him, but we're limiting its use in case there's a spark."

"Understood. Can you reverse the lockdown?"

"Our IT guru tried, but he says the circuitry's fried in the fire or something and he can't get to the main CPU. Anyway, can you come? It's not only the threat of explosion that's worrying us."

John suddenly felt out of his depth again. "It's not?"

"No. Walnuts, and pistachios and the rest, even after being picked, absorb oxygen and excrete carbon dioxide."

Causing hypercapnia or carbon dioxide poisoning in an enclosed space – like a sealed bunker. "Is the ventilation system still working?"

"No. The computer shut that down when it went into lockdown. It's trying to keep oxygen and heat out of the bunkers to reduce the risk of explosion. It's not programmed to watch out for spontaneous combustion. And if the walnuts get wet…"

"From the trapped man's respiration or if the sprinklers go off?"

The caller sounded relieved that John had grasped the seriousness of the situation. "That's right. Even a small increase in dampness and carbon dioxide will cause self-heating to accelerate."

"How long does the self-heating process take to reach the point of spontaneous combustion?"

"If the walnuts are damp: hours, not days."

"Hence the reason why you've called International Rescue."

"Yes."

"What are the bunker's walls made of?"

"Reinforced concrete."

Triangulating the caller's location, John zeroed in on the danger zone and sent the information through to Scott's phone. "Anything else we need to know?"

"Erm… No?"

"Good. Stay close to the radio and I'll get back to you. International Rescue out." John turned off his phone, the tablet, and the cloaking device.

Upon exiting the storeroom, the first person he saw was an orderly who gave him a very odd look. John responded by showing her his phone with an apologetic shrug. Then he saw his brothers. "I feel like Superman," he admitted quietly, trying to get as much space between himself and the incriminating storeroom as he could. Then he raised his voice. "Going for a walk?"

"Close," Scott responded, sounding casual. "The operation's going to take hours, so we thought we might take the Odonata for a flight."

"Sounds like a plan to me. Mind if I tag along?"

They all headed for the exit, each of them wondering how a group of playboys was supposed to act when hurrying while trying not to appear to be in a hurry.

It wasn't until they _were_ hurrying down their long driveway that they gave up all pretence.

"What's the story?" Scott asked, panting slightly as he jogged towards the house.

Like his brothers, John had had limited opportunities to exercise over the last few weeks and was just as out of breath. "Didn't Dad tell you?"

"He didn't have the opportunity. A nurse was fiddling with the equipment. He must have thought that our services were needed though, because he tipped us the wink."

John gave them a rundown, feeding out the little information he had.

"Walnuts?" Gordon exclaimed. "You're saying that this guy's at risk of being blown up by exploding walnuts?"

"Unless the room fills up with carbon dioxide. In which case, he'll be asphyxiated by them."

They skirted their house and continued jogging past the newly reinstated and fenced swimming pool, unaware that they were being watched through the kitchen windows.

"Ina hurry," Butch mused, and then looked guiltily at his wife when Bruce nudged him.

"Guess they're going to go for a flight somewhere," the latter expanded. "There's not a lot else they can do for Virgil while he's in the operating room." He checked his watch. "Anyone heard the news today?"

"Just the usual bad stuff," Olivia told him. "The earthquakes barely get a mention now."

"It's almost 3 o'clock. I might go and see what's happening in the world."

"Yeah." Butch sounded almost too casual. "I – might – listen – too."

"Want to join us?"

"Oh-kay."

The three of them left the lounge leaving a bemused Lisa, and an unconcerned Ginny, behind.

Lisa Crump picked up her daughter. "Those three are hiding something, aren't they, Honey?"

"They playin' hide'n'seek?"

Lisa chuckled and kissed Ginny on the forehead. "Quite probably. The question is… Who from?"

The Tracy brothers gave the Odonata the briefest of pre-flight checks. Although it wasn't standard practise, each of them had already been allocated a quadrant of the craft and she was ready for flight in quick time.

Scott slid into the pilot's seat, activated the muffling system, and the Odonata lifted off the ground. He barely glanced at John, who was once again in the co-pilot's seat facing the passenger cabin.

"What's the action?" Alan asked, as John got back on the phone to Hartzee Foods to warn them that International Rescue was on the way and to request further information about the layout and construction of the facility.

"We're not going to be able to use ordinary cutters, because of the threat of sparks," Scott admitted. "Similarly, plasma cutters and oxyhydnite are out because of the heat and flame."

"Water jet?" Gordon suggested. "No flame involved there."

There was a snort from his younger brother. "Trust you to think of that one."

"Okay," Gordon rounded on him. "You come up with a solution."

"Easy. The Laser Cutter's in Thunderbird Two."

Scott had to admit that that was a possibility. "Depending on the thickness of the walls and the size of the room. We don't want to give the nuts an ignition source nor risk burning the victim." He remembered the last time he had a similar thought and what had happened afterwards, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Use the Firefly to sheer off the corner of the building?" Alan squirmed under the glare of twin scowls and Scott's dirty look in the mirror looking into the passenger cabin. "It's only a suggestion! And it worked a treat last time. It was the aftershock that caused the problems."

John disconnected the phone call. "Last time the wall wasn't load bearing. I don't think we can count on that this time."

"And if the concrete's reinforced with iron rebar, once again we've got to be aware that we could create sparks," Scott reminded them.

"Flood the room with water?" Gordon offered. "Assuming they're in sacks and not floating free, the guy can sit on the walnuts to stay in the air pocket. Once the nuts…"

"Seeds," John corrected.

Gordon ignored him. "…are neutralised, we can use whatever cutting implement we want."

John wasn't going to be ignored. "Except that dampness accelerates the heating process. Depending on what the walnuts are contained in, capillary action of the water might acerbate the situation, not dampen it down."

Trying to visualise the building that he had yet to see, Alan was running through various access points in his mind. "Lift the roof off to cool the room and ventilate the gas?"

"Again possible," Scott conceded. "If it's not raining. We don't want to give those nuts any…"

"Seeds," John corrected again. "Biologically speaking, walnuts are seeds… Or drupes." He received a dirty look of his own.

"…any excuse to blow. Or, if it's a bunker, the roof's likely to be an integral part of the structure."

"How about using something super cold to create an explosion?" Gordon pulled a tablet out of one of the Odonata's pockets. "Something like liquid nitrogen?"

"Liquid nitrogen displaces oxygen in a sealed environment," Alan reminded him.

"Like a sealed bunker."

"Yep."

Scott thought for a moment as he flew the plane over the coast. "John…?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you could reroute that computer programme to another system to open the door?"

"Unlikely. If their IT guy, who should know the system inside out, can't do it, I doubt I can."

"He may not have thought of it. Or they might only need another power source to get the computer working. Check it out and we'll keep it as an option."

John made the call. The computer technician, believing that the company's computer was fried and that he was at least temporarily redundant, had evacuated himself to the Hartzee Foods rendezvous point over the road from the factory. Someone would be despatched to dig him out of the crowd and ask if Scott's plan was feasible. As soon as this was done Hartzee Foods would let International Rescue know if their services would still be required.

"This is impossible!" Scott thumped the control yoke and the Odonata gave an uncharacteristic lurch. "Under normal circumstances Thunderbird One would be there by now, I'd know exactly what the situation was and what we need to do to rectify it, and, _if _it was needed, Thunderbird Two would be on its way with the required equipment!"

"We know, Scott," Gordon reminded him quietly. "We'd rather that things were back to normal too. But sometimes we've got to put the family before the lives of others. For our own sanity… And Virgil's."

John pocketed his phone. "This is a compromise. And it's better than not being able to do anything at all. Virgil wouldn't want us to let that guy die if we can help him."

"And it's not as if Virgil needs us at the moment," Alan added. "He won't know where we are, and he won't care what we're doing."

Scott didn't respond; but his knuckles were white on the control yoke.

They flew on in silence for a few seconds more, until John received another missive from the danger zone.

"Is that about the computer?" Scott asked, as his brother read what was on screen.

"No. The plan of the building." John reached under his seat, lifted a lever and swivelled around until he was facing the co-pilot's controls and able to lock his seat back in place. "I've got her." He held his tablet out to Scott.

Relinquishing the main control yoke, Scott accepted the tablet. No one spoke as he scrolled through several screens.

"Well?" Alan leant forward in his seat. "What's the plan?"

Scott gave a hopeless shrug. "I can't see the diagrams well enough to be able to interpret all the squiggles. I can see that the walnut store is the one at the end of a corridor, which is partitioned by five blast doors. I think the entire building's got a blast wall around the exterior and that there are six bunkers within the building. But without Brains' advice, I can't be sure." He let the tablet drop into his lap. "We need the services of a good architect or civil engineer." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"But where are we going to find one of those?" Alan asked. "We can't just check the local telephone directory and ask a stranger to interpret what's on screen. They'd want to know why we're interested."

"You aren't serious, are you?" Gordon stared at him. "We do know a civil engineer we can ask. One of the best."

"Huh?"

Scott face-palmed his forehead. "Of course!" He quickly tapped into John's computer.

-F-A-B-

Back at Bearston General, Jeff Tracy was surprised to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. The vibrations' Morse code pattern made it clear who was calling him.

_Dot-dot-dash-dot dot-dash dash-dot-dot-dot._

F-A-B.

"Who's it from?" his mother asked when he transferred the message to a larger-screened tablet.

"Erm. It's work related," he prevaricated, aware of the cleaners wiping down the windows. He quickly read the message.

_Need your help. Attached are the building's plans. What's best way to get in? Can't use heat, flame, or water._

"You sure know how to make life difficult, Scott," Jeff mumbled. He zoomed in on the plans and considered the question. Then he made his decision, drew a circle with his finger on the tablet's screen, made an annotation, and sent it back into the ether.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The landing at Barduq was as smooth as the younger Tracys expected. What they didn't expect was for Scott to issue a command. "Alan. You're with me." He leapt out of the cockpit.

"What?" Alan stared through the Odonata's windscreen at his eldest brother's departing back. "Why?"

John and Gordon were equally flummoxed. "Dad did say that he could only fly Thunderbird One if one of us flew with him," John reminded him.

"But that was on the return journey when he had the time to relax and start thinking about everything that had happened on the rescue."

Gordon shrugged. "Virgil's in surgery. Maybe he's worried that he won't be able to maintain concentration and wants you as backup."

Alan pouted. "Or maybe he doesn't trust me and thinks I'll do something as 'stupid' as suspend the Mole in water."

"_Alan!"_

"Better go!" The youngest Tracy fled the cockpit.

They'd retrieved Thunderbird One at an earlier date, and Scott and Alan (still wondering about the order he'd received) took the lift to the top level.

With the speed borne of years of experience, both brothers were changed and ready for Thunderbird One's launch.

Without a comment to his younger brother, Scott slid into the pilot's seat. A glance at his control panel told him that the younger Tracy had his safety harness fastened and that the hangar was already rotating out of the ground. Above them their exit route was spiralling open.

It had no sooner reached its maximum aperture before Thunderbird One's jets ignited, and she was flying away from the island.

"Okay. Now that we're alone. Why am I here and not in Thunderbird Two?"

Scott checked his controls again. "Because I need to prove that I'm still capable of being part of the team. You're my independent assessor."

Alan frowned, trying to make sense of what had been said. "But I'm the one who stuck up for you. They'll think I'm biased."

"No, they won't. We all know you wouldn't do anything to jeopardise the team or a mission."

Scott didn't see Alan's jaw drop.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The computer IT guy had done his best, but had been unable to override the command that had locked the bunker down.

It was over to International Rescue.

Once he was physically face-to-face with the problem, and thanks to his father's input, Scott had a plan of action prepared by the time Thunderbird Two arrived. He and Alan set up Mobile Control in the shadow of a couple of grain silos and a few hundred metres away from the confusion that was the inferno. So massive was the fire that some of the firefighters hadn't even noticed the Thunderbirds arrive. Their focus was on the flames that the Tracys could see leaping skywards behind the pillars of smoke.

Scott, when he was joined by his final two brothers, skipped any greetings. "I'm staying here at Mobile Control as liaison, and because I want one of us keeping an eye on that fire." He indicated the hazard.

"They look like they need a hand." Gordon stared at the conflagration. "Couldn't we put it out with Thunderbird Two?"

"Our priority is the man in dangerous goods. If the fire's still out of control once we've freed him, then we'll help the locals."

"Understood."

"John: You see if you can override that computer programme."

"But didn't you say that IT couldn't do it?"

"He's only been on the job a month and is fresh out of school. He's all theoretical knowledge and no practical skills. I think you've got a better chance of breaking in. Go talk to Alec over there." Scott pointed to a huddle of strangers further back from the raging fire.

"F-A-B." John jogged over to the huddle.

"Alan: Gordon: You're on the Laser Cutter and the Crab. You've got five doors to get through and an unknown amount of time to do it in. Get moving."

"F-A-B."

Alan and Gordon retreated to Thunderbird Two; Gordon selecting the Laser Cutter and Alan the Crab.

The Laser Cutter was little more than a tractor, the cab of which offered the operator protection from his surroundings as the cannon-mounted laser cut through everything before it.

The Crab was a similar configuration, except that at the front and rear two sets of pincers were able to either shear through buildings or wrench them apart.

Both machines and their crews exited Thunderbird Two and headed off on their task.

Scott decided that it was time to report back to his commander. Not knowing if Jeff was alone, he did this by sending a cryptic text message. _Arrived safely. Everyone's doing their own thing. Thanks for your help. S._

It wasn't too many minutes later when he received a reply. _Good to hear. All well this end. Hand finished._

Scott permitted himself a smile. _Great. I'm at MC. Let me know as things progress._

_F-A-B._

Keying the radio, Scott looked around to check no one was within earshot. "Mobile Control to Laser Cutter and Crab. Message from base. They've replaced the skin on Virgil's hand."

"Yeah?" It was Gordon. "That's brilliant news. Creepy, but brilliant. It took less time than I expected."

"At that rate," Alan continued, "he'll be out of O.R. before we're back."

Scott would rather that they were home before then. "How much longer do you think you'll need?"

"Gordon's carving up the first door. He'll have that finished in seconds. It's the last door that's going to cause the problems."

"I know. Let me know if you have any issues. Mobile Control out." Scott switched channels. "Mobile Control to IT. How's it going, John?"

"I may be able to do this, Scott."

"Good. It won't take long for Gordon and Alan to cut through to the last door, which is when the fun begins. If you can open it before we need the Crab it'll save us a lot of time and reduce the danger quota… Any mosquitos about?"

"You can speak freely, Scott. Alec's gone to get the computer's schematics."

"The schematics?"

"He was hovering at my shoulder while I was trying to work, making a hissing noise as if he didn't approve of what I was doing. I sent him schematic hunting to get rid of him. What's up?"

Scott could hear how relaxed his brother was sounding – now that the "mosquito" had buzzed away. Reassured that he wasn't interrupting anything that required John's full concentration, he continued the conversation. "They've finished Virgil's hand."

"Great! Now what are they doing? His legs?"

"I assume his legs and lower torso. Aren't they sliding it on in one piece?"

"Like a pair of necropants."

"What-pants?"

"Necropants. A bit of Icelandic witchcraft, or wizardcraft since men wore them. You skin your deceased friend – with his prior permission – and then wear the cured skin…"

"Wear his skin?!"

"It's a spell to magic up loads of money…" There was a brief pause. "Here comes my hissing mosquito, so I'll save all the gory details for the flight home. Let me know when you have more news and I'll swat him away from here."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

Inside the bunker it was cool and dark. Dark except for the laser light that shot out of the cannon and ate through the steel of the 50-centimetre-thick doors, leaving a glowing line of liquid metal fading in its wake.

Stuck for something to do for a few seconds, Alan got on the radio. "How's our victim, Mobile Control?"

Scott answered promptly. "I've just been talking to him. He's in good shape although he said the air's starting to feel a bit stale."

"Carbon dioxide build up?"

"I'd say so. The only positive about that is that without oxygen it should help stop the walnuts from exploding."

"I'm sure he finds _that_ reassuring. Do you really think they'll explode? It all sounds a bit unbelievable to me."

"I've been doing a bit of research while I've been waiting and it's all true. And, I guess that with their shells, the pressure could build up until it gets too much."

"You'd think they'd have natural safety valves, since their shells are already in two halves."

"Except that you've got nut shell shrapnel flying everywhere."

"Seed shell shrapnel," Alan teased.

"Don't you start. One know-it-all in this family is enough."

"Gordon's moving out, so I'd better move in."

"F-A-B, Alan. Mobile Control out."

Gordon finished his task and backed out of Alan's way. The Crab moved in, raised the pincers, opened them wide, placed their flat points against the door and accelerated. The door was nudged forward until it was clear of the hole the Laser Cutter had created. Then Alan changed his angle of attack, pushing the door by degrees, so it rotated clear of the newly created entrance. Finally, it was pressed up against the wall, and no longer an obstacle to their rescue.

They moved forward.

-F-A-B-

"Tzssss."

John ground his teeth together and resisted telling Alec to go play on his calculator and leave him alone. He had other ploys for getting rid of the IT technician, but didn't want to use them until Scott needed to speak to him. That was until a fresh wave of smoke blew in their direction and the tech coughed. "You don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

He was disappointed by the reply. "I don't mind staying. You might need my help."

"Okay." John tried to sound pleasant. "In that case, can you hand me the ion-driver?"

"Sure… Tzssss."

John felt his jaw muscles working and concentrated on relaxing them, as he made the necessary adjustments to the open computer before him. "Been in the job long?" he asked, as much to stop that annoying sound as out of any real curiosity.

"Tzsssix weeks. I created the web site for the company during my spare time while I was at Uni. They gave me some spending money and then, when I got my degree, they gave me the job." Alec gave a nervous laugh. "I don't remember the job description saying anything about assisting International Rescue."

John responded with an absent: "I'm sure it didn't."

"How'd you get your job?" Alec asked, and John wasn't sure if the question was asked out of nosiness or because the younger man thought he should observe the social graces… Which he clearly didn't fully understand.

John chose to think it was politeness speaking and decided he'd better reply in kind. "Like you, I guess. I had the skills they needed, so they asked me to join."

"Yeah? Do International Rescue need another computer tech?"

"Only if you are also a pilot, a mechanical engineer, an aquanaut, and an astronaut. And you are prepared to work for 48-plus hours straight in hot, dusty, dirty, dry, cold, wet, uncomfortable, dangerous situations getting covered in mud, blood and other stuff most people don't want to know about."

"Oh…" Alec seemed a little taken aback. "No."

"Probably wise," John agreed, and tightened a micro-screw.

"Tzssss."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_Skin replaced on legs._ Scott read. _All proceeding as planned._ _Nearly finished._ He sent a reply of approval and then passed the message onto Gordon and Alan.

"That's all they've got to do, isn't it?" Gordon queried. "They'll be taking him to recovery now."

"They were going to remove the tracheotomy tube and hide the stoma." Alan nudged the door clear. "That might take a little time."

"It sounds awful, but I hope so. I want to be there when he wakes up."

"We all do, Gordon," Scott agreed. "But we can't leave until we've finished the job. How close are you to getting our victim out of there?"

Alan and Gordon faced the final door. "One to go," Alan confirmed. "Any word on how close John is to getting the computer working? Or do you want us to start cutting?"

"Give me a moment and I'll ask him." Scott switched channels. "Mobile Control calling IT."

He heard John's voice. "Receiving you, Mobile Control."

"What's the insect activity like there?"

"Pesky. _Hey, Alec. You haven't got any fly spray or mosquito repellent or anything like that, have you?"_

"_May do."_

"_Would you mind getting some for me?"_

"_Sure,__back soon."_

"Take as long as you like," John grumbled. "What news have you got for me, Scott?"

"Virgil's been fitted with his necropants. He's doing well."

"What an image. Remind me never to call them that in front of him."

Scott managed a chuckle. "I'm with you… Alan and Gordon are at the final door. Are you able to open it or do you want them to move in?"

"Give me one second… Great, the one time that I need an extra pair of hands Alec isn't here."

"Shall I give the order?"

"No, hold on, Scott. I think I've got it…" John made the final adjustment. "There! Sorted!"

"But is it going to work?"

"Only one way to find out. Tell Alan, Gordon and our victim to stand clear of the door. Just in case…"

Scott gave the instruction and waited, nearly as eager for this operation to be a success as he was for Virgil's.

"It's moving, Scott. John's got the computer working!"

"That's good, Alan. Stand clear until it's open wide enough for easy access." Scott had no sooner said that when he thought he heard three curses. "What's wrong?"

"The computer's crashed," John admitted. "I've done all I can in the time we've got. It's over to Gordon and Alan now."

"Receiving you," Gordon admitted. "Alan's moving in with the Crab. I'm gonna evacuate the Laser Cutter to clear the escape route."

"F-A-B," Scott responded, and saw the squat machine lumber out of Dangerous Goods. He then watched as Gordon left the craft and ran back into the building.

He was joined by John just as a beep from Mobile Control claimed his attention. A text message had flashed up on the screen. _Breathing on own. Being moved into recovery._

Delighted, Scott showed his brother the message. "He's breathing on his own!"

John, a beaming smile on his face, read the words and then, to make sure he'd read them correctly, read them again. "Fantastic! At least something's going right today."

-F-A-B-

Inside the Crab, Alan rolled closer to the final door. The pincers that gave the vehicle its name had the added trick of being able to change their shape. Both sets morphed from the blunt-nosed shears into needle-nosed pliers.

Pliers strong enough to prise apart two 50-centimetre-thick slabs of metal.

Gordon barrelled back into the final chamber. He was about to join Alan in the Crab's cab, when he thought he heard something. "Alan! Wait!"

Alan leant out of the Crab's window. "What?"

Gordon jogged over to the narrow gap between the doors. "This is International Rescue. Did you say something?"

"International Rescue? Yeah." For the first time, he heard and could understand the voice of the trapped man. "Can you hurry up? The walnuts are going to blow! I can smell smoke!"

"Smoke? Okay! Stand well back from the door. We're going to force it open."

"But just so you know…"

Gordon wondered what was so important that the man was willing to risk his neck telling him. "Yes?"

"There's a bag of corn starch in here. More than one."

"Corn starch? What's that doing in the walnut store?" Gordon realised they didn't have time for explanations. "Are the bags sealed?"

"Yes."

"Good. If the powder isn't airborne it won't be a problem. Anything else?"

"No."

"Move in, Alan! We haven't got much time!"

"F-A-B." Alan gunned the Crab and pushed the "pliers" into the gap. He applied hydraulic pressure and the blades were pushed apart, forcing the door slowly open. There was the screech of metal upon concrete as the two metal slabs were prised away from each other.

Aware that he was in a potentially life-threatening place, should the pliers slip and spring open with a force that would probably guarantee decapitation, Gordon crouched by the slowly opening door, offering reassurance. "Don't try to get through until we give the word," he commanded, knowing that the man was probably desperate to get away from threat promised by the ever-increasing smoke that was seeping through the gap. "There a chance that something could slip. If it does the door may slam shut and we don't want you losing any limbs."

"Hurry!"

"Don't panic, we are… Can you speed it up, Alan?"

"Applying more pressure. Keep clear, Gordon."

"I'm clear. Just keep opening those doors."

"At full pressure. How much smoke is there?"

"Too much."

Now Gordon could see their victim. The man was hovering just inside the ever-widening gap, desperate to make his escape. He was just about to say: "Keep calm. It won't be long now," when he heard a pop and saw a flash of light. "What was that?"

"Walnut exploded. It's started a chain reaction!"

There were more mini-explosions, like the early moments of a firework display, and the air was filled with acrid smoke as walnut after walnut erupted in a flash of light.

Gordon saw the victim duck as he tried to dodge the shrapnel.

"Hurry," the man begged again. "The shells are lethal." He ducked again. "One of them tore right though the bag that holds the corn starch."

"Okay. Five seconds more," Gordon promised against a backdrop of what sounded like giant popcorn reverberating in an echo chamber. "Four… Three… Come on, Alan. Two…"

There was a larger explosion as a cluster of walnuts detonated.

"NOW!" With no thoughts of what it would mean if another member of the family lost an arm, Gordon reached through the gap and grabbed the victim's clothing to pull him to safety.

The room was obliterated in an explosion of white light.

Gordon wasn't about to hang around to check out the damage. He dragged the victim over to the open door of the Crab and with a puffed: "Get in!", and Alan pulling on the latter's hands to assist, he pushed him into the cab.

"Go, Alan!" Gordon launched himself into the vehicle behind the victim, skidding across the floor and slamming into the door on the other side. He jumped to his feet as the machine started moving and sealed the entrance closed.

Alan had swung his seat around 180 degrees and now he gunned the engine. Without the need to turn the Crab, and with those on board in a hurry to leave, he floored it.

All three occupants were slammed forward when there was another, larger, explosion: one powerful enough to shunt the Crab down the corridor. Alan, thrown against the controls, only just failed to gain enough control over the vehicle to stop an unplanned meeting with one of the thick concrete walls. The pencil-thin pliers rammed into the reinforced concrete and stuck.

"Hurry, Alan!" Gordon urged.

"I can't!" Alan leant on the lever that should have withdrawn the pliers from where they were embedded like the tines of a fork into the wall.

"Back up!"

"I'm trying!" Alan had thrown the Crab into reverse even as Gordon had given the command. The machine's engine roared and strained, but the pliers seemed to be welded into place.

"Keep trying!" Gordon directed. "I'll see if I can wiggle the blades free." He reached in front of his brother and tried to manipulate the controls.

Their victim was standing at the front of the cab, peering through the windscreen at the obstacle to their escape. "Something seems to be jammed in the hinge."

"Huh?" Gordon checked for himself. "He's right." There was another mini-explosion behind them. "Keep trying to back up, Alan." He flung open the right-hand door and climbed out onto the Crab's framework. Adrenaline pumping, he kept climbing, up onto the articulated arm that supported the pliers. Standing precariously on the two blades' pivot point, he slammed his foot down on the obstruction.

It didn't move.

"C'mon," he growled and stomped downwards again. "Move you hunk of j…"

His third assault on the obstruction was made at a slightly different angle to the first two and he was relieved to see it slip slightly. "Nearly got it!" He stomped again.

A white light erupted out of the walnut storeroom swallowing up the Crab as walnut shells peppered the vehicle and ricocheted off the walls. Gordon, caught off guard by the severity of the explosion and a jolt that ran through the Crab, lost his balance. Only his lightning reflexes, tuned by years of life and death situations, stopped him from tumbling in an uncontrolled fall onto the hard concrete. He grabbed one of the closing pincers with both arms and hung on.

"Stop the… thing!" the victim yelled, seeing his fall and the imminent danger of amputation.

Alan, his own reflexes as fast and fine-tuned as his brother's, heard the yell and, instinct reacting quicker than conscious thought, obeyed.

Gordon, feeling his arm almost caught in the middle of a metal on metal sandwich, let go and fell to the ground in a more controlled descent. He jumped back into the cab. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm with you," Alan slammed the Crab into reverse, which yet again knocked his passengers off their feet. He corrected the vehicle's direction, pressed down on the accelerator, and the International Rescue machine lurched forward once more.

Gordon picked himself back off the floor. "Everyone all right?"

Their victim sat up, deciding that it was safer to stay on the floor. "Think so," he admitted, and coughed. "Thanks for getting me out of there."

"Save your thanks until we're home free," Alan told him, threading the Crab, like a length of cotton through the eye of a needle, down the corridor and out into smoky, cool, 'fresh' air. He motored clear of the bunker, drew up parallel to Mobile Control, and stopped.

Only then did the three men take a moment to regain their breaths, steady their heartbeats, and let the adrenaline ebb away.

"Are we safe now?" the Hartzee employee asked.

"Unless an asteroid lands on us, we're fine," Gordon told him. He reached down to help the other man to his feet and let out a yelp when their hands made contact.

The victim let go as if he'd been scolded. "Did I hurt you?" He scrambled to his feet unaided.

"No…" Gordon examined the red and blistered back of his hand. "I got nailed by something." As Alan pulled a first aid kit down from its locker, he found a tacky blob of something unidentifiable on his sleeve. Gingerly touching the blob, he sniffed the residue on his fingers. "Corn starch."

"Put this on," Alan was holding one half of a glove. "This'll keep the wound cool until we get you into Thunderbird Two."

Gordon placed his palm on the glove and the other half was placed over the burn. Despite his brother's care he winced.

"Is it sore?" Alan asked, sealing the edges of the glove

"Not now that the air can't get to it." Gordon examined his lurid green gel-like appendage. He grinned, holding it high. "Remind you of anyone?"

"I'm sure he'd rather be wearing that than what he's got at the moment." Alan swung open the door and jumped down, reaching up to give the Hartzee man and his injured brother a hand out.

They were joined by Scott and John, along with a couple of representatives from the corporation. The latter two greeted the rescuee warmly and piled thanks onto the men of International Rescue, before leading their man away.

Scott had spied his brother's injury. "Is that serious?"

"Nah." Gordon gave a careless shrug.

Scott looked at Alan, who made a face.

Based on his encyclopaedic knowledge of his brothers, Scott interpreted the signal to mean something. "I'm going to take Thunderbird Two and put out the fire. While I'm doing that, John, you can fix Gordon up in the sickbay."

"Right."

And both Alan and Scott knew that the latter had interpreted the former's signal correctly when Gordon followed his older brother towards the Thunderbird Two without complaint. "Alan, I'll leave the pod here. You can stow away our equipment."

"F-A-B. Mobile Control too?"

"If you've finished before I put the fire out, yes. The sooner we're home the better." Scott leant closer and lowered his voice. "Virgil's out of surgery and is breathing on his own."

"Yes?!" Alan, whose face had been reflecting some of the concern he had for Gordon's hand, brightened. "That's primo news."

Scott would have liked to have taken the time to share his youngest brother's delight and relief, but he had a job to do. He turned and jogged over to Thunderbird Two.

-F-A-B-

"Sit down," John instructed. "And strap in."

"It's not easy one handed," Gordon reminded him. "Besides, we're in the sickbay, we won't feel a thing."

"It's only a safety precaution, and you know full well that Scott won't lift off until he knows we're both secure."

"I know."

As he made sure that Gordon's harness would hold firm, John wondered at his brother's relaxed attitude. Only days earlier he would have been a mess of jittery nerves at the very idea of someone else – even Scott – flying Thunderbird Two in the middle of a mission. Clearly Virgil's improvement and the knowledge that the next stage of his treatment was underway had relaxed the younger man.

Having claimed an adjacent seat, placed the paraphernalia on a table between them, and done up his own safety harness, John pointed to the table. "Put your hand on there." Having pulled on a pair of latex gloves of his own and donned a mask, he began unsealing Gordon's glove. "We had word before you guys made your escape. Virgil's out of surgery."

A light on the wall told them that Thunderbird Two was airborne.

"Yeah?" Gordon's exclamation of delight was tempered with a hiss of pain as part of the burn tried to stick to the glove. "Careful!"

"I am…" John managed to avoid making a concerned sound as he examined the wound. He picked up a bottle of cooling and healing gel. "He's breathing on his own too." He squirted the gel onto the back of the injured hand.

"Great! So, we'll be able to have a proper conversation with him?"

"Last I heard he was still in recovery, but if everything's gone to plan…"

-F-A-B-

Virgil took his time recovering from surgery.

That was until he heard a familiar voice and felt a familiar touch. "Time to wake up, Honey."

Something in Virgil's sluggish mind reminded him that speech hadn't been that easy and he refrained from making a verbal response. Instead he concentrated on opening his eyes.

The light was bright, and he closed them again.

The soothing fingers running through his hair insisted that he open them again. He did so and saw three reassuringly familiar faces and two less so staring down on him.

He wondered if he could manage a hello.

"'Lo."

His voice sounded rough and he attempted to clear his throat.

It hurt.

"Don't try to rush it," Brains advised. "Take your time. You've been given pain relief for the tracheotomy reversal, so you'll probably feel groggy for a while."

Virgil decided that "groggy" was a good word; one that was an adequate match for the way he was feeling, and concluded that there was no point trying to fight it.

He fell asleep.

When he next awoke it was to the accompaniment of what sounded like an argument. He looked up at his father and grandmother, both of whom appeared to be mildly exasperated.

"Are you with us, Son?" Jeff asked.

Not willing to risk speech just yet, Virgil nodded.

"How are you feeling?"

Virgil tried to analyse how he was feeling. He frowned as he worked his way through the various parts of this body.

Legs: Non-existent.

Lower torso: Ditto.

Left hand: See above.

Right hand…

Virgil became aware that his right hand felt different from the way it had for the last few days, in that it was actually feeling something. The air felt hot on his skin, while the sheet beneath it felt cool. Looking down to double-check that everything was happening as he expected, he attempted to raise it.

Jeff saw the movement, only a few millimetres off the bed, and grinned. "That must be a welcome change." He took his son's hand and held it.

Virgil took a gamble that his speech muscles were also working. "So's tha'."

Jeff's grin broadened. Then it reversed into a frown. Looking over his shoulder to where the argument had grown louder, he spoke. "Don't you want to ask your patient how he is?"

Brains hurried back to the bed, a broad smile spilling across his face when he saw that Virgil was watching him. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil tried analysing his body again. "Ches' sore."

"Your chest's sore?" Brains clarified. "That's understandable, Ana Eden wasn't about to let you die without a f-fight. I-In that respect you're lucky with the treatment you've undergone these last few days. Apart from that, how are you?"

One word sprang to mind. "Rough." Virgil's voice sounded just as rough and he tried to clear his throat again.

The pain was still there. "Throa' sore."

"Your throat's sore?" Bryce Dower pushed Brains out of the way. "How?"

"When I cl'… try t' cle'r i'."

Timoti Bailey edged in front of Jeff. "That shouldn't be happening." He made notes into his tablet PC. "The tracheotomy can't have been sealed properly."

Brains looked annoyed. "The tracheal tissue was rehabilitated perfectly," he stated. "Colin Eden's team do good work."

"Well it can't be the new skin that's causing him pain. It won't have any nerves in it yet."

"Could it just be that his throat muscles haven't had any exercise for days?" Jeff asked, as much to forestall another argument as anything. "He hasn't been able to speak normally, and they've probably lost muscle tone."

Virgil relaxed. His father's explanation may have been total hogwash to anyone with medical knowledge, but it sounded plausible to a layperson and he was prepared to believe it. Especially as that tiny movement he'd made with his arm earlier had been just as taxing. He looked to his left. "Hi, Gran'ma."

She smiled down at him. "Hello, Darling." She glared back at the two researchers and Brains, who'd retreated into another huddle at the foot of the bed and had started another intense discussion. "Don't mind them. They analyse each little piece of information and each of them comes up with a different interpretation for it. But they seem pleased with your progress."

Now Virgil looked around him. "Where's…?"

"They, ah, they won't be long," his father promised. "They, um, thought we were going to be waiting for hours so they went for a flight to kill some time. Your operation didn't take as long as we thought." He looked at his son sympathetically. "They wanted to be here when you woke up."

"When will they ge' here?"

Jeff checked his watch. "Quarter of an hour?" He reached across to the bedside cabinet. "Do you want to do some exercises?" He held up Virgil's stress ball. "The sooner you start; the sooner you'll get full mobility back."

Virgil nodded and felt the soft spherical object slip into his hand.

He only managed about ten insignificant squeezes within that quarter hour and was shocked by how weak his sole good arm had become after what had, to him, been such a short space of time.

He was glad to have the excuse to drop the ball when the door flew open and his brothers burst inside.

He greeted them with a smile, a slightly raised arm, and an almost non-existent wave.

"Virg!" Scott exclaimed. "You raced us back!" He pulled two chairs closer. "Sorry we weren't here, but we couldn't go any faster. You understand."

Virgil nodded.

John accepted one of the chairs. "It's great to see you move again."

"Grea' t' be able t' move."

"You can talk too?"

"Ye'."

Alan had raced around to the side of the bed. He picked up Virgil's hand. "Challenge you to a thumb wrestle."

Virgil chuckled. "Later."

"Thumb wrestling?" Gordon flopped into a chair. "I thought I was the Tracy champion at thumb manoeuvres."

He'd tried not to make it obvious, but no one had missed seeing his bandaged hand. "What happened to you?" Jeff growled.

"This?" Gordon held the hand aloft. "This is nothing. I merely had an argument with something hot and sweet. She won."

Alan snickered. "I call it just desserts."

Keeping the back of his hand out of harm's way, Gordon folded his arms in a pretend huff. "I am dis-custard by that comment."

"You're nuts."

Virgil wasn't reassured and was unable to follow the hidden meanings behind their byplay. "You sure you' okay?"

"Of course, I am." Gordon leant forward to prove it. "Don't worry about me, Virgil," he insisted. "I've got some of Brains' magical miracle medicine on it. I'm fine."

"D-Do you want me to have a look at it?" Brains checked.

Gordon gave a dismissive wave of his good hand. "Nah."

"Yes," Scott amended, a beat before John. "We've already got one of us out of action, we don't need to make it two."

The Australasian researchers decided to go elsewhere to analyse the information collected up to this point, and Gordon and Brains retired to a corner for a quick examination.

The rest of the group clustered around Virgil's bed.

Jeff turned to his second eldest. "Can we use your blocker now, John?"

"He's not on any form of life support?"

Virgil would have said no, but he looked to his father for confirmation. He wasn't 100 percent sure what state he was in yet.

John got out his device and switched it on. "We're right now."

"What does tha' do?" Virgil asked.

"It stops any electronic signal from getting out or eavesdropping mechanism from getting in," John explained. "While that's turned on, no one can overhear us."

"Good," Jeff approved. "Start at the beginning, John."

"The call was from Hartzee Foods. They had a fire in their main factory, which the local authorities were trying to get under control. They needed International Rescue to…"

For the second time in less than ten minutes the door burst open. Bryce and Timoti stood there, dishevelled, red-faced, and panting. "What's happened?!"

At once everyone was on full alert.

Scott was on his feet and ready for action. Just what that action was to be, he wasn't sure. He could only hope that it had nothing to do with the exposure of International Rescue. "What do you mean what's happened?!" he echoed as the researchers pushed past him.

"We were just downloading the latest batch of information when everything turned to custard!" Timoti claimed.

"Custard!?" Gordon pulled his hand away from where Brains was re-bandaging it after his examination. "What's that about custard?"

Bryce dashed over to the console next to Virgil's bed and started feverishly examining it. "We stopped getting a signal." He checked all the connections and read-outs. "Subject seems stable."

His "subject" looked up at him from the pillow. "I'm fine."

John turned off the blocker and shoved it into his pocket, hiding it from the researchers.

"I'm getting a signal." Timoti announced, visibly relaxing. "Must have been a glitch in the system."

"A glitch?!" Bryce snapped. "We shouldn't be getting glitches! There must be something wrong!"

"I, ah, I know a bit about communications equipment," John offered. "Could I take a look?"

"You know?" The Australian still seemed frazzled. "What do you know?"

"J-John set up the communications link between the robot here and you in Australia," Brains reminded him. "Remember? What he doesn't know about communications equipment isn't worth knowing."

"Thanks, Brains." John accepted the compliment. He got to his feet. "Do you want me to check it out?"

Bryce took a step backwards, running a shaky arm across his forehead. "Yeah. Okay."

John pulled a small toolkit out of his bag and swung the unit around, so he could see the connections at the back. "Ah," he said and withdrew a mini-screwdriver out of his kit. "Loose wire." He pretended to use the screwdriver, placed a meter against the various points to check that his deception hadn't created any problems, and then swung the console back into position. "All done." He replaced his tools.

"Thank you!" His arm was almost wrung out of its socket by Bryce Dower. "We can't afford to lose any data. To do so might nullify our research and render the whole experiment void!"

"Right…" John cast a bemused look at his family. "We don't want that… Do we?"

"Come on, Bryce," Timoti gave his associate a companionable pat on the shoulder. "Now we're getting uncontaminated data, let's go back and start the analysis again."

Much relieved, both researchers left the room.

There was a full minute of silence after they left. Then John took the blocker out of his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault, John," his father reassured him.

"What do we do now?" Alan asked. "Whisper?"

"Go back to the old tried and true methods." Scott got his phone out of his pocket and switched on the music player. He placed it just inside the door to the room.

Alan pulled back the curtains. "The windows are double-glazed, but it's better to be safe than sorry. He tuned his phone into Scott's frequency and placed the unit on the windowsill.

"And… On the off chance that someone's hiding in here." Gordon placed his next to the doors leading to the ensuite facilities.

"Do we want one on this side? Just in case?" John stood his phone against the wall that ran behind the head of Virgil's bed.

The family were surrounded by a wall of sound.

Jeff leant forward. "Okay, Boys. Tell us exactly what happened…"

_To be continued…_


	39. Chapter 39

The days passed, and Virgil grew stronger. As he did so, and the researchers and medical personnel became more confident in his continuing recovery, the head of his bed was slowly raised so that he was able to look at more than the ceiling of his room.

Not that his changing viewpoint, so he was looking at pale walls rather than a white ceiling, was much of a morale boost.

His family tried to remedy that by finding pictures to brighten those walls. They also brought in a computer, programming it so that he could use it to access passive TV stations, interact with the world of the Internet, or draw using painting programmes. Most importantly he finally had a means to communicate with his friends. Texting became a link with the outside world, especially when the medical staff put their foot down and decreed that, as Virgil was no longer critical, the family were restricted to being by his side during visiting hours.

"_Hi Bruce. It's Virgil. New phone."_

"_Virgil! How are things?"_

"_Slow. How's your home?"_

"_Insurers digging heels in. Landlord doesn't know if it's repair or rebuild. What I saw: rebuild. Wish I could get my stuff."_

"_Fingers I've got left crossed. How's Olivia?"_

"_She's great. Any cute nurses there?"_

There were, but Virgil doubted they'd be interested in him… Not now. That was why he was reluctant to use the videophone feature, so that no one could see how skinny he looked. He'd yet to see his reflection and had no desire to.

The first time that he'd seen his right arm, as a physiotherapist had worked with it to get his muscles back into condition, he'd been shocked at how skeletal the limb had become. It made him glad that he didn't have access to a mirror. He would have hated to have seen how immobility and illness had ravaged his face.

He suppressed that dissatisfaction, knowing that he was lucky to have a chance at life and determined to show how much he appreciated his family's efforts at bringing that about. He worked at remaining positive and upbeat, not wanting his family to ever see him feeling downhearted or discouraged.

It wasn't always easy.

However, there were high points, like the time his dad, with a grin that said that he had a surprise that he couldn't wait to share, had turned up just before visiting hours. The physio had still been working on his arm and Jeff had overridden her objections to his presence. "I've got something that'll get him using that hand more than you can."

The physio, her name was Theresa, raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes…"

Jeff reached into his bag and pulled out a small, lightweight piano keyboard. It was only two octaves long, but the keys were full-sized and Virgil felt a smile form on his face when he saw it.

"George Watts helped me find it," Jeff explained, as he'd carried the instrument around the foot of the bed to Virgil's right hand. "I knew you'd want something with a decent sound, and I figured that, even though he's not a pianist, he'd have an ear for what sounds good. He was happy to help. He said he owes you for giving him the courage to try to live his dream."

Virgil remembered that conversation. Max Watts had not been happy when he'd realised who'd inspired his son take a year away from "real work" at ACE to try and make it in the music industry. It was a gamble that George had taken and one that was slowly, but surely, paying off. "Has he found a replacement for Gloria yet?"

"Gloria?"

"His guitar. Didn't someone say it was crushed in the 'quake?"

Jeff wondered at the strangeness of someone naming a musical instrument.

He'd once been told by a music teacher (in front of a girl he'd been hoping to impress by gaining the lead in a high school musical) that he had all the musicality of a tuba run over by a combine harvester. A statement he'd reluctantly come to accept as being accurate. He knew that he would probably have felt as out of his depth as Max Watts if Virgil had told him he'd wanted to become a full-time musician. The difference being that he wouldn't have tried to stomp on his son's dreams.

Deciding that naming an instrument was no different from naming a boat, he shook his head. "From what I've heard he's still looking. I guess you can't replace something like that in a hurry."

Virgil agreed.

"Do you play anything?" Jeff asked the physio.

"The fool?" Theresa responded. "I like listening to some kinds of music, but I don't know anything about playing it. Still…" she turned back to her patient, "anything that gets you moving those fingers is going to be good for you."

Eager to try, Virgil wished the head of his bed could be raised higher. At this stage of his recovery it was only about ten degrees above the horizontal and he craned his neck, trying to see the keyboard. "Can you put it under my hand?"

Jeff did as he was told and held it in place. "Try that."

Virgil lowered his thumb and, expecting to hear the centralising tones of middle C, was disappointed to hear an A. "Move it to the left two notes," he requested.

Jeff, sitting behind the keyboard as he supported it, considered the instrument. "Your left or mine?"

"Mine. My thumb needs to be resting on middle C."

"Middle C?"

"Didn't you listen to any of my music lessons?"

"Virgil, they were that many years ago, I've forgotten them." Jeff made the, he hoped, correct adjustment. "Is that it?"

Virgil pressed a key and realised that his father had interpreted the two notes to the left to include the sharps. "No, that's B. The next white one."

Jeff moved the keyboard again. "Try that."

Virgil did and was delighted by the sound the key made. "That's it." He played the C again with his thumb, its neighbouring D with his index finger, E with his middle, and then tried to reach F by stretching beneath his palm to the right with his thumb. His hand had lost most of its flexibility and dexterity and the thumb faltered before reaching its goal. "Oh."

"Just try playing a set of scales?" Theresa suggested.

"I was. I was going to play an octave." Virgil contented himself by playing C, D, E, F, G, F, E, D, C without any tricky manoeuvres of his fingers.

"Very good," Theresa congratulated him. "Can you do it again?"

Virgil did so, and then played them again a third time without being told; relishing the touch and sound of the keys. Then, feeling the instrument beneath his fingers, he moved his entire hand two keys to the left, so his fingers were in the position they'd been when his father had first placed the keyboard there. With his middle finger starting the piece by pressing middle C, and his thumb managing to reach down to the G next to the A, he played a staccato tune.

Theresa clapped her hands. "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star!"

"It's the _Surprise Symphony _by Haydn," Virgil corrected.

"Oh." Her hands fell into her lap. "It sounded like _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_ – apart from the last bit."

"It's a variation."

"Once you've got movement in your other hand," Jeff promised, "I'll get you a left-handed keyboard."

Virgil chuckled. "Just get me another one like this one."

Jeff frowned. "Will that work?"

"You know what a piano keyboard's like. The keys all form the same pattern down its length from treble to bass."

"Do they?" Jeff shrugged. "I guess I've preferred listening to watching… George said that to, erm," He got his phone out of his pocket and read a note, "I think it was raise or lower the sound an octave, you push the buttons above the keys."

Virgil stretched out his index finger, felt around, and found a button. He pressed it and then pressed middle C again. The tone was a definite octave lower.

He grinned.

He wasn't grinning when the day arrived that he'd been secretly dreading.

It wasn't many days after the introduction of the keyboard, and by now the head of his bed was propped up at almost 80 degrees. Around the same time, it was decided that it was time for Virgil to start working with his left hand. The hard, clear shell that had protected his body, whilst retaining visual access, was removed and replaced by an opaque, black, neoprene-like glove. Now Virgil was able to attempt moving the crushed hand, while still having the cover necessary to protect it.

But moving it wasn't easy. The relatively undamaged flexor tendons of his un-amputated fingers had been attached to new polymer bones. While weakened by lack of use, he at least had some control over them, unlike the new extensor tendons, which had yet to integrate themselves into his body. It meant that while he could draw those three fingers closer to his fist, he couldn't open them out again without external assistance.

He wondered how long it would be before he'd be able to play a complete and repeatable set of scales with that hand. In the meantime, he was trapped in his bed and reliant on others to do almost everything for him and looking down a black tunnel into the unknown…

"Basic black's so much better than lurid green," Gordon commented as he massaged the muscles above Virgil's glove. His own protective glove had been discarded weeks earlier and the only evidence of his contact with the superhot custard powder was a dryness of his skin. "You can wear it with anything…" He treated Virgil to an impish grin. "Even when your date's with us."

The massage was a skill that the whole family had learned, relearned, or remembered from Gordon's treatment during and after his paralysis. Now it had been employed firstly on Virgil's right arm, a process that Alan was doing now, and then as they'd become more assured that they couldn't do any damage, on his left.

Virgil wished that it wasn't necessary. Or that he had the strength and dexterity to do it himself. "Gordon! Not so hard!"

"Sorry." Gordon reduced the amount of pressure he was applying to the muscle.

"It's okay," Virgil smiled at him. "Do you have any idea how good it feels to feel even pain after weeks of feeling nothing?"

"Er… Yeah?"

Virgil gave an embarrassed chuckled. "Oh, yeah. Of course, you do."

Gordon shared the chuckle as he stopped massaging, picked up a stress ball from the bedside cabinet, and placed it in Virgil's palm. "Start squeezing," he directed.

Virgil squeezed as tightly as he could, until his fingers reached their maximum contraction and flopped against the ball. Gordon straightened them out and the procedure started again.

Alan grabbed a stress ball of his own. "My hands are tired, so it's time you gave yours the work out." He placed the stress ball in Virgil's right hand and watched in satisfaction as the ball was pumped with a regular motion.

"Thanks, Alan."

"Virgil…" Jeff, with a touch on Alan's shoulder to ask him to move, claimed the chair at the head of his son's bed. "Don't you think it's time that we asked your friends if they'd like to visit you?"

Virgil eyed his father warily. He'd noticed an edginess in his family since they'd arrived at visiting time, and had a feeling that he'd known why. Bad news was coming. This wasn't it, but he reasoned that it could be the overture to a symphony that he really didn't want to hear.

He hesitated before responding. He didn't want his friends to see him sickly and helpless, but neither did he want to be left alone. "Not Virginia," he eventually stated.

Jeff managed a half smile. "Fair enough. I'll tell Lisa and Butch that you'd like to see them, but that you'd be happier if Virginia didn't visit. Not until you're feeling stronger."

"Thanks." Virgil waited for the opening bars of the symphony.

The wait wasn't for long. "I'm sorry, Virgil," his father began, the wall of sound masking his words to the outside world and his sons looking awkward, "but it's time we all returned to the island."

Saying nothing, and careful not to reveal his true feelings, Virgil gave a slow nod.

"International Rescue has been operating at a reduced capacity for too long. Naturally, if you needed us to stay with you, we wouldn't even contemplate leaving…"

Virgil needed his family to stay… But he would never ask them to do so.

"…But," Jeff continued, "while the Odonata and the other procedures we've got in place are a good work around, they take up valuable time. And someday soon we may find that we need that time to save a life."

"It was touch and go with the Thirsk job," Scott explained. "A minute later and we would have been too late."

Virgil knew little of what had happened in Thirsk the previous week. He hadn't accessed the media to find out what was in the public domain and his family had been reluctant to speak of it while there were still issues with security.

"We will come and visit as often as we can," Jeff promised. "The airfields are open now and we can fly in and out as we please. But we need someone manning Five and that'll reduce the number available to be on call."

"We're going to give Tin-Tin more training," Alan added. "Even when you're back to full fitness it'll be good to have her as backup."

Virgil nodded. "When..." He was glad that his voice sounded steady. "...will you leave?"

"The boys will start transporting the equipment home tomorrow."

Virgil had dreaded 'tomorrow'.

But when it came it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Knowing that his tenure in Thunderbird Five meant that visits to the invalid were going to be less frequent than their brothers', Jeff had decided that John wasn't needed for the transportation of Thunderbird Four and their other craft to Tracy Island…

"Virgil… Can I ask you to do me a favour?"

A favour? What kind of favour could he do? He had one hand that worked in a fashion, if a little rustily, another that barely worked at all, and lower extremities that, apart from a faint buzzing sensation, were as good as not there. "If it's at all humanly possible, John, I'd be glad to."

"Will you… Would you…" John seemed unsure of himself. "Would you be willing to release me from my promise?"

_Promise? _Virgil frowned. "What promise?"

"I don't know if you can remember…" Now John seemed even more unsure of himself as he glanced around to double-check that no one was within eavesdropping range. "Back… Back when it happened." He concentrated on straightening Virgil's fingers so the flexor tendons could practise their contractions.

Virgil squeezed the ball. "It?"

"You… Your accident." John straightened Virgil's fingers again.

"John… I'm sorry, but what I can remember from then's hazy. I don't know if what I know is from my memories or from what you've all told me. What promise?" Virgil released the ball and withdrew his hand, so he had his brother's full concentration.

"It was when…" John took a deep breath and looked awkward. "I thought you were going to die… I think you did too."

Virgil thought for a moment and then gave a slow nod. "Yes. I did."

John's voice was quiet. "We were saying goodbye to each other… Even though we didn't actually say it."

Virgil nodded.

"That was the hardest part of the whole experience," John admitted. "Even harder than if I'd had to activate the SLA. Which, thank heavens, I didn't." He looked away.

Virgil gave his brother a moment to pull himself together.

"You… You asked me to make you a promise. Remember?"

Virgil thought again. He could remember John being at his side. He could remember being told that his brothers might have to use the Surgi-Laser. He could remember telling John to do what was necessary. He could remember the relief when he was told that the SLA hadn't been needed; although in the end that hadn't made any difference to his body's state.

He hated to think what it would have done to his brothers' mental state.

He remembered John saying that Virgil's trust in him had given him the strength to do the unimaginable. He remembered…

"I asked to you look after Scott."

John looked relieved. "And I promised you that I would to the best of my ability. And I have tried my best to honour my promise. But I'm asking you to release me from that promise now." He looked uncomfortable again. "I don't want to leave you, Virg, but now that I have to… Because of work…"

Virgil had been trying to not think about that.

"And when I'm, erm, at work, I'm going to be too far away from him to keep my promise. That's not to say that I won't keep an eye on him, and that I won't do all I can to help him if he needs it, just like I always did – Since I'm apparently everyone's 'guardian angel'…" John managed a chuckle. "But now that you're, ah," he mimed quotation marks, "_okay_, he's not going to need my support so much. He will be able to talk to you, or else I'll let you know that something's amiss and you can call him." He glanced at the computer screen. "That's if you're not already aware of it before anyone else…" He managed another humourless laugh as Virgil made a face. "I just feel… that… looking after Scott is hard work and I don't know that I'm strong enough to do it full time and at a distance."

"And I am?"

"Maybe strong's the wrong word? It's not that I don't want to look after him, it's that I don't think I've got the, erm, energy to; not on top of everything else I've got to keep an eye on. Like I said, I'm never going to neglect him, but I just feel that it would be a weight off my mind if I don't have a duty to continuously look out for him, especially when it's going to be physically impossible for me to do so. I don't want to betray you, Virg, and I don't want to betray Scott, so that's why I'm asking you to release me from your promise."

"I knew you were the right person to ask." Virgil laid his left hand on his brother's arm and squeezed with his three fingers. "And… I guess that there's no need for you to be bound by your promise since I'm not going anywhere for a long time." He looked ruefully down the bed, aware of a new sensation. "A very long time." He drew in a breath.

"Virg?"

Pain was shooting down his midriff. Past his hip and down his leg. Grasping his sheet, he balled it up into his right hand.

"Are you all right?!"

The pain was intense.

"Virgil!"

Intense, but decreasing in intensity.

"Do you want me to call for help?"

Virgil released his breath. "No." He shook his head, trying to ignore the dull ache, and concentrated on his breathing.

"Are you sure? I can…" John reached for the button that would summon a nurse.

"No, I'm fine." Virgil managed to drag his good arm across his forehead. "It started yesterday after visiting hours."

John still looked worried. "What started?"

"The doctors say that when a nerve completes a circuit, it sends a message to my brain to tell me that it's ready for action. My brain's not used to receiving messages from that part of my body and it interprets the signal as pain."

"It interprets it? It looked like the real thing to me."

"Felt like it too," Virgil admitted. "And they tell me it'll probably get worse before it gets better."

"Oh." John looked like he was seriously reconsidering the decision to head home.

"Don't worry about me," Virgil insisted. "They say this won't go on forever. Once my brain and the rest of me gets used to having civil conversations with each other and my brain can send signals that my nerves and muscles will actually be able to act on, they say the pain will go away."

"Go away? You mean you're always in pain?"

"Not like that. It's just a permanent ache." John looked unsure, so Virgil smiled at him. "Don't worry about me. It's a sign that I'm healing and that's what we all want, right?"

"Right…"

"Thanks." Virgil had never wanted to get into this conversation, and so he reverted to their former topic. "And thank you for keeping your word and looking out for Scott. You're right that you don't need to do it anymore, and because of that I'll release you from your promise."

John's face, which over the last few minutes had been creased in concern, lit up. "Thanks."

"I do have a favour to ask in return though."

John's smile broadened. "Anything."

"Can you undo my fingers from your arm?"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The following day Virgil was left all alone. Trying not to, he watched as the clock ticked around to visiting time, knowing that no one would be coming.

He was surprised when a few minutes after the hour, the door opened and a head appeared. "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

Virgil hadn't expected to be cheered up, but he felt his heart lighten when he saw his friend. "Bruce! Come in!" He was even more pleased when Bruce was followed by Lisa and Butch. "How are you guys?"

"Grea'!" Butch told him, as Lisa had leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "How ya doin', Pal?"

Virgil had noticed the glances that had passed between the three of them. "I'm doing fine. It's a long haul, but every day's getting better." Keen to show off he raised his left hand. "I've got some movement." He drew in his three fingers and then saw more sad glances pass between his friends as he used his other hand to straighten them. "I know it's not much, but…"

"But it's better than the last time we saw you," Bruce interrupted. "Better than when we thought we might never see you again."

"I can't remember." Virgil reached his good hand out to his friend. "Did I say thank you for staying with me and supporting me while I was trapped?"

"You did, Virgil," Bruce reassured him, patting the hand on his arm. "But I don't know that we got the chance to thank you for all you did for us." Butch gave an awkward nod of agreement.

"I didn't do anything," Virgil protested. "I was supposed to be helping you, not the other way around." A look from his two male friends reminded him that Lisa didn't know the real reason why he was at ACE that fateful day.

Desperate to get away from any negativity or risk of exposure, he forced a smile on his face. "How's Virginia?"

"Growing," Lisa admitted. "She's running around everywhere, getting into everything. I hate to think what she's going to be like when she turns four. She keeps on asking after her Uncle Virgil."

"What have you told her?"

"That you've got something wrong with your legs, which means you've got to stay in the hospital. She asks if she can visit you."

Virgil lost his smile. "Not yet."

"No…" Lisa made no comment about the abruptness of his decision. "Butch's dad is looking after her while we're over here."

Virgil looked past her at her husband. "You'll have to introduce me to him properly when I get out of here."

"Yeah." The big man gave a toothy grin. "When's tha' gonna be?"

"I wish I knew." Virgil sighed, and the toothy grin vanished. "Not until these," he waved his good hand over his legs, "show some sign of life."

"Is there anything?" Bruce asked. "It's been close to two months hasn't it?"

"Every now and then a nerve seems to wake up, which gives me some hope that something's happening down there, but…" Virgil decided that he couldn't be negative in front of his friends. "The researchers and medicos seem pleased with my progress… What have you guys been up to?"

"Not much," Bruce admitted. "I never thought I'd miss having to go to work every day. But now that we've tidied up your family's place, there's not a lot left to do."

"We've booked Ginny into a preschool," Lisa admitted, "and I help out there most days. Butch helps a little too."

Virgil tried not to imagine the other parents' reaction to the reformed biker tending to their precious offspring. "Any word on when you can return to your homes?"

"We checked ours out the other day," Lisa admitted. "There's liquefaction all over the lawn, which is no longer growing, and fungi are growing through the cracks in the walls and the ceiling. And the sewerage still hasn't been reconnected. If we didn't have Ginny, Butch and I could live with having to use one of the portable latrines that the authorities have put into our street, but I think it would be too hard to live like that with a three-year-old. Especially as the aftershocks are still continuing. We felt three while we were there, and we were only there for four hours."

"You're comfortable in the units?"

She smiled. "More than comfortable. Your family's been very generous."

"Any news about your place, Bruce?"

"The authorities are going to try to stabilise the building, so that I've got a chance to get in there and get what I can. I'm just waiting to be told when that's going to happen."

Virgil smiled at his friend. "Soon, I hope. How's everyone else at ACE?"

"Winston has set up a web site called _ACE Base_, so that everyone who works at ACE can keep track of each other." Bruce looked around for a pen and paper. "Have you got something I can write the address on?" Virgil indicated a tablet PC next to his bed. "You can let everyone know how you're getting on too, since you're an employee."

"I'm not sure I qualify," Virgil admitted.

"Even if you didn't, everyone will want to know you're all right," Lisa told him. Then she laughed. "We've barely seen Winston and Rex. Since he finished the site, they've been too busy planning their wedding and honeymoon."

"Have they set a date yet?"

"Not that we've been told. Greg and Mavis are fine. They're spending a couple of weeks visiting their children and grandchildren. Mr Watts has turned into a pussycat. He's even putting up with Ashley and George dragging him around town. Ashley's shopping for clothes for the wedding and George is trying to find a new guitar. I don't think he thought much of Mr Watts's suggestion that he should buy one online."

Virgil could understand George's reluctance in buying a guitar unseen and unheard, and couldn't imagine ACE's Production Manager being happy looking at women's clothing and musical instruments. "Have you heard how everyone who was injured is?"

"Lou's finally out of the cast and is staying with his parents until he can return home," Bruce told him. "Jeremy's leg's better, but we haven't heard how he and Christine are getting on as a couple."

"Christine?"

"Christine Wing," Lisa clarified. "She's one of ACE's first aiders, remember? Jeremy was chatting her up while she was looking after him."

"And the truck driver?"

Virgil's visitors were silent.

"He didn't make it," Bruce finally admitted, as Butch put a comforting arm about his wife. "His injuries were too great. Even International Rescue couldn't help…" he glanced at Virgil, then at Lisa, and stopped speaking.

Virgil wondered if Gordon knew.

"I' weren' your fault," Butch explained, and Bruce wasn't sure if the explanation was for Virgil or Lisa. "Too many people was injared bad. Th' doctas couldn' help 'em all."

Lisa sniffed. "Greg was devastated when we found out. We tried so hard…"

Butch pulled her closer. "I know," he soothed. "Ya did all ya could."

An awkward silence descended on the group.

Virgil wanted to say something reassuring, but couldn't think of anything that didn't sound trite nor would give him away. The only subject he could think of was to ask after Angela Eagles, but he didn't want to risk introducing more negativity into the conversation.

Butch must have been thinking the same thing because he suddenly announced: "Mista an' Mrs M said t' say hi."

Lisa pulled herself together. "They're going to try and visit tomorrow. Mr M's shoulder's still bothering him and Mrs M's told him he has to get someone to look at it."

"His shoulder?" Virgil frowned. "What's wrong with it?"

"It was when…" Bruce hesitated. "When we were at ACE. Mr M went back into his office so that he could, ah…" He glanced at Lisa. "Get your paperwork, so the hospital would know your next of kin and stuff like that. He slipped and strained his shoulder."

"Strained his shoulder?" Virgil was more than concerned by the news. "If it's only a strain it should be better by now."

Bruce nodded. "I think he's got an appointment to see someone today. You'll be able to ask him when they visit. It'll give you something to talk about."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The following day Edna and Hamish Mickelson had a string of topics lined up as conversation pieces when they arrived at Bearston General Hospital five minutes before visiting time. They found their way to the room they assumed was Virgil's, only to be confronted by a sign.

_Virgil Tracy. No visitors today._

"Hamish?" Edna stared at the sign. "What's going on?"

Reaching under his sling for the instrument, he checked his phone in case he'd missed a message from Jeff Tracy. "I don't know."

"Excuse me." Edna waylaid a passing nurse. "Why isn't Virgil Tracy having any visitors today?"

The nurse glanced at the name and message on the door. "Are you relatives of Mr Tracy?"

"His aunt and uncle," Edna lied.

"Oh." The nurse considered the statement. "I'm afraid that, as part of the healing process, he's in a lot of pain. As I'm sure you're aware, this is an experimental treatment. We're still trying to discover the best way of managing his discomfort."

"In pain?" Edna repeated. "Is anyone with him?"

"No." The nurse shook his head. "We have let his family know, but they've got a long way to travel."

"That's true," Hamish admitted. "How long have they known?"

The nurse looked at his watch. "About forty-five minutes."

"In that case, unless someone was already in the States, they'll be hours yet."

"I helped nurse him when he was ill as a child," Edna stated. "May I sit with him now? Until his family gets here?"

The nurse hesitated. "If you're willing, I'm sure Virgil will appreciate having your company."

"Hamish," Edna turned to her husband. "Perhaps you'd better meet whoever's coming. You can arrange transport for them from the airport."

"Good idea." Hamish gave his wife a kiss goodbye. "Give Virgil my best." He waited until she had pushed opened the doors and entered the room before he left on his errand.

Edna entered the hospital room and then froze. To ease the shock of when she finally saw the patient, Jeff had shown her a recent photo. But even that hadn't prepared her for the sight of the gaunt, pale, perspiring figure in the bed, with frames keeping the weight of his bed clothes off his lower torso, legs, and hand. She wasn't even sure that it was her honorary nephew.

Then he turned his head, saw her standing there, and moved his uncovered hand in an attempt to reach out for her. "Auntie Edna…"

It wasn't the voice of a strong young man that had worked in his father's factory five years ago. It was the sound of a little boy desperate to be made well, and she was transported back decades to a time to when, with several of his brothers also struck low with a childish malady and his father almost pulling his hair out in desperation, she had mopped his feverish brow, tried to encourage him to eat, and told him that he would get better.

"Virgil…" She hurried forward and grasped his good hand, raising her voice above the music that flowed out of the speakers. "It's all right, Virgil. I'm here."

His hand clung tightly to hers. "Hurts."

"I know. But the nurse said they're trying to find something to ease the pain."

As Virgil squeezed his eyes shut in a futile battle against that pain, Edna took a moment to look around her. A bowl with a cloth in it was on the bedside cabinet and, awkwardly because she didn't want to let go of his hand, she wrung out the cloth and used it to mop away the perspiration on his face.

Virgil managed a weak smile. "Like ol' times."

"Yes, Virgil, it is." Edna dampened the cloth again.

He was barely aware of her ministrations as the pain finally overwhelmed him.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

He woke up.

Groaning, he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. He felt as though he was trapped beneath that beam all over again.

"_It's all right, I'm here."_

Although the pain was fading, the familiar voice seemed distant, like a radio signal from far, far away.

"_Virgil…"_

It was a comforting voice. One that reassured him that he wasn't alone in his battle. He would get through this.

"Virgil."

He opened his eyes.

A damp cloth mopped the side of his face and he turned his head to see who was caring for him. "Gran'ma?"

His grandmother smiled down on him. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil hefted his good arm, which felt as heavy as if it had a lump of concrete on it, up to his eyes and shielded them from the light. He tried to analyse his body's sensations, so he could give an honest answer, and couldn't think of the appropriate word. "Dunno."

"That's to be expected."

But Virgil had fallen asleep.

He awoke some ten minutes later, feeling a little better and marginally more alert. Looking over to where Grandma was sending a text message – probably giving an update to the rest of the family – he saw a cot on the floor. The blankets had been pulled up in an effort to keep the room looking tidy, but it appeared to have been slept in. "How long you been here?"

She looked up, sliding the phone into her pocket. She smiled, but she looked tired. "Five days."

Virgil stared at her. "Five days? But…!"

"Now don't you worry about that. I would have quite happily stayed here fifty days if you'd needed me."

"But Grandma…"

"But nothing." She caressed the side of his face. "Your father and brothers have been busy with work, and I had nothing to do, so why shouldn't I come here and look after you?"

Virgil's brain hadn't cleared enough for him to formulate an answer to that yet. "Did you sleep on that?" His thumb rolled to the side in the direction of the cot.

"Yes, I did, and I was quite comfortable, thank you. Plus, Edna sat with you a few times to give me a break so I could freshen up and get something to eat."

"Grandma…" Virgil considered protesting again. Then he decided it was a waste of time. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, so we can tell your father and brothers, how are you feeling? _Dunno_ is not really an answer."

"Better."

She indicated the computer. "Do you want to tell them yourself?"

Virgil decided that if five days had passed and he'd been unaware of it, then everyone must have been worried about him. The quickest and easiest way of relieving them of their concerns would be to talk to them himself.

He felt about for the remote that controlled the computer. "I must look a mess."

She handed him the remote from the bedside table and then picked up a comb. "Would you like me to make you more presentable?" Without giving him a chance to respond, she began running the comb through his hair.

He grimaced when it pulled, and a strange feeling of déjà vu came over him. "This is like old times."

"Yes, it is. And your hair was just as long and knotty then. We'll have to see if we can get you a haircut soon. And a shave." Grandma smoothed the last lock into place. "There." She stood back to admire her handiwork. "You look very handsome."

Virgil chuckled. That was a Grandma lie. Patently not the truth, but designed to make him feel better about himself. It nearly always worked.

He pushed a speed dial on the remote.

It took a second for his father's face to appear on screen. "Virgil! How are you feeling, Son?"

"Better," Virgil admitted.

"Good. I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you. Things have been a bit hectic at this end."

"That's okay. I've only just found out that I've had a couple of angels looking after me for the last five days. Speaking of which," Virgil frowned at the phone. "How about coming and collecting Grandma? She needs the rest."

"Oh, Virgil," she scolded. "I told you I'm all right."

Virgil ignored her. "She's been sleeping on a cot in my room, and by the looks of her, she hasn't had a good night's sleep since she got here."

"She hasn't?" Jeff looked alarmed. "She didn't tell me that."

"You're surprised?"

"No… Mother. Are you there?"

She moved into camera range. "I'm here, Jeff."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm perfectly all right. There's nothing the matter with me. Virgil is worrying unnecessarily."

But Jeff had seen what Virgil had seen. The dark shadows under the eyes and the paleness of his mother's skin. He'd also seen a touch of stiffness as she'd moved into shot. "I'm going to call Edna right now and tell her she's got to take you back to the house."

"Oh, Jeff…"

"Once you've had a chance to have a rest and something to eat then one of us will come and collect you."

"Don't be silly, Jeff."

"I'll ask Tin-Tin to do it. She's all we can spare at the moment. But at least she can leave right away."

"I'm quite capable of…"

"I'm sorry that this means that you'll be alone again, Virgil."

"Don't worry. I'd rather know that Grandma's okay."

"But Virgil," Grandma protested. "What if you have a relapse?"

"Then at least I'll know what's happening this time, and I know that it's not going to last forever. Grandma…" Virgil took her hand. "You don't know how grateful I am that you sat with me through this, but it's more important to me to know that you're looking after yourself."

"Virgil…" she was about to protest again, but then she sagged, allowing her obvious tiredness to overcome her. "All right. Don't disturb Edna, Jeff. I'll go back to the house now."

"Do you promise?"

She looked exhausted. "I promise."

"Thanks, Ma."

She kissed Virgil on the cheek. "I'll come and say goodbye before I leave, Honey."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Virgil watched as his elderly grandma, holding herself erect, walked out of his room. He turned back to the computer screen. "You are going to call…"

"I'm calling Edna now." Virgil heard the telephone ring. _"Hello, Edna."_

"_Jeff! Have you heard how Virgil is?"_

"_Better by all accounts. He's listening in on our conversation, so keep your flirting down to a minimum."_

"_Oh, Jeff!"_

"_He's given Mother her marching orders and she's headed back to the house. By all appearances she's exhausted. I don't want to impose, but…"_

"_You want me to bring her back here?"_

"_Yes, please. Tin-Tin will come and collect her, but I'd be happier if I knew she'd had a rest before the flight home. Would you mind?"_

"_Now, don't you worry about your mother, Jeff. I'll look after her. You just tell that son of yours that he's got to hurry up and get better without causing any more problems."_

Virgil chuckled. "I'll do my best, Auntie Edna."

"_He says he'll do his best."_

"_I heard. I'd tell him to stop calling me Auntie, but that little fabrication came in handy five days ago. I'd better go and get your mother, Jeff, and I'll call you back when I know she's resting."_

"_Thanks, Edna, I appreciate it. Talk to you soon."_ And Virgil heard the "Call ended" beep. "Happy now?"

"Now that I know she's going to be okay."

"Are you still in pain?"

"Some," Virgil admitted. "But it's bearable." He heard a familiar, repetitive beeping noise. "Who's calling in?"

"Scott."

"Then I'd better let you get back to work. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye, Virgi…"

And Virgil was left alone, staring at a blank computer screen.

_To be continued…_


	40. Chapter 40

It was a few days later, and Virgil was getting used to the never-ending ache as his body adapted to his new limbs. After a couple of other short, sharp sessions where he was aware of nothing except the intense pain of his regenerating nerves, he was relieved when the medical staff managed to find a drug that eased the pain… And that they allowed "Auntie" Edna to his bedside to mop his brow. He might have put his foot down and said that he wasn't a child any longer and didn't need such support, except that he knew that it eased the Tracys' minds to know that someone close to the family was within walking range.

And, if he was honest with himself, deep down he appreciated Edna's support more than he was willing to admit to anyone.

One positive was that after each painful session involving his hand, he seemed to achieve more mobility. He still needed to assist those extensor tendons to straighten out his fingers, but finally his new digits seemed to be gaining some kind of life.

-F-A-B-

Virgil watched as his left index finger and thumb drew together in a pinching action. It seemed to him to be the passive action of "watching" rather than the active action of "doing" because, although he could create the movement, he couldn't actually feel it. The tactile sensors on the pads of his fingers hadn't reconnected with his brain and the only way that he could tell when the digits had made contact with each other was by the slight flattening of the neoprene glove.

"Excellent!" Timoti approved, and made a note on his clipboard. "The process is working even better than I could have imagined at this early stage."

Early stage? Virgil felt like he'd been confined to this bed for years.

"What's the pain rating?" Bryce enquired. "Out of one to ten as usual."

Virgil thought. "My hand… About one? … Uh… _Three_," he amended when what seemed to be red-hot flame burst down his wrist and into his thumb.

He missed the excited expression that passed between the researchers. "So one is the background discomfort?" Timoti clarified. "And three is reconnection of a nerve."

Virgil gave himself a moment until the flame had been absorbed by the "background discomfort" and then nodded. "That time."

"Is there any change to your range of movement? Can you feel anything that you couldn't a minute ago?"

Virgil pinched his fingers together again. "No."

"Oh."

"The problem," Bryce began, ignoring Virgil and a nurse who hovered in the background until she was needed, "is that this experiment is being conducted on a subjective subject. It could be that the background discomfort has always had the same intensity."

Timoti consulted his tablet. "An initial rating of two."

"Yes. It could be that the subject has developed a tolerance for the background discomfort. The pain level still has a rating of two, but the subject's acceptance of the pain means that it rates as only a one."

"But how do we measure pain so we can achieve an objective rating?"

Both of them regarded Virgil in such a way that he felt uncomfortable. His discomfort grew in intensity as a larger, more overwhelming flame of pain shot down the length of his leg and ignited his toe.

"Are you in pain?"

Virgil gritted out a: "Yes."

The nurse sprung forward with a damp cloth. "It's all right," she soothed. "Breathe through it."

Virgil tried to. He heard the words "get the camera rolling", before someone touched him on the arm. "Where? Where does it hurt?"

"Right," Virgil groaned.

"Right leg? Where?! Hip? Thigh? Shin? Foot?"

Virgil couldn't respond. Each time he'd been blasted by a fireball; and he couldn't think of it any other way; he'd hoped that the pain would subside as quickly as it arose. This time he wasn't so lucky. As he clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in an effort to subdue the flames, he dimly heard a voice. "What's the pain rating? Can you tell us?"

Another softer, more reassuring voice said: "The pain relief is by your right hand, Virgil. Use it if you need to."

"…Before you do that. On a scale of one to ten, how high is it?"

High enough that Virgil couldn't even comprehend what was being said. He was focussed on only two things. The first was the fire that was engulfing his right leg. The second was his good hand's search for the button that would administer pain relief. His fingers found something hard and, drawing it into his palm, his thumb found a button. Depressing it he felt a ball of ice roll down his leg, chasing the fire out through his toes.

Slowly the pain settled back down to something bearable. He took a moment to get his breath back before he opened his eyes.

The nurse mopped perspiration from his face. "Are you feeling better now?"

Timoti was bent in close, staring at Virgil intently. "What was the rating that time?"

"Erm…" Wanting to be helpful, Virgil ran his right arm over his face, pushing his hair, which was plastered to his forehead, out of his eyes as he considered his answer. Trying to evaluate an honest response he looked down to where Bryce was peering intently at a video camera's screen that was focussed on his uncovered leg.

Uncovered.

Virgil felt disturbed. And sickened. And horrified by what he saw.

All through his treatment, the hospital staff had been kind and caring and had recognised that their patient wouldn't appreciate seeing the results of his surgery until his body was completely healed. But now his lower torso and legs were laid bare for him and anyone else to see. Beneath Virgil's horrified gaze and the clear plastic shell that protected his healing limbs, arteries carried scarlet blood down through transparent tubes and veins drew the darker blood back up to his heart. Chalky white bones peeped through a patchwork of grey, red, and brown muscles, except for those of his toes that were stacked one on top of the other with what appeared to be only the tendons to stop them from toppling. In his abdomen he could see twisting intestines and other organs that he didn't recognise and didn't want to be introduced to. Surrounding the entire structure was the translucent layer of artificial skin that failed hide any of it. "Cover it up!"

Timoti looked confused. "Eh?"

"Cover it up!" Virgil pleaded. "Those…" He waved his hand in the general direction of his legs, unwilling to admit that this abomination was a part of him. "Cover it up! Please…" He looked skywards, shutting his eyes so he could see nothing of the horror that stretched out before him and covered them to block out what he couldn't stomach. "Hide it! Please, hide it!"

The nurse tutted her disapproval at the researchers' lack of compassion. "You should know better."

"We were filming to see if we could observe the electrical activity of his nervous system," Bryce told her followed by a complaint of "Hey!" when she whipped the sheet from the foot of the bed to cover what had upset her patient. "What are you doing?"

"Hiding it!" she scolded.

"Hiding it?" Bryce was astounded. "Why? It's beautiful. It's amazing. It's a miracle."

"It's horrible," Virgil choked out, still unwilling to lower his arm in case he saw something he didn't want to. "It's abnormal. It's grotesque. It… It… It isn't me… It can't be me!"

"But it is you." Timoti was just as surprised at his subject's reaction.

"You shouldn't be able to see anything now, Virgil," the nurse soothed. She turned to the two researchers. "How dare you expose my patient to such a sight without at least asking his permission first!"

Virgil tentatively lowered his arm, hearing Timoti stammer in protest: "But we thought he'd want to see how well the reinstatement is coming on."

Shock passing, Virgil was beginning to feel ashamed at the way he'd reacted. Ashamed and angry. "When will you learn that I'm not _just_ a subject in a lab?!"

"Oh…" Bryce looked abashed. "Others haven't minded."

"Others?"

"When you were rating over ten on the pain register, we filmed for four days. We got some interesting data."

"You filmed…" Virgil couldn't believe it. "You filmed me… Exposed me…! Without my permission! When Grandma and Auntie Edna were here!?"

"Yes. They didn't seem to mind."

"Didn't seem to mind!?" Virgil was furious. "Didn't you give any consideration to what they must have thought? How they felt? It's bad enough that they had to see me in pain without _you_ showing them stuff they never wanted to see. That they should never have seen!"

"They didn't say anything," Timoti said defensively.

"Of course they didn't! They thought you were acting in _my_ best interests! Not yours!" Virgil leant forward, and the nurse hovered closer, ready to hold him back if he did something rash. "I am not _just _a test subject! I am not _just _a guinea pig! I am not _just _an inanimate object that you can bend to your will, and dissect, and stick under a microscope to see how I tick. I am a living, breathing, person! I have my rights! And you have no right to treat me in the offhand, selfish, narrow-minded way you do!" Feeling drained after his outburst he flopped back against the pillow.

Bryce flipped the viewfinder back over the camera, shutting it down.

Timoti looked at his tablet PC.

The nurse tried to hide a smirk.

Virgil took a moment to evaluate what he'd said. He wasn't disappointed that he'd said it; he just wished that he'd made his point in a less abrupt manner. "It's not that I don't appreciate all you've done for me, or that you've given me a chance at a life that I wouldn't have had otherwise. It's just that I would appreciate having some input into what you do to me and how you treat my family. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was frustrated."

"We're the ones who should be sorry," Timoti admitted. "We're so excited to see this research that we've spent years working on finally come to life that we tend to forget that we're now working in the real world, with real people."

Bryce slowly began to pack away the video camera. "It's not as if we haven't already been told. Tin-Tin gave us the lecture months ago back in Australia." He managed a rueful smile. "She made her point very forcefully."

Wanting to make amends, Virgil chuckled. "She grew up in an almost all male household. She's had to learn how to deal with eight men and she's learned from the master: Grandma."

Bryce finished packing away the camera. "We'll leave you alone."

"Thanks… And for the record, the pain rating was about eight… and a half."

Timoti smiled and made a note in his tablet. "All good data enabling us to make it easier for the next person, so we don't treat them as if they're living in a test tube. We'll go and analyse it now and we won't bother you again until after this afternoon's visiting hours."

"Thanks." Virgil watched the two researchers as they departed.

The nurse waited until they'd gone. "You didn't need to apologise for what you said. Those two have needed a good kick in the seat of the pants for a long time. It's about time someone reminded them that you and the others are not just experiments."

"They're only trying to help, and I haven't wanted to cause anyone any trouble. I did enough of that at the beginning."

"Don't worry about what anyone else thinks," the nurse cautioned. "It's more important that you worry about getting better." She looked at her patient. "I can't believe how patient you've been with them."

"I've learned patience from having four brothers."

"Ah, that explains it. The other nurses and I have often commented on how calm you are under extreme provocation." She glared at the door. "We've been hoping that you weren't risking your health by bottling things up. How do you feel now? Better?"

Virgil smiled up at her. "I do actually. Like I've released some of the pressure."

"Good." The nurse checked her watch. "I've got other patients to see to. Are you all right?"

Virgil nodded. "I'm fine."

He waited until she'd left the room and then fired up his computer, speed-dialling a phone number.

"Hello, Virgil. How are you?"

"Hi, Auntie Edna. I was doing well until I discovered what happened when you were helping me. I want to apologise for you seeing more than you should and check that you're okay."

"I'll admit that it gave me a bit of a turn when I saw the state you're in, but then I told myself that you were in better shape than you were after your accident, and that this was all part of the healing process. Don't worry about it."

"But I do worry. They should have shown you and Grandma more respect."

"Has your grandmother said anything?"

"No, she hasn't mentioned it. I was going to call her after I called you."

"Don't worry about me, Virgil. It was a privilege to be able to help you, and I assumed that whatever the medical staff were doing, they were doing it to make you feel better."

Virgil was going to say more, but then decided against it. "So long as you're okay."

"I'm okay.

"And Uncle Hamish? How's his shoulder?"

"He's got an appointment to see a specialist in a week. They may have to operate."

Virgil looked glum. "That's my fault as well."

"No, it's not. He may have been foolish going back into his office to get your papers, but that was his decision, not yours. And it was everything that happened afterwards with the Skulz that caused the real problems."

It was still with some misgivings that Virgil bid Edna farewell and then dialled another number.

"Virgil! It's lovely to see you, Honey."

As he always did when he saw his grandmother, Virgil couldn't help smiling. "Hi, Grandma."

"What can I do for you?"

"I was calling to check you're okay. I've just found out that those researchers were filming my injuries while you were here. They did it to me for the first time today and I nearly flipped when I saw how horrific it looks."

"Oh…" He was disturbed to see that she lost some of her spark. "I assumed that the medical team needed to keep an eye what was happening."

"No. It was just those two putting me under the microscope again." Virgil frowned. "It must have given you a hang of a shock."

"It wasn't pleasant," Grandma admitted. "But I've seen worse."

"Have you? I'm not sure that I have and I've seen some horrible things."

"I suppose it must seem much worse when it's your own body you're looking at."

"Yeah…"

"Are _you_ okay?"

"I feel better now that I've blasted Timoti and Bryce. They weren't thinking about me or anyone else, they were only thinking about their experiment."

"If I'd realised that I would have asked them to put some kind of shield up." Virgil was about to make a comment when Grandma's face lit up with an impish grin that was reminiscent of her second-to-youngest grandson, "But at least they answered one question."

"Question? What question?"

"I now know they're trying to reinstate everything."

"Grandma?"

"There's still a chance I'll be blessed with great-grandchildren to spoil one day."

"Grandma!"

-F-A-B-

It was that same afternoon and visiting time had rolled around when Virgil was to get his next surprise of the day. But this one was going to be a pleasant one.

Alan and Tin-Tin walked up to the nurses' station. "Okay if we go through?" he asked.

"Oh!" One of the nurses jumped as if startled. "I'm sorry, Alan." She smiled at Tin-Tin. "We didn't see you. We were listening to the radio."

He gave a light frown of confusion. "Radio?"

"Haven't you heard? International Rescue have been called to rescue a man who's trapped in his truck! It's dangling over the edge of a cliff and the rescue services can't reach him."

"Oh yeah. We heard about that on the way here," Alan lied.

"It sounds as though the authorities are concerned, because there is a storm brewing," Tin-Tin said, adding to his deception. Those same authorities were also concerned about the amount of explosive material that the truck was carrying. The media hadn't been informed that if the truck were to fall much of the surrounding countryside, including two reasonable-sized towns, would be obliterated. But neither she nor Alan were about to enlighten the hospital's staff.

A senior nurse seemed to think that, by appearing to be less than fully focused on their jobs, they were giving a bad impression. "We always try to follow International Rescue's rescues because it gives us something to talk to our patients about."

The first nurse gave a guilty giggle. "And because we'd all love meet one of those heroic men." Her superior gave her a visual scolding.

Tin-Tin shared a giggle of her own. "Wouldn't we all."

"I'd rather see the Thunderbirds," Alan admitted.

"International Rescue is a universal topic of conversation," the senior nurse explained. "Everyone's fascinated by them and if a patient's thinking about International Rescue's exploits, they're not thinking about the bed-bath we're giving them. Except…" She frowned. "Except that your brother seems to be the exception to the rule."

Alan acted surprised. "He doesn't like talking about International Rescue?"

"I wouldn't say he doesn't like it. He just seems to prefer talking about something else."

"I would have thought he'd have been more interested than most," the junior nurse admitted. "Since they actually saved his life." She sighed. "I wish I could have seen them when they arrived."

"You had more important things to do," her senior reminded her. "We were in the middle of a full-scale emergency."

"I suppose Virgil cannot actually remember them rescuing him," Tin-Tin suggested. "And that is why he prefers not to talk about it. In case someone asks him something he does not know the answer to."

"I guess so." Alan grinned. "Thanks for the tip, Ladies. We won't mention International Rescue."

But the first thing he said, after surprising his brother by bursting into his room, was: "The nurses tell us you don't like talking about International Rescue."

"No." Virgil pulled a cloth over the project he'd been working on. "It's safer. Why are you here?"

Alan raised an eyebrow. "We're great, thanks. And it's good to see you too."

"Sorry." Virgil chuckled. "This is a wonderful surprise." He accepted Tin-Tin's kiss of greeting. "You're both looking well. Why are you here?"

"Since it's too far for me to fly out with extra equipment if Scott and Gordon run into trouble, and it's too early to collect John, we thought we'd collect Grandma's plane instead." Alan shrugged. "And, because it looks like no one will be able to visit you tomorrow, Tin-Tin and I thought that at least some of the family should make an attempt to see you today."

"Tomorrow?" Virgil frowned. "What's tomorrow?"

Tin-Tin giggled. "It is Thanksgiving, Virgil."

"Is it? I've totally lost track of the days. I thought it was late October… Although I do remember a lot of talk about Halloween a few days ago."

Alan pulled up a chair.

"Your father says that the job that your brothers are on is harder than initially expected." Tin-Tin accepted the seat. "It will be early morning before Scott and Gordon arrive home."

"And they'll be too tired to travel," Alan continued. "And then we'll have to get John. So, if nothing goes wrong and we're not called out on another job, we'll see you on Friday."

"If we can make it," Tin-Tin warned. "The roads will be filled with people shopping on Black Friday. We will want to be able to spend all day with Virgil, not trapped in a traffic jam."

Alan was unperturbed. "Saturday then… We'll work something out."

Virgil wasn't going to admit to anyone that he was disappointed that he was going to miss Thanksgiving. Not so much for the food, although he was sure that whatever Grandma made would be superlative, but because he was going to be apart from those he was closest to. He looked across to where his brother was making himself comfortable. "I'll look forward to it."

Alan reached onto the table that was extended over Virgil's bed. "What'cha doing?" He picked up a few reels of coloured thread.

"It's, ah, it's physical therapy for my hands," Virgil admitted. "This one's nearly back to full flexibility…" He held up his right hand. "But this one still needs a lot of work. Once it gets tired the extensors stop… Hey!"

"What's this?" Alan picked a thin sharp metal object off the tray. "A sewing needle?"

"No." Virgil hesitated. "It's… It's an embroidery needle."

"Embroidery?" Alan stared at him. Then he whipped the concealing cloth away, revealing a rectangle of loosely woven stiff material partly covered with some less than expertly embroidered sky and what appeared to be a wobbly triangle. "You're doing embroidery?!"

"It's just like painting, but in a different medium," Virgil protested. "And it's a time honoured method of regaining flexibility and improving hands' motor skills. According to my Occupational Therapist, soldiers injured in World War One and other conflicts used to do it as physical therapy and to make gifts for their loved ones. I'm making this for Father for Christmas."

Alan stared at him. "What?!"

"It's hard to know what to get him and I thought this would be something different. It's the rocket he went to the moon in." Virgil displayed a blocky picture of a spaceship, with different colours picked out by different numbers. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"Sure…" Alan snorted a laugh. "It's just what every father wants from his son. A piece of tapestry."

Virgil looked hurt.

"Alan, hush!" Tin-Tin scolded. "It's embroidery; not tapestry."

"There's a difference?"

"Yes." Tin-Tin laid her hand on Virgil's arm. "Don't listen to him, Virgil. Your father will love it. He'll love it because it's special. It's special because you made it for him and because of what it means about your recovery. He will be proud to receive it."

Virgil looked at her doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am sure."

Virgil carefully put the embroidery on the table. "That's if it's good enough. I've had to unpick it three times already. My hands are getting more of a workout undoing it than doing it."

"You have a month," Tin-Tin reminded him. "You will have it finished by then."

"Speaking of weird creations," Alan began. "How are you stitching together?"

"Alan!"

Virgil's mood darkened. "Slowly. I saw the damage today for the first time and it reminded me of those old _Visible Man_ dolls."

"Yeah?" Alan sat up. "Those ones where you put all the bones, muscles, and organs into the plastic shell and it's like you can see them through the skin?"

"Yes."

"Can I have a look?"

Virgil stared at him. "You want to have a look?"

Alan gave an enthusiastic nod. "Can I?"

"At _me_?"

"Uh, huh."

"At _my_ body? My _insides_?"

"Yeah!"

"This isn't some artificial doll. It's all human flesh, and bone, and polymer."

"And I've seen worse."

"I would doubt it." Virgil hesitated. "Are you sure about this? It's not pleasant. You can see the veins and arteries and the blood pumping through them. And bones and muscles. I thought I had a strong stomach, but when I saw how horrible it is, I realised that it was just as well that I'd left my stomach back at ACE."

"I can handle it," Alan stated, with the air of someone who believed he had seen it all before.

"Well I can't, and I hope you're not expecting Tin-Tin to," Virgil told him. "If you really want to look, and I wouldn't advise it, do it down there where neither of us can see it." He pointed to the bottom right corner of the bed.

Alan beamed at him. "Thanks." He started pulling at the neat hospital corners.

"And you'd better make my bed again when you've finished. I don't want to get into trouble with the nurses."

Virgil and Tin-Tin watched in interest as Alan, the sheet raised so only he could see what was under the covers, turned green.

Virgil smirked. "Well…?"

Dropping the blankets, Alan leant on the bed. "I think I've just become a vegetarian."

Virgil chuckled. "Don't say I didn't warn you.

"That's horrible!" Alan sank into his seat. "It's like something out of a horror film!"

"That's what I thought."

"Does your hand look like that?"

"I don't know and I don't want to know. Grandma's made of stronger stuff than me. She saw it the other day and didn't turn a hair."

"She was very quiet when I collected her," Tin-Tin recollected. "She said little on the return trip. She said she was still tired, even though Mrs Mickelson said that she thought she'd had a good sleep."

"She's really disappointed that we won't be able to have Thanksgiving with you," Alan admitted. "I think that's why she's thrown herself into cooking for tomorrow. She's making pumpkin pie, roast vegetables, tons of desserts; the whole nine yards. I can't wait till tomorrow to taste the turkey," he added, forgetting his previous vow. "It smells fantastic."

"Alan…"

Alan looked at the lady seated on the other side of the bed. "What?"

Tin-Tin gave a surreptitious flick of her head towards Virgil.

A gesture that he didn't miss. "Don't worry about me. Just because that's going to be my Thanksgiving dinner," he indicated the IV bag that hung above his bed, "it doesn't mean that everyone else has to starve. I never feel hungry, so I don't feel that I'm missing out on anything. I'd feel terrible if you deprived yourselves just because of some misplaced guilt about my situation. So long as everyone enjoys themselves I'll be happy."

"There you are," Alan said triumphantly. "I knew you'd understand." He grinned at his brother. "I think Grandma's trying to compensate for the fact that you won't be there by stuffing an extra turkey."

With an: "Oh, Alan!" Tin-Tin gave a sad shake of her head.

Virgil managed a chuckle.

"Remember Thanksgiving five years ago?" Alan asked.

Virgil thought back. "When Gordon was in the coma after his operation?"

"Yeah. We didn't know how that was going to turn out. This year's better." Alan settled back in his chair. "This year we've got tons of things to be thankful for." He looked at Virgil. "Even if the main thing can't be with us."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was late the following day, after the Tracys had finally had their Thanksgiving meal and had celebrated how lucky they were that they were still one family, even though they weren't complete, when Tin-Tin made a point of catching up with Jeff. "May I have a word with you, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff, happy with a full meal under his belt, the knowledge that International Rescue had been successful again, and relieved that Virgil was slowly, but surely, recuperating, smiled at her. "Of course, Tin-Tin."

"In private?"

"If you wish." Wondering what was so important that Tin-Tin wasn't willing to risk anyone overhearing her; Jeff led the way to his study. "Would you like to sit down?" Assuming that this wasn't a formal meeting, he chose one of the comfortable chairs facing her.

He waited.

"Alan and I saw Virgil yesterday," Tin-Tin volunteered.

Jeff nodded. He was aware of this.

"Virgil is making his Christmas present to you."

Jeff wondered why this was worth an announcement. It wasn't the first time that his son had painted a picture or written a piece of music to mark an occasion.

"When you receive it I want you to remember that he has made it for you with love."

Jeff was startled: firstly, by the order and secondly, by its content.

"It is not something that you would expect to receive from one of your sons and he is putting a lot of time and effort into it. Please do not laugh at it or him."

"Tin-Tin," Jeff said solemnly. "I would never do that."

"I know," she sighed. "But I thought it would be fairer on both of you if you were forewarned."

"A month in advance?"

"I thought I might forget if I left it until Christmas."

Jeff smiled. "Thank you, Tin-Tin. I'm sure that both Virgil and I appreciate your consideration. And I will look forward to seeing what his Christmas gift is."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Sunday.

The Tracys had finally made it to Bearston on the Saturday and Virgil had had the extreme pleasure of having his full family around him. But each and every one of them agreed, as they left Bearston that evening, that the day had passed too quickly.

Conversely, for Virgil anyway, Sunday dragged.

With a sigh, having unpicked the tenth row for the fifth time, Virgil dropped his embroidery onto his lap. He would have liked to have had a practise on his keyboard, but it was on a cabinet out of reach.

Stuck for anything else to do, he looked out through the window of his room.

He had to admit that it was a nice room. Freshly built and decorated after the influx of patients from the earthquake, he was its first resident. And it had the advantage that, as it was soundproofed to prevent normal speech escaping, he was finally learning much of what the family had been unwilling to tell him in less private surroundings.

The room's walls were bright and clean and hung with a multitude of pictures, some of which were Virgil's own. Off to one side was an ensuite toilet and shower that he was hopeful he'd be able to use one day. The window that he was gazing through stretched almost the length of the wall, allowing in plenty of light (a joy for a painter), and a view of the world outside; a quadrangle in which a garden was struggling to grow, but which promised to bring pleasure to other patients in the future.

However, it wasn't only the garden that was struggling.

Through Virgil's window he could see that a groundsman appeared to be trying to bring a machine to life, and had been doing so for some time. As he watched, the man suddenly thumped the contraption.

Virgil winced. He didn't like to see any machine mistreated. Especially one where he had a fairly good idea of what needed to be done to bring it back to life. Picking up a long set of grips, designed to enable the operator to reach something lightweight and out of reach, he tapped on the window.

The groundsman looked around.

Holding the curtain open with the grips, Virgil dragged a tablet PC closer with his left hand and typed: _tighten the feed-flow nut_. Balancing the tablet on his right arm, he held it so the groundsman could see the words.

The man read the tablet, looked at the machine, and shrugged.

"On the top," Virgil told him.

With a mouthed "what?" the man held his hand to his ear.

"On the top!" Virgil repeated, signalling with his gloved hand. "The top of the engine!"

There was a shrug of misunderstanding.

_On the top_ Virgil typed.

The groundsman looked at the machine – and turned it upside down.

There was nothing else for it. His right arm shaking from the effort of keeping the curtain back, Virgil typed one last message. _Bring it around. Room 2._

The grip slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. Unable to reach it and with no way of opening the curtains again, all Virgil could do was wait and see if his instructions had been seen and understood.

It was a full ten minutes before he received his intended visitor. "Staff don't like me in the rooms," the groundsman grumbled. "My name's Ted."

"Virgil."

Ted indicated the machine which he was cradling in his arms. "D'y' think you can fix it?"

"I think you can." Virgil waved his obviously injured hand.

Muttering something about a wild goose chase, Ted slouched away to the door.

"Wait!" Virgil called him back. "I mean it's easy. Tighten the feed-flow nut."

"What's that?"

"It's, erm…" Virgil regarded the machine still in the other's arms. "Move down that way a bit," he requested, indicating the end of the bed. "I can't twist my body like I used to. Now…" He had a better view of the machine. "Turn it to your right."

After a moment's consideration as Ted worked out his right from his left, the required move was made.

"Good. Now flip it towards you."

"T'wards me? Like this?"

"That's it. See the nut on top?"

"Yeah."

"Is it tight?"

"It's wobblin' all over the show."

"Tighten it."

Ted did as he was told and then pushed the ignition switch. A row of brightly coloured lights burst into life and the machine started humming in a purposeful manner. "It works!"

"See. I said you could fix it."

"Thanks." Ted went to turn away. Then he stopped. "I don' s'pose you could look at somethin' else for me, could you?"

"Sure." Virgil would have jumped at the chance; if he'd had the legs to jump. "Can you bring it in here?"

"I can try."

"Good. You might need to bring something we can sit it on. I don't want to get anything dirty."

"Rightio. I'll be back as soon as."

This time there was a thirty-minute delay before the groundsman's return. "Nearly got caught by the boss." He had with him an old towel and a greasy lump of machinery that appeared to be part of a larger engine. "Whered' y' want it?"

"Not on my lap," Virgil warned. "Can you bring that closer?" He pointed to the tray that was suspended over the end of his bed.

The towel was flicked onto the tray and the machine was dropped on top in a way that had Virgil thinking a dent had just been made in the aluminium surface. He looked at the greasy lump. "I need to keep my hands clean. Can you give me a couple of gloves?"

"Where's they?"

"Over there." Two were pulled out of the box. "Can you hold them open for me?"

"Guess so."

Virgil slipped his right hand into the first glove with no qualms. Then it was time to test the neoprene protection. "Oh, well. This'll be more data."

"Data?"

Virgil didn't enlighten him as he slipped the hand into the latex glove and wriggled his fingers. "Feels okay," he said as he straightened them with his other hand. "The question is: how well will it work?" He rubbed his hands together. "Let's see."

The groundsman dragged the tray closer, sliding the wheels under the bed, enabling Virgil to inspect the machine. "Won't start."

"Well, it's not through lack of lubrication." Virgil prodded the greasy surface.

"The maintenance man said to always use plenty of grease."

Virgil looked up. "There's a maintenance man working here? Why hasn't he fixed this?"

"He's on leave for a month. I'm only fillin' in. I'm a gardener, not a mechanic."

"In that case, I'm going to need some tools and some cloths to clean it."

Ted gave an exasperated sigh. "Be back soon."

Virgil hoped it wouldn't be too long. He didn't fancy being on the receiving end of a tongue lashing if a nurse came in and found a greasy hunk of metal on the pristine table.

Fortunately, Ted only took ten minutes this time. "This do?"

"Let's see." Virgil cast his eye over the tool kit and decided that it was sufficient for most minor problems. He wiped off some of the grease on the machine. "Ah… I think I see…"

"What is it?"

"It's the…" Virgil decided that it was probably too technical for the gardener to understand. "One of the joints has slipped out of alignment. All I need to do is lever it back into place." _Can I do it one handed?_ He picked up the appropriate tool. "Okay…" he looked at his injured hand. "Let's see what you can do."

Ted pretended not to hear or see the comment. "Can I help?"

"Maybe." Virgil was already digging around the joint. "If I press there…" He placed his replacement forefinger. With no active flexor tendon to give resistance, it bent backwards and he gave a sigh of exasperation. "That's not going to work. Let's try this finger." He pressed his middle finger against the same point and pressed down. "I can't feel anything," he growled, frustrated by the lack of sensory feedback. "I don't know if I'm applying enough force."

"Want me to do it?"

"I think that's the only option, unless we're willing to wait a few weeks until I get some feeling back. Do you want to put some gloves on?"

Ted smirked. "Like a operation." He pulled a latex glove onto each hand, snapping them into place in satisfaction. "Where'd I press? Here?"

"That'll do. Try to stop it from moving as I try to lever this… back…" Virgil frowned in concentration. "…under… here!" There was a satisfying snap and the joint slipped back into place. "Let go slowly…"

Ted removed his hand. "It ain't movin'."

"That's what we want." Virgil spun a flywheel and the joint rose up and down. "Perfect. You shouldn't have any problems now."

"Great." Ted appeared pleased. "Might be able to get some work done now. Thanks."

"Glad to be of help." Virgil slipped his previously unhelpful, but clean, left ring finger in the wrist of his right glove and, working his good fingers, managed to pull it off.

"I've got tons of stuff that needs fixin', but there ain't any money for maintenance. That new G.M's as useless as a side-saddle on a Thunderbird." Both gloves were snapped off and dumped in a bin.

Virgil was a little surprised, and not only by the metaphor. He'd always found Colin Eden to be an extremely efficient man. But then, he reflected, as he slipped his right fingers into the wrist of his left glove and tried to slide it free without getting grease on the neoprene, he'd only dealt with him on medical and not administrative matters. "I suppose the fallout from the earthquake used up funds that would otherwise have been used in non-medical parts of the hospital."

"I heard that all that money went on one guy. Frank and Stein's monster."

Virgil stared at the maintenance man. "Frank and Stein's monster?"

"Yeah. You know the film where the wacky scientist built a human-lookin' monster from dead bodies?"

"It's a book too. But wasn't he Dr Frankenstein…? Would you mind holding the glove open so I can pull my hand out?"

Unperturbed, Ted did as he was asked. "_He_ was, but I'm talkin' about a couple of foreigners."

"Foreigners?"

"Yeah. Think they're from South Africa or somethin'."

Fascinated by where this story was going, Virgil played along. "You said they had a 'monster'?"

"Some guy got himself smashed in the 'quake and they rebuilt him from scratch. New arms. New legs. New other bits. They brought in new O.R., and some fancy machinery, and a robot just to put him back together again. No one else was allowed to use it. His father's some hotshot and he put the hard word on Bearston General to save his boy. Of course our G.M. just rolled over and did what he said… For all the good it did."

"For all the good what did?"

"Word is that it's been a complete waste of time."

"A waste of time?" Virgil echoed.

"Yeah… The son's a cabbage." Unaware of who he was talking to; Ted looked at Virgil with undisguised curiosity. "So whatcha in for?"

Virgil thought that made it sound like he was incarcerated in prison rather than in a hospital... Although he had to admit that there were some days when it felt like it. "Stubbed my toe on a slab of concrete."

"Oh." His newfound friend seemed unperturbed by the lameness of his answer. "Broke some bones, huh?"

"A few."

"And y' hand?"

"Dropped a hot pot on it."

"Clumsy."

"Yes, it was."

"Oh, well. Got work t' do." Ted wrapped his greasy package in its towel, slid his fingers through the tool kit's handle, and picked up his machine. "Thanks for y' help. Mind if I bring other stuff some other time?"

"If it's not too big. There's not a lot I can do while I'm trapped in this bed."

"Right. Catcha."

"Bye."

And "Frank and Stein's monster" was left alone wondering what his family would make of the moniker and if he'd ever be able to look at Timoti and Bryce again without thinking of them as "_Frink_ and _Steene_." Then he decided that it was just as well that Halloween had passed. If Gordon ever got hold of that bit of information Virgil hated to think what he'd do with it.

_To be continued…_


	41. Chapter 41

It was Sunday afternoon visiting hours, and Virgil didn't hold out much hope that he'd be seeing anyone. All his friends had visited him during the week, and he told himself that he couldn't expect them spend their weekend with him as well. But nonetheless he was surprised when the door was pushed open and a small whirlwind burst inside. "Ungle Virgil!"

"Virginia?" Virgil watched as the little girl clambered onto a chair and then onto his bed. Two small arms wrapped themselves around his neck and as he returned the hug, he looked over her shoulder at her mother. "Lisa…"

"I know what you said," Lisa Crump admitted. "But Ginny's been asking after you, and I thought it wouldn't hurt for her to learn that not everyone is as lucky as she is. I did warn her that you'd been ill for a long time."

Ginny sat back, seeming to be totally unperturbed by the way illness had ravished her honorary uncle. "Where you been?"

"I've been here. In hospital," Virgil told her.

"I told you that Uncle Virgil's legs aren't working properly," Lisa reminded her daughter. She opened the large bag she had slung over her shoulder. "There you are."

Ginny reached in and withdrew an item. With a huge toothy grin, she turned back to Virgil. "This for you."

"Thank you." Virgil accepted the unwrapped gift. Inside the clear package was a small plastic pot plant with a grinning face on its yellow flower head. A solar panel built into the pot and the way the plant wobbled, suggested that it did more than just sit there. "How cute!" He looked at Ginny. "Will you help me open the box?" Taking care not to catch small fingers or neoprene gloves on the edges, the two of them undid the packaging and Virgil withdrew the plant.

"I thought you'd prefer a lion or bear, but someone told Ginny that you always give flowers when someone's sick, so that's what she was determined to do." Lisa lifted her daughter off the bed, took the toy from Virgil, and gave it to Ginny. "Go and put it on the windowsill, Honey, and show Uncle Virgil what it does."

Giggling, Ginny obediently ran around the bed and placed the toy on the wide, broad windowsill that ran almost the length of the room. As soon as the sun's beams struck the solar panel the leaves began flapping up and down and the smiling face waggled from side to side.

Virgil laughed and applauded his right hand against his left forearm. "I love it!" He saw Lisa's less than convinced face. "Honest!" He turned back to Ginny. "It's the best flower that anyone's ever given me. Thank you, Virginia."

Ginny beamed at him as brightly as the flower's engaging smile.

"Let's get you sorted, Honey." Lisa went to a corner of the room, away from the door, and emptied her bag onto the floor. Having laid out a mat, she proceeded to cover it with several activities suitable for a three-year-old. "Why don't you draw a picture to show Uncle Virgil what the plane was like?" she suggested, handing Ginny a drawing pad and a variety of coloured pencils.

Happy with the idea, Ginny sat on her mat and, her face showing great concentration, started to draw.

"She'll be there for ages," Lisa admitted. "She takes after her Uncle Virgil in that respect." She pulled a chair closer to the right side of his bed. "So… How are you today?"

"Apart from being bored, I'm fine," he admitted. "Where's Butch?"

"He and Wrench have gone home to start working on the Red Arrow. There's a garage over at the house and they're hoping they'll be able to bring the car to Bearston, so they can work on it here." Lisa looked regretful. "Butch wanted to wait until you were well enough to help him, but… I hope you don't mind."

"Don't worry about it," Virgil reassured her. "It's going to be months before I'll be able to do any engineering. I'm more than happy to know that the Red Arrow's being looked after. And who better than the man who first brought her back to her original condition?"

Lisa gave him a sideways look. "And a former gang mechanic?"

"I suppose that if a gang trusted him with their precious vehicles he must have a few clues… How are things with Mr Crump?"

"He's not perfect, but he's doing his best to remember that he's not with the Skulz any longer. And," Lisa smiled over her shoulder to where the little girl was busy with her drawing, "Ginny loves him."

"That's good. So, it was a big family get together for Thanksgiving?"

"Almost… It's too early for my parents to accept Wrench into the family fold, so we had two Thanksgiving celebrations – one with my family, but without him; and one where we made sure he was part of our family group. What did you do for Thanksgiving?"

"Well, that was dinner." Virgil pointed at the IV bag with its clear liquid draining into his arm. "And I can't say that it felt like a holiday. I had to do physical therapy mainly. Things to get my hands working properly."

"Your legs aren't any better?"

"The medicos seem pleased by my progress, but to me it feels like I'm not getting anywhere. My legs aren't even moving. Mind you, they're still trying to keep them from falling apart. They're just playing it day by day. And from what I saw the other day, there's a long way to go yet."

"Did your family visit for Thanksgiving?"

"No. They wanted to, but Scott and Gordon got caught up on business and didn't get home until mid-Thursday. By that stage no one wanted to deal with the Black Friday traffic, so we had a get together on Saturday." Virgil smiled. "It was fun."

"That must have been disappointing for everyone. For Scott and Gordon to be unable to make it home in time for the celebration."

Virgil shrugged. "We've learnt to deal with it."

Lisa glanced at the door. "Can we talk?"

Wondering at his friend's sudden furtive manner, Virgil frowned. "I'm sure we can."

"Without being overheard?"

"You mean aside from Virginia?" The little girl looked up and Virgil waved at her. "I think they've designed these rooms so no one can hear the screams from the torture the physios put us through." He chuckled.

Lisa looked alarmed. "Torture!?"

"Not really. But they're determined that I've got to get a workout. I'm still using the squeeze ball," Virgil said, unwilling to admit to the embroidery, "but they're getting me to do things that will build up my fine motor skills. Plus, the gardener brought in a couple of machines to repair, which was a lot more enjoyable than basket weaving."

"Don't the nurses have something to say about you having greasy machinery in your room?"

Virgil chuckled again. "They haven't found out yet." He pointed at a white, spherical, high-tech, object on the other side of the bed. "And that one's not telling."

"That's a nurse?"

"In a manner of speaking. Because I'm a guinea pig, they're keeping a second by second record of every heartbeat, temperature, movement and goodness knows what else. I wear this." Virgil held out his right arm and showed the band on his wrist. "That keeps track of all my vital signs and that," he pointed at the "nurse" again, "records them and sends them to the database for dispatching all around the world."

"Oh." Lisa regarded the robot nurse. "When I think of what the medical team's done to help you, it's amazing."

"If it works."

She indicated his left hand. "It has so far."

"True…" Virgil regarded the hand. "But that's only a relatively small amount of bones, muscles, skin, and tendons, and some are original. This…" he waved his hand over his legs, "is still an unknown."

"But things are looking positive?"

"So far." Virgil's pillow had shifted and, using his right hand, he reached behind to pull it back up. Realising that Lisa was watching him, he looked at his limb, seeing little more than skin and bone and not much in the way of muscle. "Guess even Bruce would beat me in a bicep competition now."

Hearing a note of sadness in his voice, Lisa lightly placed her hand on his upper arm. "You're still a handsome man, Virgil Tracy," she reassured him. "And I'm sure the nurses must have fights over which one gets to give you a bed bath." A mischievous grin transformed her face. "So, they can do this!" She made a grab at the blankets.

Virgil gave a yelp. "Lisa!" He slammed his hand down, to stop her from flinging his sheet off his body. "Don't do that!"

Lisa giggled. "Doesn't matter. I've seen it all before."

"No." Virgil was all seriousness. "No, you haven't. And neither had I until last week."

Lisa looked astonished. Astonishment that migrated to concern. "Virgil…" She laid her hand on his arm. "Virgil? Are you all right?"

This was one of the reasons why Virgil hadn't wanted Ginny to visit him. As a fireball rolled down his leg, he tried to manfully ignore it, but this one – he'd have to remember so he could tell Timoti and Bryce later – this one had to rate a nine.

He could dimly hear a distressed Lisa saying something. Something about how it wasn't fair and how he'd only been trying to help others. As his hand scrabbled for the pain relief, he heard a voice asking if they could help. Then, as he pressed the button that would release the soothing ice, he felt something touch him on the forehead.

The pain drained away, and as world resolved itself into something that wasn't distorted by white-hot agony, Virgil realised that Lisa had taken a flannel from the bowl that resided on the table next to his bed and was using her left hand to clean the perspiration off his face. Then he realised that his hand had a tight grip on her right.

Mortified, he let go. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she said quietly, dampening the flannel again. "Are you all right now?"

Virgil closed his eyes, nodded, and allowed the cooling cloth to wipe away the last vestiges of the pain.

"Do you want us to leave?"

"No… Just… Just give me a minute."

Lisa did so, continuing to mop his face.

Finally, Virgil managed a smile. "Thanks."

"Does this happen often?" Lisa returned the flannel to its bowl and sat back.

"About once a day." Virgil opened his eyes.

"Has it been going on for long?"

"Since just before my family returned home."

"To be International Rescue."

The four words were said in little more than a whisper, and Virgil, hoping that he _had_ misheard, pretended not to understand. Trying to divert Lisa's attention he started talking. "That's why I didn't want Ginny to visit. It's usually not too bad; a bit like a permanent case of pins and needles. Then, occasionally, a nerve reconnects and it's as if I've been sitting on my leg for a week and the circulation fights to return all at once." He rubbed his hand over his face. "I was determined that if it ever happened when you were visiting, I'd be strong, and butch, and wouldn't use the pain relief, and you wouldn't see how bad it gets."

Lisa gave a gentle grin. "You could never be Butch."

"Oh." Virgil managed a sheepish smile in reply. "I didn't think of that."

"You're a member too. Aren't you?"

Virgil decided that it was better to try to deflect her supposition than to continue to pretend to have become afflicted with a selective deafness. "Member of what?"

"International Rescue."

Virgil chuckled. And hoped that the chuckle sounded real. "Why on Earth would you say that?"

"Lots of little things that individually mean nothing. But together…"

Pretending that he was pretending to treat this conversation as a joke, Virgil grinned. "What things?"

"It's a mighty big, almost unbelievable, coincidence that, on the morning that you start back at ACE – without anyone except for Mr M and Mega knowing – we're hit by a massive earthquake."

Virgil shrugged. "Coincidences do happen."

"Butch and Bruce must have seen who the man from International Rescue was when you were injured."

"The man from International Rescue wasn't me. It was someone else... helping me."

Lisa ignored the interruption. "Bruce would have tried to give first aid and that would have meant that he would have seen your face."

"He saw my face before the 'quake."

"If anyone tries to talk about 'the organisation', he cracks a joke and then changes the subject."

"Bruce is a joker. You know that."

"And Butch goes all coy whenever 'the organisation' is mentioned. He used to love listening to reports about your rescues, but now he gets up and leaves the room. Or else he tries a little too hard to change the subject."

"Lisa," Virgil protested. "I was in the furnace room too, remember, and I know how hot it was in there. Both Bruce and Butch were badly affected by the heat. They must have become delirious and, if they do believe that I'm with 'the organisation', do so because we were rescued by International Rescue, and as I'd unexpectedly turned up at ACE that day to work, believed that I was with International Rescue. Do you honestly believe that Butch would lie to you?"

"Out of loyalty to you and International Rescue, yes."

Virgil said nothing.

"Even _you_ gave yourself away the other day…"

"_I_ did?"

"When you said that you were supposed to be helping Bruce and Butch, not having Bruce and Butch help you."

"But they did help me. I was supposed to be assisting them with the furnace."

"And then there's your family."

Virgil stared at her. "My family?"

"When your grandmother rang me after the earthquake and before International Rescue brought Ginny and me to Bearston, neither she nor your father asked after you. I remember that when you'd burnt your hands the last week you worked at ACE they were really worried about you. This time they were totally unconcerned about your wellbeing."

"I…" Virgil thought quickly. "Didn't tell them that I had asked if I could start back at ACE."

"You started work at ACE, at one of your father's companies, without his knowledge, after having been re-employed by one of his best friends?"

Virgil was beginning to feel that he was on shaky ground. "Yes."

"When you know that he makes regular visits?"

"I would have told him by then."

Lisa continued. "After everyone had been told that you'd died, I was talking to John. He told me that you were still alive, which was the first piece of good news that I'd had since International Rescue returned Butch to me. John called us your _former workmates_ and said that he, and your brothers, went _back_ to ACE to use the 3D printer. As far as I'm aware none of them have been at ACE since about the time of your farewell party."

"You've been on maternity leave."

"And there's that plane thing that your brothers bought. I know them well enough to know that they – that none of you – are the playboys you pretend to be. So why have they bought a plane and told us not to clear the weeds that hide it? Why do you even pretend to be playboys?"

"The family's always preferred privacy."

"And that includes heading off on an irreverent jaunt when you were at death's door in the middle of a lifesaving operation?"

Virgil shrugged. "There wasn't a lot they could do here except mope."

"And then last week, at Thanksgiving – a day when I'm sure your family had a lot to be thankful for and would like to share that joy with you – they couldn't visit because 'Scott and Gordon were away on business'. Coincidentally at a time when 'the organisation' is working to save a man's life on the other side of the world."

"You said it: Coincidence."

"That's a lot of coincidences." Lisa seemed unconcerned by her friend's continuous rebuttal of her arguments. "Of course, I would never have even considered such an idea, if it hadn't been for one thing that started me wondering…" She turned in her seat. "Ginny? Would you mind coming over here for a moment?"

Beaming, the little girl ran over to her mother. Clutching a multi-coloured piece of paper, she clambered onto Lisa's knee and then onto the bed beside Virgil, nestling into his side.

He winced.

"Careful, Ginny," her mother cautioned.

"She's all right," Virgil soothed, smiling down on the little girl. "Aren't you?" He gave Lisa a cautious look. "Just be ready to… If…"

She nodded her agreement.

Virgil indicated the paper in Ginny's hand. "What have you been doing, Virginia?"

Ginny giggled. "Ungle Gord'n calls me Virgiggler."

Virgil grinned. "I can believe that."

With a small frown, Ginny squirmed. "Bed's moving."

"That's right. Because my legs are sore I can't get out of bed. To stop my back from getting sore too, my bed has lots of fingers to tickle me… Like this!" Using his good hand Virgil tickled the young girl.

With a squeal of laughter, Ginny curled up in a fit of giggles.

Virgil laughed with her. "What have you drawn?"

"Thunderbird Two." She proudly showed him her picture. It didn't look the slightest like any sort of aeroplane, let alone one of International Rescue's fleet.

"Wow!" Virgil feigned amazement. "I was flown to here in Thunderbird Two too. But I was asleep the whole time and can't remember what it was like. What's this?" He pointed to some grey criss-crosses.

"That's the beds we was in," Ginny informed him. "And that's chairs. And that's Mama…" Her finger moved across the page. "…and Mr Harrison..."

"I recognise his spectacles," Virgil approved.

"And Ungle Winnie…" Ginny pointed out. "…and Kyla, and 'Livia, and Mrs Duncan."

"And, where are you?"

"There." Ginny pointed at a big smile staring out from one of the "beds". Above her head was an approximation of a fish.

"Wow!" Virgil repeated. "That's amazing. Can I keep this? I'd like to get it framed and put it at the end of my bed," he pointed down past his feet, "so that, even though I can't remember what it's like to ride in a Thunderbird, I can see what it's like. And then when everyone asks me what Thunderbird Two was like I can show them. Can I do that?"

Ginny gave an emphatic head nod.

"Thank you. But all the great artists autograph their work. Will you do that for me?"

Ginny frowned. "What's autoguff?"

"Autograph. It's when they write their name on the picture to show that they were the ones who drew it. See, I wrote my name on that one." Virgil pointed to a painting of Tracy Island. "Will you autograph this picture for me?"

"Here," Lisa scrabbled about in her bag until she found a pen and a book. "Lean on that, Honey, and write your name."

Ginny did as she was told, carefully printing "Virginia Liesel Crump," with the Virginia scrawled across the bottom, the Liesel turning a right angle at the corner, and the Crump heading up the side of the page.

"Wonderful!" Virgil enthused. "Thank you."

"You haven't told Uncle Virgil who that is." Lisa pointed to a blue figure.

Ginny looked at her mother. "I 'llowed to say?" she clarified.

Virgil saw a touch of pride lighten Lisa's face. "You are this time, Darling, because I think Uncle Virgil already knows. Now, who is that a picture of?"

"That the man from 'Nat'nal Rescue," Ginny told her.

"And who was the man from International Rescue?"

Ginny beamed a happy smile. "Ungle Gord'n."

"Who?!"

A picture of childish innocence looked up at her shocked "Ungle Virgil". "Ungle Gord'n," Ginny repeated.

"The man from International Rescue," he clarified, "the one who took you for a ride in a Thunderbird, was Uncle Gordon? My brother?"

There was an emphatic head nod.

"Erm, why," Virgil began, proceeding carefully. "Why do you think that was Gor, uh, Uncle Gordon?"

"'Cos he smelled like Ungle Gord'n."

"And…" Virgil wondered if he was treading on dangerous ground. "What does Uncle Gordon smell like?"

Ginny's reply was full of the confident assurance of a child. "Swimming pools!"

"Ah…" Virgil reflected on the idiom: _out of the mouths of babes_. "Yes… I suppose he does."

"Good girl." Lisa picked Ginny off the bed and placed her on the ground, taking the picture. "We'll get this framed as a present for Uncle Virgil."

"Lisa…"

"Now you can go back and play with your dollies." Lisa watched as her daughter obediently ran back to her mat. Then she turned back to the man in the bed. "Well?"

"I can get that framed."

"Don't be silly. After all your family have done for us, framing one little picture is the least we can do." Lisa carefully put the picture into her bag. "Now…" she leant closer to him. "Are you going to admit the truth?"

"And if I were to say that, as much as I'd like to say you were right, you were both wrong?"

"You're not that good a liar, Virgil Tracy. You may as well say," she indicated his bedsheet-covered feet that barely had skin on them, "that you're wearing boots with laces. Now, are you going to let me go home and tell my man that he doesn't have to moan 'C_an't tell. Won't tell' _in his sleep, because I know the truth?"

Virgil gave a sigh and let his head flop back against his pillow. He was past arguing and even more fed up with lying. He didn't know what his family would think, but he trusted Lisa and as Butch had put such an effort into keeping the Tracys' secret… "I always said you were an intelligent woman, Lisa Crump."

"I knew it!" Lisa looked triumphant.

"You know why it's important that it's kept a secret?"

"Because your machines would cause trouble if they fell into the wrong hands. And having seen them in action I can believe that."

"And because Brains would suffer if the wrong hands got hold of him."

"Oh…" Lisa shuddered. "He's the, ah, brains behind it all?"

"We all did what we could to help with R&D, but none of us have the intellect that he's got." Virgil shrugged. "I don't know anyone who has."

Lisa sat back in her chair and then, remembering the need to keep quiet sat forward again. "Even though you've confirmed what I suspected, it's still hard to believe. I didn't have a clue that the man from International Rescue that Ginny had taken such a shine to was Gordon until she told me. And then I watched him, and I could see little tiny mannerisms and vocal patterns that told me that she was right. Plus, Gordon never called her Virgiggler until after the man from International Rescue called her Virgiggler." She grinned. "It was an amazing disguise though."

"Obviously not good enough."

"I didn't recognise you."

"You didn't see me. Until you'd left, I was banished to Thunderbird Two's cockpit as the taxi driver in case someone who knew me recognised me." Virgil gave a bitter laugh. "Which Butch, Bruce, and Mr Watts eventually did."

"Knowing you, you would have found that frustrating."

Virgil shrugged. "Not as frustrating as this." He indicated the room.

And was surprised when Lisa leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you for bringing Butch home to Ginny and me."

Virgil actually blushed. "It was a team effort… Besides, he did more to help me. I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd chosen to stay in the cool in the Firefly. Instead he tried to cool me down and sat with me when no one else was able to. I don't remember a lot about what happened after the earthquake, but I do remember that, and he'll never know how much I appreciated his presence."

"Who in your family are members?"

"All of them."

"All of them? Even Mrs T?"

Virgil grinned. "She's the real powerhouse behind us all. She just humours Father into thinking that he's the boss."

"It's so logical that Jeff Tracy would be the man behind…" deciding not to risk being overheard, Lisa waved her hand. "And yet not once did I even dream that it could be him. So I don't put my foot into it, who else at ACE knows?"

"Uncle Hamish has always known about Father's plans since before we were born. Which is why ACE made some of the components; and that's one of the reasons why I worked at ACE that year…"

Astonished, Lisa stared at her friend. "We helped make the... planes?"

"Bits of them…" Virgil frowned as he tried to remember. "Auntie Edna doesn't know. The only other people at ACE who know are, Butch, Bruce, and Mr Watts, obviously… And I think Olivia might know too. There hasn't been enough privacy for in depth discussions. There's still a lot I don't know about my rescue and what happened afterwards."

"Oh… Can I tell you anything?"

"I don't know. Because I don't know what I don't know."

"Well, let me know when you do know what you don't know, and I'll see if I know what you don't… know."

Both of them laughed at the silliness of their conversation, and Ginny, looking across at the two adults, giggled along with them as if she'd heard and understood the joke.

When he'd stopped laughing, Virgil thought for a moment. "Lisa…"

"Yes?"

"There is something… Something that I'd like, ah… want, um… need to ask."

Intrigued Lisa stared at her friend. "Yes?"

"I've wondered this for a long time…" Virgil looked embarrassed. "But…"

"Yes?"

"I…" Virgil looked frustrated at his inability to formulate the question. "Where's my stress ball. I should be exercising this hand."

Lisa found the required object, handed it to him.

"Thanks."

Lisa waited.

"I've been in here, what, three months?"

"Yes."

"And I'm stuck in this place; stuck in this bed."

There was sympathy in this responding "yes."

"I've lost more than both legs and a couple of fingers."

Wondering if she should say more, Lisa nodded.

"Which means that I can't do a lot of what other guys can."

"I know that. But you will be able to one day."

Virgil took a deep breath and squeezed the stress ball. "Do you have a mirror with you?"

Startled, Lisa sat back. "A mirror?" She picked up her bag. "Yes… I think I do."

"Would you mind if I used it for a moment?"

"Of course not." Lisa's fingers closed around the round compact and she pulled it out of the bag. She handed it over. "Do you know how to open it?"

Virgil chuckled. "I don't think it takes an engineering genius to figure that out. Plus, I've got a friend who wouldn't be without hers."

But despite that he didn't open it.

Lisa said nothing, but her eyes asked the question. _"Why?"_

Virgil cleared his throat. "It's obvious that I've lost a lot of weight." He held out both sticklike arms, "but I've never…" He played with the makeup applicator, but didn't touch the catch. "I haven't used one of these since before ACE."

Lisa giggled. "A compact?"

"A mirror."

It was like he'd illuminated a lightbulb. "And you're scared of how you look now?"

Lisa hadn't meant him to, but Virgil heard her astonishment. Feeling shamed by her perception, he looked down.

"And this is from a man who flew a crashing plane, almost single-handedly fought a gang, rappelled into a vat of molten metal to save his boss, and almost literally ran into a furnace to save his friends – along with I don't know what other heroic acts?!"

Virgil stared at the ball that he was squeezing in his left hand. "I guess we all have our irrational fears."

"You have nothing to be frightened of," Lisa told him. "I wasn't joking or trying to boost your ego before, when I said that you are still handsome. And every time I see you you're looking fitter, stronger, and, dare I say it, more alive."

There was a quiet chuckle. "More alive than when I was dead."

"More alive than you were the first time we saw you in this hospital when they were wheeling you into O.R… Is that why you didn't want Ginny, or any of us, to visit?" At seeing her friend's abashed expression, Lisa laughed. "You are a silly billy."

This time Virgil relaxed enough to share a grin. "Silly billy? You've been around three-year-olds for too long."

"And you've been worrying about nothing for too long. Here…" Lisa took the mirror and snapped it open. "See?" She held it out to him. "Don't look in the bottom one. It magnifies."

The way she was holding it meant that the only way that Virgil could avoid his mirrored image was to close his eyes, so he told himself to man up. A reflection of someone who was almost a stranger stared back at him. "Where have I gone?"

"You," Lisa prodded him in the chest, "are still here. And that's what matters to your friends and family, and I hope you. When you are able to eat and exercise, then you'll visually be the man you were again. Until then, we're glad that we've still got Virgil Tracy with us; secrets and all."

Virgil took the mirror, examined his image closer, and then closed it. "Thank you," he said, handing it back to her.

"Feel better now?"

Virgil shrugged. "A little."

The door opened and a male nurse, carrying a non-regulation bag, stepped inside. "Oh…! Sorry, Virgil," he apologised. "I didn't realise that you had a visitor."

Lisa reached for her own bag. "Do you want us to go?"

"No," the nurse admitted. "I had… erm… a favour to ask Virgil. Well, my wife asked me to ask."

"Me?" Virgil frowned in confusion. "A favour?"

The nurse pulled his bag closer. "It's not important. I wouldn't have come in during visiting hours, but it's my break. I'll come back at the end of my shift."

"No, come in," Virgil told him. "You've got us curious now."

"If the boss finds out I'm here, and why I'm here, I'll get into trouble."

"My lips are sealed," Lisa reassured the nurse. "And these two," she indicated Virgil and Ginny, "are experts at keeping secrets."

"I don't want to interrupt your visit."

"Ginny and I will be visiting again," Lisa stated and saw her friend nod.

"Okay." The nurse approached the bed. "I'd been talking to Ted and he said how you'd fixed a few things for him. And…"

Virgil raised a surprised eyebrow.

"And," the nurse looked awkward. "My wife asked me to ask you if you could fix something." He reached into his bag and pulled out a package wrapped in several protective layers. "Our boy's at that inquisitive stage and he pulled it apart to see what made it tick. I'm not too bad with electronics, but when it comes to anything mechanical I'm hopeless. I was hoping you could have a look and at least tell me if it's worthwhile getting it fixed professionally. I don't care if it works or not, but it was a wedding present and my wife's rather attached to it."

"Bring the table over and we'll have a look at it," Virgil instructed. As the nurse did as he was told and placed the package on it, he eyed Lisa. "Want to give me a hand? Three are better than one."

"Okay."

"If you wouldn't mind looking in that cupboard, there's a toolkit in there. We may need it." As Lisa did as he'd asked, Virgil began unwrapping the package revealing a clockwork scene.

"Shall I leave it with you?" the nurse suggested. "There's no rush. I'll call in after my shift to see what you think."

"Thanks." Virgil waited until the nurse had gone and then raised a wry eyebrow at Lisa.

She who snuffled a laugh. "Okay, so maybe not all of them."

The pair of them settled down to seeing what could be done to resurrect the clockwork mechanism.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"We're back!"

"Daddy!" With a squeal of delight, Ginny abandoned her toy mechanics set and rushed into her father's arms.

Butch scooped her up, tossed her into the air, and cuddled her. "'Ow's m' little cupcake?"

"Good."

"What'cha do today?"

"Me and Mama saw Ungle Virgil."

"Uncle Virgil?"

Ginny gave a head nod. "I gave him a flower."

"He loved it, didn't he, Ginny? He said it was the best flower he'd ever been given." Lisa leant in for a kiss from her husband. "How's the Red Arrow?"

"Gonna take a lot of work. But me an' Dad made a start."

"Good. Why don't you go and ask Grandpop to tell you all about it?" Lisa took her daughter out of Butch's arms. "Daddy and I are going to have a chat."

"'Kay." The little girl ran out of the door and towards her grandfather's unit.

Butch frowned. "Ya went t' see m' pal withou' me? An' ya took Ginny? He didn' want her visitin'."

"I know." Lisa led him over to the couch and pulled him into the seat next to her. "I wanted to talk to him and I wanted him to confirm something that Ginny's always known, and I suspected."

Butch looked unsure at where his wife's conversation was leading. "Wha'?"

"I asked Virgil if he's a member of International Rescue."

Butch launched himself to his feet. "Ya did wha'?!" Then, unsure what to say or how to react, he sagged. "What'd he say?"

"He told me that he and his family are International Rescue. He also said that you, Bruce, Mega, and Mr M. know. He also thought that Olivia knows too. Does she?"

Butch, a mess of confusion about how much he could admit to his wife while maintaining his loyalty to his friend, frowned in thought. Then he came to a decision. "Yeah."

Lisa spied someone walking past the window. "Bruce!" She pushed herself out of her chair and ran to the door. "Olivia!"

Bruce and Olivia turned. "Hiya, Lisa."

"Are you both busy? Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"In the house?" Bruce asked.

"No, here. I thought we could have a chat."

Olivia smiled at the other lady. "We'd love one, thanks."

"Great. Come in and I'll put the coffee on."

"I didn' tell!" Butch looked embarrassed when the couple entered. "I swear I didn' say nothin'!"

It was Bruce's turn to be confused. "You didn't say anything about what?"

Lisa made sure the door was shut against the outside world. "Butch didn't tell me that Virgil and the rest of the Tracys are International Rescue."

Stunned Bruce and Olivia watched as she went over to the small kitchenette and filled up the kettle. "Oh-kay…" Bruce said slowly, his thought processes working at a frantic pace. "How'd you work that one out?"

"Ginny told me."

"Ginny told you!?" Bruce goggled at her. "How'd Ginny kn… I mean. What made Ginny think that?"

"It was Gordon who rescued Ginny from Sunbeam Preschool. She recognised him and told me who he was. I would never have guessed if she hadn't said something. She and I have just been talking to Virgil and he's confirmed it. He didn't want to, but in the end, I told him that the evidence was against him and that he wasn't a good enough liar to keep pretending otherwise."

There was silence in the room apart from the simmering of the water.

"Sorry we didn't tell you, Lisa," Bruce sank into a chair. "But we had to do everything we could to protect International Rescue, even if that meant lying to you. Mr M explained that if people associated Virgil with International Rescue, then the Tracys' lives would be ruined. It was Olivia who came up with the idea to tell everyone that it was Virgil's first day back at ACE. That's why Mr M. went back into the office. To plant evidence that Virgil had joined ACE's staff and to get the computer files that had International Rescue's data on it. If anyone had worked out that the Tracys were behind it all and told the world…"

"I know. And Ginny knows that she mustn't tell anyone. She's promised not to say anything. She wasn't even going to tell Virgil until I said it was okay."

"We got a heck of a surprise when I took his hood off and saw who the man from International Rescue was, didn't we, Butch?"

"Yeah."

"I wasn't meant to see," Olivia admitted. "But I knew that something bad had happened and I thought I could help Mr Mickelson help the men from International Rescue help Bruce, and Butch, and Mr Watts. The last people I expected to see were Mr Tracy's sons. After all the trouble I've caused them, I'm surprised that I've still got a job."

Bruce took her hand. "Except that none of us have a job at present. And the insurance is running out."

Olivia squeezed his hand. "We'll get by."

The water boiled, and Lisa got up to make the drinks. After giving a cup of coffee to each person she pulled a piece of paper out from where she'd been pressing it between two books. "That's Ginny's picture of the inside of Thunderbird Two. That's you, Olivia," she pointed to a figure in a skirt. "And that's Gordon."

"I still can't recognise him." Olivia chuckled. "When he was in disguise I didn't have a clue who he was. Mind you, I didn't know him as well as Ginny did."

"I know him fairly well," Lisa reclaimed her seat next to Butch, "but I would never have guessed if Ginny hadn't told me." She picked up her cup. "Virgil wasn't sure. Who else knows?"

"Mr Mickelson, Mr Watts, and…" Bruce shrugged, "I think that's it as far as ACE is concerned."

"Mrs M doesn't know?"

"As far as I'm aware, no."

"Do Lady Penelope and Parker?"

"I think she's in charge of security or something and Parker's her right-hand man." Bruce sipped his coffee. "And Tin-Tin and Kyrano know, of course."

"Virgil told me that we made some of the components for the Thunderbirds."

"That's right." Bruce nodded. "We were talking while we were waiting to be rescued and he said the week of the Tuffas shoot was the week when we were pouring the Mole's drill. I hate to think what Mr T would have said if he'd known that someone was trying to take photos."

"We'll 'ave t' tell Mr M and Mega tha' you know, Liesel," Butch stated.

Bruce sat back. "I'm just glad that we don't have to be on our guard around you any longer. Butch didn't want to lie to you – none of us did – but we couldn't take the risk that someone would overhear something we said and put two and two together."

"What's the story with the plane?" Lisa flicked her head in the direction of the tennis courts.

"I think Thunderbird Two's stored, or at least it was until they went back home, on one of Mr T's islands. They had to fly to the island in the Odonata and then transfer to Thunderbird Two. And hope like heck that they had the right equipment with them and that they made it to the disaster in time."

"As if they didn't have enough stress to deal with," Lisa mused. "I'm sure there must be times when they wish they could just walk away and live normal lives…"

-F-A-B-

Back at the hospital Virgil had finished repairing the clockwork ornament and had returned it to its grateful owner. Once he was assured of some privacy he got onto the phone.

He was greeted by a big smile. "Virgil… How are you, Son?"

"Same as last time we spoke," Virgil admitted. "Except that this time I've got something to tell you. Promise me you'll keep calm."

Jeff's eyebrows shot up. "Calm? Why? What's happened."

"Lisa's guessed."

"Guessed?"

"Our secret."

"Our secret," Jeff echoed, wondering if he had correctly interpreted which secret Virgil meant. "How?"

"Virginia recognised Gordon. He's going to have to start wearing stronger deodorant."

The eyebrows shot skywards again. "Deodorant?"

"According to Virginia, he smells of swimming pools."

Despite his concerns, Jeff laughed. "Out of the mouths of babes."

"That's exactly what I thought. She told Lisa and, apparently, we all let slip enough clues to confirm that Virginia was right. They've both promised that they won't say anything to anyone, although Lisa is going to tell Butch so that he can stop tip-toeing around the issue."

A smile played about Jeff's face. "I can't imagine Butch tip-toeing."

"You're not mad?" Virgil confirmed.

"Lisa's always been loyal to ACE, and to you," Jeff reminded him. "And I'm unaware of any reason why that should change. It's been months since the earthquake and she's had plenty of opportunities to cause problems if she was going to. And the same goes for Ginny. They've both proven that they can and will keep a secret, and because of that I'm willing to trust them."

"Not that we have an option."

"No. Still, the bonus is that next time they come to visit you, _we_ won't have to tip-toe around _them_…"

_To be continued…_


	42. Chapter 42

_24__th__ December_

It was Christmas Eve and Virgil was feeling a long, long way away from home.

He'd just finished a conversation with his father that had given him the news that he'd least wanted to receive.

Jeff Tracy had been very apologetic. A cyclone was brewing close to Tracy Island and was threatening a number of small, low-lying island nations. International Rescue was on standby for evacuations or if their assistance was going to be required in other ways. Even if their services weren't needed, by the time the cyclone had abandoned those islands, it would still be too dangerous for one of the Tracys' more standard aeroplanes to attempt a flight to the States. He was sure Virgil would understand.

Virgil had said that he understood…

There was a knock on the door before it was pushed open. "Uh… Can we come in?"

Virgil managed a smile for the newcomer. "Freddy! Of course. Come in!"

"We can't stay for long." Freddy Eagles pushed the door open fully and held it that way so a young lady, balancing carefully on crutches as she stepped across the threshold, could manoeuvre her way through. Then he let the door go; allowing it to slide shut. "I don't know if you remember my sister?"

This smile felt more natural as Virgil, delighted to see her, said: "Of course I do. How are you, Angela?"

It was her turn to smile and her personality seemed to light up the whole room. "I'm nearly 90% better, thanks to you. That's why we were hoping to see you before we left, so I could say thank you."

"Thank me?" Virgil felt confused. "Why? What have I done?"

"I don't know if you remember much of what happened between when you were brought here and your operation," Freddy began. "Angela was in the bed next to yours while you were waiting to be operated on. You were both on amputation watch."

"I can't really remember," Virgil recollected. "Which may be a good thing."

"When Angela took a turn for the worse, your father helped our mother," Freddy continued. "I think she went into shock when she saw Angela's foot, and having seen photos I'm not surprised. She was scared, and she lashed out at the nearest target, which happened to be Mr Tracy. He brought her back to our motorhome, so that she would be with Dad and me while we waited for Angela to be operated on."

Virgil couldn't understand why they'd be thanking him when it was his father who'd been so supportive.

"My, that is our, understanding is that, even though you were really ill, and had already had several amputations, you showed some concern for Angela."

"Like I said, I can't remember. But you must have been in a bad way if they had to operate."

"Because gangrene had set in they had to amputate my foot above the ankle," Angela admitted. "And then a couple of days later they removed my leg below the knee."

Virgil forced himself not to look down at the shortened limb. "I'm sorry to hear that. But," he tried to sound positive, "at least you're still alive, and you'll get to spend Christmas with your family."

"Yes. And it's thanks to you that I'm able to walk out the door."

"You said that before and I'm still not sure why you should be thanking me. I haven't done anything." Virgil waved his good hand over his imprisoning bed. "I haven't been able to do anything since the earthquake."

"You agreed to be the guinea pig," Freddy reminded him. "It's because of you the doctors felt confident enough to use the same procedure on Angela."

Suddenly excited by this tangible proof of what he might expect in the future, Virgil sat up as much as he was able. "They replaced your leg? Has it worked?"

"It's still about 10% polymer, so it's not all mine," Angela admitted. "But…" she handed both of her crutches to Freddy and stood tall and unaided. "I can say that I'm standing on my own two feet. And it's thanks to you."

Virgil felt a smile blossom over his face. "That's brilliant! Absolutely fantastic! But you shouldn't be thanking me. I was probably just saving my own skin… and bone," he added as an afterthought.

"No," Freddy shook his head. "You asked that your procedure be used to help her. They may not have even considered her as a candidate if it hadn't been for you."

"I'm sure that she was chosen because she was an ideal candidate, not because I said something," Virgil corrected. "But whatever the reason was, I'm really glad that it's working out for you, Angela."

"How are things progressing for you?"

"I wish I was healing as quickly," Virgil admitted. "My hand's got almost a full range of movement," he wriggled his gloved fingers, "but I only started moving my feet a couple of days ago." He pointed down the bed and the Eagles saw twin independent movements. "As for everything else…" He shrugged. "The doctors seem happy with my progress." He raised an eyebrow to the young lady who'd reclaimed her crutches. "Anything I've got to look forward to?"

"I guess you've had the fireworks?"

"Still get them occasionally, only some are more like bazookas. And a never-ending case of pins and needles."

"I've still got that," Angela admitted. "Only it's either less intense than it was, or I've got used to it… How about the leg popcorn?"

Virgil frowned at the nomenclature. "Leg popcorn?"

"When your muscles get to a certain stage they start to exercise themselves, a bit like the nerves reconnecting. It's an involuntary tic that feels like popcorn popping under your skin."

Freddy made a face. "Sounds like fun."

Virgil was equally as unenthusiastic. "Popcorn? Are you sure it's not like spiders crawling?"

"Spiders crawling?" Angela echoed, as Freddy gave an obvious shudder. "Oh, of course! Because of the spiderweb polymer. No. Definitely not spiders."

"Thank heavens for that. How long did that last?"

"I haven't had it for a couple of weeks."

"At least when I get it I'll know it's only temporary."

"You didn't feel that with the muscles in your hand?" Freddy asked.

"There aren't any muscles in your fingers; only bones and tendons…" Virgil thought. "And nerves and blood vessels. And they managed to save a lot of my palm tissue, so I guess I've still got the original muscles there." He examined his palms. "Although I would have thought that they'd had to replace the ball of my thumb… I wonder how much they amputated?"

"Haven't you seen your hand yet?"

"Nope. And I can't say that I'm in a hurry to do so. They showed me the lower half of my body a month ago, and I almost freaked out."

"I asked to see my leg," Angela admitted. "Being a fitness trainer, I was curious to see how everything fits together."

Virgil grimaced. "If you'd seen my body you would have got an all too clear idea of how everything fits together. Fortunately, it's all hidden behind this stuff now." He held up his gloved hand.

"If it's not a personal question," Angela began. "How much did they replace?"

Virgil placed his hand just below his ribcage. "There down."

"Wow!"

"Yeah." Virgil chuckled. "No wonder I'm so far behind."

"At least you're alive and will be able to spend Christmas with your family," Freddy echoed.

"I wish." Virgil sighed. "I've just been speaking to Father. They've been caught out by a cyclone and can't leave the island."

"Oh," Freddy looked genuinely saddened by the news. "That must be disappointing."

Virgil shrugged again. "I'll live."

Freddy chuckled. "We can see that," and Virgil managed a grin.

"We'd visit you tomorrow, except we're heading out of town to be with family," Angela apologised. "I'm only allowed out of the hospital 36 hours."

Virgil beamed at her. "Then you'd better make the most of your time away from this place."

There was that room brightening smile again. "I intend to."

"Have the doctors given any indication when you'll be able to be released?" Freddy asked.

"No," Virgil admitted, determined not to show any signs of despondency. "But I know it'll be months before I'll even be able to leave this building."

"Months of boredom," Angela sympathised.

"Probably, except…" Virgil pointed to a small pile of equipment unrelated to anything medical in the corner of the room. "The staff have discovered that I've got some talents in mending things, so they keep on bringing in their old junk for me to fix. It's a lot more enjoyable than some other therapies I could be doing."

"I'm sure it is." Freddy tapped his sister on the shoulder. "We should think about going. The folks are going to start thinking that you've taken that new leg and run away."

"Before you go, Angela," Virgil began. And then stopped.

"Yes?"

"Have you still got any protective bandages or anything on your leg?"

"No. I haven't had that for about a week. It's why they don't want me too far away for too long, in case I damage their handiwork. I'm under strict instructions that I've got to have my leg covered at all times."

"In that case, can I ask you a personal question? One I'd never normally ask a woman?"

She giggled. "We've got a chaperone present." She flicked her long dark hair at Freddy and gave a wicked grin. "Unless we ask him to leave."

Virgil chuckled. "I was wondering if you'd let me look at your leg. What I've seen of my own body was horrific, but you're further through the healing process than I am. And as Grandma said, it's probably worse seeing your own body than someone else's."

"Hold these." Angela had already thrust her crutches into her brother's hands and was pulling off her shoes. "Do you want to see the other too, so you can compare them both?" Freddy had a pair of socks thrown towards him.

"Why am I the one holding your smelly things?" he grumbled. "Honestly, Angie," he screwed up his nose in supposed distaste. "Anyone would think you'd been running a marathon in them." He dumped the footwear on the floor and got a chair. "Sit down and it'll be easier for you to lift your legs so Virgil can see them."

"Thanks." Angela took the seat and began rolling up the legs of her pants. "The skin colour's still a bit off, and the surface veins and arteries haven't subsided yet, but at least you can't see through it like you could before."

"That," Virgil said with feeling, "is a relief." Two feet were propped up on the side of the bed and he looked at them with interest, and a tiny bit of embarrassment.

"It's a bit grey, isn't it?" Angela commented, sounding as relaxed over the situation as if she was talking about an article of clothing. "And I look like I've been rolling in spaghetti. And it doesn't feel quite right." She prodded her right calf and then her left for comparison. "Kind of hard, except where it's spongy." The wicked twinkle returned to her eyes. "Want a feel?"

Virgil held up his hands in defence. "No thanks. I can wait."

"How about you?!" Angela grabbed her brother's hand, and without waiting for his permission and with no ceremony, wrapped it around her calf.

Freddy jumped away from her with a yelp. "Angela! That's disgusting!" His hand hanging limp, he held it away from his body. "I don't want it back now."

Angela laughed, and Virgil laughed along with her.

"Anything else you want to know, Virgil?" she asked as she put on her shoes and stood.

"Not unless there's anything else you think I need to be prepared for."

"No. You're probably past the worst of it."

"I hope so."

"Come on, Angie." Freddy looked at his watch and then handed her the crutches. "We've got a train to catch."

"Okay. Now that I'm independently mobile, I'll try and visit you sometime, Virgil. We can swap stories."

"I'll look forward to it." Virgil watched as the siblings moved towards the door. "And, Angela!"

She turned back. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Her face showed confusion. "All I did was show you a bit of skin."

"You've done more than that… Thank you for giving me hope that there is an end to what's been a very long road. I don't think I could have received a better Christmas present."

She smiled. "That's what a fitness trainer does. Help people along what is always a long journey."

"You must be a good one."

"Not that good." She screwed up her face. "I can't get _him_," she prodded her brother on the chest, "to do more than walk out to the kitchen for another snack."

Freddy smirked. "You're always quick enough to help yourself when I get back. See you later, Virgil."

"Bye."

Angela waited at the door for Freddy to hold it open for her. "Merry Christmas, Virgil."

"Have a merry Christmas, both you." And Virgil was alone again.

Alone and in a better frame of mind than he'd been in half an hour earlier.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

_25__th__ December_

Virgil awoke to another tedious day in a long run of tedious days. Then, as he glanced down to the end of the bed and saw the tinsel hanging there, he realised that it wasn't your regular, every day, tedious day.

It was Christmas day.

Not that that made today any different from any other day. He'd still be trapped in this bed, in this room, with only an occasional visit from a nurse or other medical person to relieve the tedium. That would be all.

He could have begged his dad to forget about the outside world for once in their lives, so he could enjoy some family time, but he would never have asked International Rescue to neglect their duties. Not even for this one special day. None of them could have enjoyed Christmas if they'd risked jeopardising people's lives just to relieve his boredom.

He knew he wouldn't be forgotten. If for no other reason than he'd bought gifts for most of his family over the Internet. He'd given these to his last visitor to take home with them, with the instruction that they were to be opened today. And he was looking forward to what he was sure would be a long, jovial phone call at some point in the day…

The door opened. "Merry Christmas, Virgil."

Despite his less than upbeat mood, Virgil couldn't help but smile at the nurse who bustled in with a Santa hat, woollen plaits, elf ears, a flashing brooch, and a huge smile. "Merry Christmas." He'd already given her, and his other nurses and attendants, a small gift, which had the not un-pleasurable side-effect of gaining a delighted kiss of thanks from each of the female staff. "You drew the short straw, did you?"

"Short straw?" She appeared surprised.

"Having to work on Christmas day."

"Oh, that." She gave a dismissive wave and checked his IV. "I don't mind working Christmas. We have a lot of fun as we try to make it special for the patients, and it's not like I'm rostered on for twenty-four hours. I get to go home this afternoon, by which point all my nieces and nephews should have tired each other out and all the arguments will be over and done with." She gave a little chuckle and began her regular routine.

After a while she got a bowl and cloths. "Time for a bath." A hint of a smile twitched at her mouth. "You want to be ready for any visitors."

"I'm not expecting any."

The ghost of a smile disappeared. "Aren't you?'

"No. My family can't make it." Doing what he could to assist, Virgil submitted to her ministrations, but stopped her when she prepared to wash his hair. "Leave that," he suggested. "I can survive one day with dirty hair and you can give some of your other patients more attention than I need. I don't want to hold you up."

"You're not holding me up," she responded, as she continued with her preparations. "We have enough staff on duty. Why do you think your family's not going to visit you?"

Virgil allowed her to continue. "They're trapped by a cyclone. Besides, I don't want to spoil Christmas for them."

"Spoil Christmas?"

"Having to sit in here with me and not being able to enjoy Grandma's meals. She always cooks a full Christmas dinner with all the trimmings. It's the highlight of her year, and theirs, but because I can't have any of it they'll think that they can't either."

"But surely they'd be willing to forgo a family tradition just this once? From what I know of your family, Virgil, I believe they'll be thinking that, after what you've been through, they're lucky that you're still with them. I'm sure there is no way that visiting you would spoil their Christmas."

"They've already had enough time off work because of me this year; I can't expect them to take Christmas off too. And I definitely don't want them risking their necks flying through the cyclone."

"That's very noble of you."

"Not really."

The nurse finished washing his hair. "What would you normally do for Christmas?"

"The usual traditional things. Plus, trying to stop Alan and Gordon from opening their presents before Christmas day." Virgil chuckled.

"Are you going to open your presents from them soon?" The nurse raised the head of his bed and then bustled about doing her chores and checking the monitors to ensure that his body wasn't doing something unexpected.

"I've only got one thing." Virgil indicated a small festively wrapped item on the bedside cabinet. "But I'm under strict instructions I'm not to open that until 10 am. They'll probably ring through then, so they can see my reaction."

The nurse smiled.

Time rolled on and Virgil endured a visit from Theresa the physio who'd come to work, determined to keep his joints as flexible and his muscles as strong as they could be without putting excess strain on them.

"I thought I might have got today off." Virgil grimaced as one leg protested at its treatment. "Since it's Christmas."

"You've only just started your physiotherapy," he was reminded. "If we gave you the day off today you'd only regret it tomorrow."

Virgil sighed. "I know."

"What time will your family get here?"

"They're not coming."

"Not coming?" Theresa seemed as surprised as the nurse had been, although there was a slight twitching to the corners of her mouth. "Why?"

And as Virgil explained it all, he wondered how many more times he was going to have to repeat himself.

The next visit was from the duty doctor.

The young woman was beaming. "We're going to give you a Christmas present, Virgil. We don't think you need it anymore, so we think we can safely remove that glove."

Virgil felt a momentary disquieting surge of panic, but then he remembered Angela's visit from the day before. "My hand looks like the other one?"

"The epidermis isn't the same colour as your natural skin," she admitted, feeling for the glove's seam, "but it's no longer translucent."

Virgil looked away as the glove was peeled clear.

"How does that feel?" he was asked. "Can you wriggle your fingers?"

Keeping his eyes on the far wall and away from the procedure at his side, Virgil obeyed. "It feels fine."

"Any pain?"

"Just the usual pins and needles."

"Clench your fist… Now release… Again…."

Virgil did as he was told.

"Good. Any issues?"

"No."

The doctor stood back and noticed that the focus of her patient's attention wasn't where she'd expected. "You can look, you know. I promise your hand's not going to fall apart."

"It's not the hand falling apart that worries me." Virgil steeled himself and then brought his newly released hand around to his front.

He stared at it, bringing its perfect mirror image around to compare it.

A slight smile crinkling her eyes, the doctor watched him. "Well?"

Virgil clenched his right hand. Then he clenched his left. Relaxing them both he turned them over, so he could repeat the procedure while watching the backs of his hands. Aside from his left hand being a rather unexposed grey-type colour, he could see no obvious difference between the two. He wriggled his fingers, playing scales on a virtual piano.

His left hand mirrored his right.

He turned them over again and looked at his palms, feeling a sense of wonder and pleasure fill him. "This is amazing… Unbelievable!"

"You'd better believe it, because the evidence is right there at the end of your arm."

But it still seemed to be a dream, as Virgil turned his hands back palm down, and then rubbed them together, feeling the long-forgotten sensation of skin on skin.

"Is this a good Christmas present?"

"It's the best Christmas present I could have hoped for." Virgil beamed up at the doctor. "Thank you!"

"I can't take the credit. It's those two researchers, and your father for his tenacity, that you should be thanking… They've relaxed the visiting hours, since it's Christmas. When will he get here?"

"He's not coming."

"Not coming?"

"There's a cyclone in the Pacific." Virgil was beginning to feel like a cracked record giving out that bit of news, but the pleasure of seeing his unencumbered hand helped nullify any irritation. "They couldn't fly out. But I'm expecting a phone call at, at a guess, about ten."

"Ten?" The doctor glanced at her watch. "It's nearly that now. Why ten?"

Twisting his body with care, Virgil reached over to the bedside cabinet and removed the festive parcel. "So they can see me open this." He weighed it in his good hand, wondering what was inside.

"You're not tempted to open it early?"

"I'm tempted, but I'm not stupid. If Gordon's had anything to do with this, he'll have rigged it, so it will explode confetti all over the place if I open it too soon. Then again," Virgil transferred his gift to his other hand, noting how different it felt, "I wouldn't put it past him to booby trap it, so it explodes _after_ ten."

The doctor examined the clock again. "Ten seconds and you'll find out. Eight… Seven... Six…"

"Five… Four… Three… Two… One!" Virgil just managed to stop himself from adding: "Thunderbirds are go!" With an unexpected sense of excitement, he began unwrapping his gift. The paper fell back to reveal a box with a large button on one face.

"What is it?" Curious, the doctor moved closer to see what he'd received.

Making sure he used both hands as much as possible, Virgil turned it over, seeing nothing else as interesting as the button. "Dunno."

"Are you supposed to push the button?"

"I suppose so."

"Then why don't you?"

"Like I said, if Gordon's had anything to do with this, we'll probably both get sprayed in confetti. You might want to stand back."

The doctor chuckled and took two steps backwards. "How far away do you think is safe? Here?"

"Should be. He'd do something stupid, but not dangerous." Virgil hesitated and then, with his good hand, pushed the button.

There was a shout of "Merry Christmas!" as the door to his room burst open.

"Took you long enough!" Scott told a stunned patient as he strode over to the head of the bed. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to press that and we'd have to go away again."

"But…"

"And I can't believe that you'd think that I'd make a bomb that would spray confetti all over your room!" Gordon tutted, as he unslung his backpack off his back. "That should have been my idea, not yours."

"Just as well you didn't," Jeff growled. "Merry Christmas, Virgil." He stepped to one side so a nurse could move closer.

"But…"

"The doctors tell us that you've been a good boy," Alan pulled a long tube out of the backpack. "So Santa's brought you an extra special gift."

"But…"

"What have you got that for?" John was frowning at the tube.

"Santa's gift."

"But…" Virgil stopped trying to formulate a sentence for long enough to accept a Christmas kiss from his grandmother.

"You sound like Billy the Goat with all those butts," she teased.

"But what are you all doing here!?"

"It's Christmas!" Grandma reminded him. "And, where possible, we always spend Christmas together."

"But… But what about the cyclone? What about Christmas dinner?"

"Now, don't you worry about Christmas dinner, Virgil Tracy. That has been sorted."

"Because of the time zones, Christmas day's almost finished on the island," John told his brother. "We had Christmas dinner yesterday."

"Yep, we've got to thank you for making Christmas last longer than 24 hours," Alan grinned. "Yesterday was for eating. Today's for partying."

"And the cyclone?"

"Never came to anything," John stated. "It never even gained a name."

"Besides," Scott added. "Do you really think we'd let something as insignificant as a cyclone stop us from spending Christmas with you?" He raised a knowing eyebrow.

Virgil decided that it was time to regain some control. "Well, you fellas aren't the only ones who can give surprises. Look!" He held up both un-gloved hands. "See?" He wriggled his fingers. "It works!"

"Virgil! That's wonderful!" And Virgil had the pleasure of another kiss and a hug from Grandma.

"I'll say." Scott, on Virgil's left side, held his hand high. "High-five!"

"I'm next." John leaned closer.

After sharing a high-five with that brother, Virgil did the same with Alan.

The youngest grinned. "Now let's see your legs in action."

Virgil smirked. "Want me to take the blankets off first?" He laughed as Alan's face paled. "There! Look!" Using his left hand, he pointed down the bed to where his feet were moving independently.

"That deserves a high-five too," Gordon crowed, and Virgil was more than happy to oblige.

Grandma pulled something bulky out of her bag. "Now, Virgil, you've got to put this on." She held up a dark green woolly jumper.

Virgil looked askance at the jersey's image of a red-clothed, white-haired man. "Why?"

"We don't want you getting cold."

"But the cold doesn't affect me so much now," he protested. "Now that I've got some natural insulation happening."

"Virgil…" Grandma's son and grandsons cringed, upon hearing the well-known, much-feared, '_don't disobey me, young man!'_ tone to her voice.

But this time the subject of her cautionary warning had a genuine reason to dissuade her. "I can't." Virgil told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings. "My IVs won't let me."

"Now, we're not going to let something as simple as that stop you from enjoying yourself," the doctor told him, smiling a little too gleefully for Virgil's liking. "Just let me get you sorted."

Virgil had no choice but to let her dress him.

But he drew the line when Gordon's bag produced an even more embarrassing woolly hat. One that had reindeer antlers and floppy ears sticking out from either side a big red nose. "No! No way!"

"Shut up and put the hat on, Virgil," Gordon told him.

Feeling obstinate in the face of that monstrosity, Virgil folded his green, woolly arms and shook his head.

"You have to wear something warm, Virgil," Jeff reminded him. "Your body still can't totally regulate its temperature."

"Yeah," Alan chipped in. "If you don't wear warm clothes, we can't take you anywhere."

"Take me…? Where?"

"Shut up and put the hat on, Virgil," Gordon told him.

Virgil glared at his brother's more sedate, woolly headgear. "Then let me wear yours and you can wear that thing."

"Me? Wear this?" Gordon pretended to be horrified that anyone would even consider such a hat. Then he delved back into his pack. "Oh – look!" he said, in an obviously fake voice. "See what – I – have – found!" Something the same shade of green as Virgil's jumper, but without the Santa imagery, was pulled forth like a magic trick.

Glaring at him, Virgil accepted the second hat and pulled it onto his own head. "Where are you taking me?"

"That way." Alan pointed at the door.

"Why?"

"We're taking you on a sleigh ride," Gordon said.

"Sleigh ride?" Virgil watched as a clear glass case was carried into the room on a gurney and his brothers moved clear, so that it could manoeuvred next to his bed. "But…"

"This is to protect you," John told him. "While you're on your ride."

"But…"

"Just a minute!" Jeff held up a hand, stopping the case from being lifted over his invalid son's bed. He couldn't help but remember the look of panic from months earlier, "Are you okay with this, Virgil?"

Virgil decided that it was time to go with the flow; especially if that flow was going to take him away from these same old walls and the same old routine. He treated his father to a big, cheerful grin. "Let's get out of here!"

"Hold on. We can't forget this!" Scott grabbed Virgil's keyboards and placed them at his brother's side."

"Have you still got your button?" John checked.

Virgil held it aloft. "Yes."

"Good."

"Why?"

He didn't receive an answer as the case was lowered over his bed, leaving enough room above him for his raised head and the IVs.

"All ready?" the nurse asked her patient.

Virgil beamed at her. "I'm ready." His voice sounded slightly hollow within the shell.

"Hold on, Spiderman!" This time it was Gordon who stopped proceedings. "We need the finishing touches. Alan!"

Alan unrolled the tube, which turned out to be a length of Christmas wrapping paper, and, holding one end, rolled it under Virgil's bed. Gordon caught it, lifted it up and around the case, and held it fast with some tape. Then he reached into his pack, pulled out what appeared to be a large bundle of shiny, red ribbon, and tugged at the ends.

"What's all this in aid of?" John asked him.

With a triumphant: "Ta da!" Gordon pulled at the ribbon's ends and the whole thing resolved itself into a bow. "Gift wrapping!" he exclaimed, exposing a piece of adhesive tape and slapping the bow on top of the wrapping paper. "Santa always wraps his presents before he makes his deliveries." He slung his pack back onto his back

Pretending to be displeased with his family's attentions, when secretly he was glad to be at the centre of them all again, Virgil made a face to Scott, who chuckled. "Just be glad I talked him out of what he originally had planned."

"And that was?"

"Let's just say that the hospital wouldn't have appreciated reindeer droppings messing up their nice clean corridors."

The brakes on the bed were disengaged and Virgil was rolled out the door and into the corridor. Wondering where they were headed, he waved and wished _Merry Christmas_ to any hospital staff that they passed. "Where are we going?"

"Shut up and wait, Virgil," Gordon told him.

"Shut up and wait? Last time anyone said that, we were taking you home."

"I'm afraid it's not that exciting," his father told him, and Virgil could hear genuine regret in his voice. "But we hope it's a good second best."

"And where's that?"

"Shut up and wait, Virgil," Gordon repeated.

"Are you getting your own back?"

Gordon grinned. "Yep."

Virgil settled back and decided to shut up and wait.

He observed his family. Each and every one of them, he noted, appeared to be in a not so suppressed state of excitement. It was as if they'd asked Santa to be given their greatest wish, and were somewhat astonished that it had been granted to them.

Virgil felt the same way.

He was surprised, and yet wasn't, when a set of large double doors opened to reveal an ambulance waiting for him.

"There's not enough room for all of us," Jeff commented. "We'll meet you there, Virgil."

Virgil grinned. "Where's there?"

"Shut up and wait, Virgil!" his family chorused as the ambulance's doors were closed behind him.

He wasn't really that surprised when, after a ride of what seemed to be only metres, and a wait until those walking had caught up with them, the ambulance's doors opened again.

"Next stop Grand Central Station," John quipped as the bed was wheeled onto the ambulance's platform and then lowered to the ground.

Virgil looked around him.

Ahead, rising up from the pebbled driveway, was an edifice that would have been imposing and possibly a little unnerving if it wasn't for the tinsel that decorated its exterior. "Is this the place you guys bought?"

"This is it," Scott confirmed. "Do you feel up to a tour of the outside before we go in?"

"Yep."

"You're not too cold?"

"Nope."

Excited by the opportunity to show off their home away from home, each of Virgil's brothers took a corner of his bed and started pushing, Jeff following close behind to ensure that they didn't get too boisterous. There was a slight tussle when Alan and Gordon wanted to show off the front of the house and John and Scott wanted to show off the rear, but they quickly decided in Virgil's best interests, they should show him where his former work colleagues were residing when it wasn't Christmas, point out where the Odonata was stashed, and then get him inside.

This happened with much ceremony and Virgil was pushed over to a spot by a raging fire and then finally released from his shell.

"Virgil!" And Virgil was wrapped up in a huge hug and a kiss from Tin-Tin.

He returned the hug, taking care not to touch her with his less than perfect hand, aware of the creepy nature of its current state. "I could get used to this." He glanced over at his kid brother.

Alan seemed to be totally unconcerned that his girlfriend had given one of his siblings a more than sisterly kiss. Clearly Virgil's incapacitated state meant he wasn't a threat.

Her eyes shining, Tin-Tin stepped back. "It is so good to see you outside of the hospital."

"Not as good as it is to be out of it," Virgil responded. He looked around the room. "Penny! Parker!"

"As you have been," Lady Penelope stepped forward, "and quite conveniently I might add; placed beneath the mistletoe…" Virgil looked upwards and saw a sprig of greenery above his head. "…then I suppose that one should be cognisant of the accepted traditions and do ones best to continue them."

Virgil barely had time to work out the meaning behind her words when she had leaned in for a kiss.

When he came up for air he realised that Gordon and Alan were holding score cards that read "8" and "9" respectively.

"Not as good as the one you gave Scott, Penny," Alan smirked.

"Really?" Lady Penelope drawled. "That was just an appetiser, dear boy."

Alan winked. "Who's getting the main course?"

Parker approached Virgil's bed. "H-It's good to see you, Mister Virgil."

"Thanks, Parker." Virgil held out his good hand and the two men shook. "It's good to see you too."

Parker gave a big grin and then retreated as another figure came into view.

"Kyrano!" Once again, Virgil reached out, but this time he wasn't going to make do with a simple handshake. Not caring if the older man wasn't comfortable with the intimate contact, he hugged his friend as he would a much-loved uncle. "It's good to see you."

Smiling a quiet smile, Kyrano stepped back and gave a little bow. "It is good to see you too, Mister Virgil."

Brains, seeing the affection shown and unsure how to react, had been shyly standing back and was guided forward by Jeff pushing him in the small of the back. "V-V-Virgil."

"Brains…" Virgil held out his hand. "Thank you for saying I was well enough to come here. This is the best present anyone could have given me…" he held up his left hand, "aside from this."

"It w-wasn't only me," Brains began. "Your d-doctors…" He let out a quiet yelp when Virgil pulled him into a brotherly hug.

"Presents time!" Alan crowed and dived into the pile at the base of a large, natural, Christmas tree that stood to one side of the large fireplace. "That's from you, and that's from you, and that, and that, and that, and that…" He dumped them all on Virgil's bed. "This one's from you to me," he grinned and retreated to his seat with his newly claimed prize.

Virgil had the pleasure of handing each of his gifts to their expected recipient in person.

Remembering Alan's reaction from a month earlier, he felt a momentary qualm when he handed his father a small parcel.

Jeff, equally aware of Tin-Tin's warning from the same time, took it with an honest thank you. As he opened it, Virgil suddenly found himself wishing that he could magically tell his legs to start walking and get out of there. Why hadn't he got his father something more appropriate?

He waited in trepidation.

At last the wrapping fell away.

Virgil decided it would be better if he got in first, before anything was said that would embarrass the pair of them. "It's not very good," he admitted. "I undid more than I em... ah, embroidered. And the top's where I first started, so the knots aren't very even, and the stitches are all over the place. I would have done something else, I mean some other kind of therapy, but the physio said it was a good workout for my hand, and it's something men have done for centuries after wars and things like that to get back the use of their hands, and it's more of a workout than painting and uses a wider range of movement than playing the piano…"

"Virgil…" Jeff turned his astonished face to his son. "Did you make this?"

"Ah…" Virgil was sure that his face was burning. "Yes."

"With both hands?"

Virgil watched his hand as he plucked at his blanket. "Yes."

"It's wonderful."

Surprised by the two words, Virgil looked up sharply. "It is?"

"Yes. When I think about how injured your hand was, to know that you made something as… Well, I can see it's not perfect, but I prefer it that way. It's like a timeline of how you've healed and how your hand's improved, and a reminder of what a miracle it is that we didn't lose you when we thought we had."

"It is?" Virgil repeated and looked over to where Alan and Tin-Tin were sitting. Tin-Tin was looking at Jeff Tracy with approval and Alan had a smirk that intimated that he'd always known that his father would take that attitude.

"I'm going to have it framed and hang it on the wall of my room," Jeff stated. "This means as much to me as any painting you've done, Virgil."

"It does?" Virgil felt a warm glow fill his body as his father embraced him. "Thanks."

Jeff sat back. "Now it's time for you to see what we've got for you for Christmas. Have you got your button?"

"This?" Virgil held up the box that had launched this whole escapade. "It does more?"

John let out an indelicate snort. "Of course it does more."

Brains slipped what looked like two pedals over the foot of Virgil's bed and made a few adjustments. "C-Can you push them with your feet?"

"One at a time or together?"

"Both."

With a slight frown of concentration, Virgil depressed the right, the left, and then both pedals.

"Good. Push the button."

Virgil shot a curious look towards a grinning Scott and did as he was told. There was a quiet rumble off to one side of the room, just beyond the head of his bed and out of sight. He tried to crane his neck, but couldn't twist his body enough to see what was going on.

"You couldn't make it go any slower, could you, Brains?" Alan complained.

"It will be o-operating in a hospital," Brains reminded him. "As Virgil becomes more – ah – competent with its use, then he will be able to speed it up."

"Speed what up?" Virgil asked. "I can't see anything."

"Perhaps if the boys were to carry it closer this time," Jeff suggested, and Brains, just as eager as the rest of the family to see Virgil's reaction, agreed.

At once the four Tracy boys leapt into action. After a few melodramatic grunts, a short time later Virgil's present was carried into view.

Whatever it was it was large, multi-levelled, and on wheels.

"P-Push the button again," Brains directed, and Virgil did so. A light appeared on the gift's console and it crept closer to his bed again.

"Th-The button is also a dial, so you can adjust the speed," Brains explained. "You may care to try to speed it up just a little."

Virgil twisted the knob and it moved one degree with an audible click. The machine inched closer, pirouetted, and then slid sideways over Virgil's body. His arms raised clear, he watched, amazed as two flat extensions extended towards him, coming to rest against his bed on either side of his torso.

"The button sits in this recess," Brains pointed to the location. "While it's in there, the workstation is locked and can't move."

Virgil ran his fingers over the expansive flat surface that had almost magically appeared before him. "I can do all sorts on this. What are the foot pedals for?"

"Push the right one," Brains suggested.

As Virgil did so the levels above his legs rotated Ferris wheel-like towards him revealing a multitude of shelves and drawer units.

"The left foot reverses the, ah, carousel."

Virgil gave that a try, and the unit reversed its rotation.

"P-Push both pedals to lock it in place."

Virgil did, and the unit stopped with an angled platform facing him.

"That's appropriate," Scott said, and picked up Virgil's keyboard from where it had been placed on a handy table. "You can pull it towards you and adjust the angle to suit your playing.

Virgil tugged at the platform and it slid easily closer. A slight pressure on its leading edge and it tilted down until the keys were within easy reach. "This is fantastic!"

"Rotate it again," John suggested, and Virgil pushed the keyboard back and pressed his right foot pedal. "Stop!"

Both pedals were pushed to lock this level in place. There were three layers of small drawers on one side and two on the other. In the middle was a horizontal panel.

John pointed at it. "Pull that towards you."

As Virgil did so the panel slid forwards and then down. "It's an easel!"

"The drawers are for your paints and stuff," Alan told him. "And that lower one has a recess in it. The drawers move forwards and backwards, so you can put your water into the recess for cleaning your brushes or move it out of the way, so you don't knock it."

"This is amazing…" Virgil breathed. He cast a sideways look at his father. "And designed to get me using my hand and my feet?"

"The therapy is a secondary function," Jeff admitted, "but we thought that while we were making something to help you keep occupied, there was no reason why we shouldn't help with your rehabilitation as well. And…" he retrieved another parcel from under the tree. "There's something else to keep you busy."

Resting it on the platform that almost surrounded him, Virgil opened his latest gift. It was a construction set made up of metal pieces of varying shapes and sizes that were able to be connected together by nuts and bolts through a multitude of holes. With this he'd be able to use his imagination, and his hands, to create all sorts of engineering devices and other gizmos. Grateful, he looked at his family, but could only manage two words: "Thank you." Suddenly tired, he yawned. "Sorry."

"Remove the button box from the unit, depress both pedals, and the workstation will return to the far wall away from your bed," Brains told him, and Virgil followed his instructions.

He watched as the unit trundled away and yawned again.

"Are you tired, Virgil?"

Trying to keep his eyes open, Virgil looked at his father. "No."

The truth was that he felt as exhausted as if he'd run a marathon. But he was worried that if he showed that, or any weakness, he would have to return to the hospital and this wonderful day would be over when it had barely begun.

Unable to help himself, he yawned again.

"You don't have to go back to the hospital," Scott told him, as if he'd read his mind. "You can take a nap in what's going to be your bedroom while the rest of us tidy up in here. How does that sound?"

Virgil's eyes were drooping. "G'd."

"Okay, then." Scott and their father disengaged the brakes on the bed's wheels, and rolled him out from under the mistletoe and into his future room.

"While you're in here," Scott locked the bed's wheels into place, "you can decide what colour scheme you want, and we will have it painted by the time you move in. How does that sound, Virg? … Virgil?"

But Virgil was already sound asleep.

Jeff smiled across at his eldest son.

Scott smiled back.

With a "Merry Christmas, Virgil," the pair of them tiptoed out of the room.

"How is he?" Grandma asked, as she pulled boxes of leftovers out of the fridge.

"Asleep," her son told her. "I think we've tired him out."

"I'm so glad that we're able to enjoy Christmas with him," she continued, pressing some buttons on the oven. "It wouldn't be the same if we couldn't be all together."

Scott scooped a handful of nuts out of a bowl on the kitchen servery. "Me too." He dodged the swipe of a wooden spoon that was heading for his knuckles with the ease of decades of experience.

Warm, delicious smells filled the room as, in quick time, the table was set.

"We shall have to air this room out before we let Virgil back in," Tin-Tin said. "Is there any odour neutraliser in the cupboard?"

Buoyed by the morning they'd enjoyed, everyone settled down to eat.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Virgil awoke, confused as to where he was and why he was there. In his half sleepy state, he assumed that the grey walls were those of Thunderbird Two's pilot's quarters. His immediate reaction was to throw the covers off his bed and get up.

In the split second that it took for him to reach for his blankets, he realised that jumping out of bed wasn't an option.

For the first time since he woken from his coma, completely paralysed and with a tracheotomy in his throat, Virgil felt an overwhelming sense of sadness over his predicament. He was helpless. He was trapped. He was alone…

It was a sadness that threatened to overflow…

The door clicked behind him.

"You've woken up at last, have you?" Scott came around the head of the bed, saw his brother's red eyes and, deciding to pretend that he hadn't, headed for the window. "You're in luck. We're getting snow. For the first time in years we're going to have a genuine white Christmas." He peered out the window to give Virgil time to compose himself. "But don't worry, we're not going to shorten your visit because of a little white stuff." He took a step backwards and opened his arms to embrace the room. "This is going to be your bedroom and we're going to give you plenty of time to decide on a colour scheme."

Finally, he turned back.

For Virgil, the reminder of what day it was and the knowledge that his family was celebrating it with him had banished that moment of sadness as quickly as the overriding feeling of joy had replaced it. "Blue," he said. "Pacific Ocean blue. With white trim like the waves. And sun yellow skirting around there." He indicated where the walls met the ceiling.

"That sounds more like Gordon's colour scheme." Scott grinned. "Now you've got your workstation you'll be able to paint some palm trees for the walls. And we could blow up some photos of the island to make you really feel at home. Or…" he added, suddenly becoming enthusiastic by the planning process. "You could design something on the computer, or you could draw it and we could scan it, and we could get it printed mural sized and we could paper your walls with that! We're brilliant at finding printers."

Virgil laughed at his brother's enthusiasm.

"You two are missing all the festivities."

Virgil craned his head to smile at his father. "I don't want to do that."

"Good. Gordon's got something planned, although I dread to think what it is."

"All I ask is that he's not planning on singing a solo," Scott told him. "Okay, Virg, one pirouette and we'll get you out of here."

Virgil's bed was spun about, and he re-entered the lounge feet first. He could smell the faint odour of something delicious and memories came flooding back, but he refused to let those ghosts of Christmases past get him down. Just because he wasn't hungry and had no desire to eat, it didn't mean that his family had to be the same.

"Ah, ha! Sleeping Beauty awakes!" Gordon crowed. "Now the fun can really begin."

This time Virgil's bed was positioned so he was facing into the room, but still beneath the hanging mistletoe. "What's the point of that?" he asked.

Grandma's eyes twinkled. "Well, I can always give you another kiss," she teased.

"You're close to the fire there," his father reminded him. "You need to keep warm."

There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" John launched himself to the door, but didn't throw it open; preferring to open it just wide enough to admit their visitors, but keep the cold air at bay. "Glad you could make it."

"Never mind us," Lisa Crump said as she snuck into the room, pulling her snow dusted hat off her head. "What about… Virgil!" With a delighted cry she ran across the room and wrapped him in a big hug. "You managed to escape!"

"Escape? More like I was kidnapped. I didn't know anything about this until they arrived… Merry Christmas, Butch!"

"Merry Christmas." Butch, carrying Ginny high in his arms, accepted Virgil's warm greeting. "It's good ta see ya, Pal."

"Merry Christmas, Virginia." And as the little girl reached down to her favourite "uncle" Virgil accepted a kiss from her.

"Ginny knows her stuff," Alan snickered. "She knows all about the mistletoe tradition."

"Mistletoe?" Lisa looked above Virgil's head. "Oh, yes, so there is. Oh, well, since it's Christmas." She leant in and gave him a kiss to the accompaniment of whistles and catcalls from his brothers and a "steady on, boys" from Jeff.

When she stood back she was blushing.

Ginny looked up at her. "Why you red, Mama?"

Lisa giggled. "Because I'm happy Uncle Virgil's feeling better."

"You got it wrong, Gordon." Alan complained. "You should have put that mistletoe on a piñata line and then we all could have got a kiss from Lisa."

Unperturbed by all the attention that his wife was getting, Butch beamed. "I'll give ya one, Alan."

Surprised by the joke, Alan held up his hands like a shield. "No thanks, big guy. I'll save that for New Year's."

"Virgil." Lisa indicated an older man who had entered the house at the same time as the Crumps, but who was standing back from proceedings. "This is my father-in-law."

"Hello, Mr Crump." Virgil reached out with his right hand. "I do remember you from Butch and Lisa's wedding anniversary party, and I've heard a lot about you."

The older man seemed surprised as they shook hands. "Y' 'ave?"

Virgil felt Lisa press something into his hand. It was the gift that he'd bought for Ginny and, delighted that he could give it to her in person, he held it out to her. "This is for you, Virginia."

"Dank you, Ungle Virgil."

"Give Uncle Virgil his present," Lisa whispered, and Virgil accepted another parcel.

He was rapt with his gift. "Thank you, Honey."

There was another knock at the door and once again John opened it. "Come in."

Bruce stuck his head inside. "We're not too late, are we?"

"Not at all," Jeff reassured him. "We're only just starting."

Bruce and Olivia had only just made it inside, when there was a sound at the back door.

Tin-Tin got up to admit Hamish and Edna. "You do not have to knock," she reminded them.

"We didn't want to intrude on a private family moment," Edna told her. "Virgil! You're looking well."

After all the exclamations of how well everyone was looking, how wonderful it was that Virgil's left hand was finally showing signs of a complete recovery, how great Christmas was this year, how the snow was heavy enough to be pretty and not annoying, further gift exchanges, and the patient scoring more mistletoe-related kisses, Gordon clapped his hands. "Now, as part of this traditional festive season, we're going to have a traditional festive game. Alan!"

A shower of confetti rained down, Virgil seeming to score most it.

Everyone looked up as Alan pushed something over the balcony and a pea green-coloured object, shaped like some kind of fat spaceship, fell towards the ground. It stopped its descent and swayed there, suspended on a line, just above their heads.

As he was pushed into place so that he was underneath the grotesque piñata, Virgil gazed up at it, reading the words printed on its underside. "What is THAT supposed to be?"

"When I saw this '_authentic'_ replica of '_International Rescue's Thunderbird Two_' in the shop," Gordon's fingers waved quotation marks, "I just had to get it."

"Thunderbird Two? It's nothing like…" Virgil had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something that he shouldn't. He was beginning to lose track of who did and who didn't know their identity and he didn't was to risk blowing their cover.

"I thought you'd appreciate taking out your frustrations on it, Spiderman," Gordon grinned, and pretended to ignore his brother's dark look.

Scott chuckled at the expression. "Did they have any others? Like… say… the submarine?"

"Only a Thunderbird One. I've saved that for later." And Gordon received a second dark look as Alan, still on the next level upstairs, held aloft a bright yellow blob with fins and a periscope.

"Thunderbird Four," he mouthed, pointing at the odd shaped creation.

"Here," not seeing the mime, Gordon held out a wooden stick to Virgil. "You can go first… Ah, ah, ah!" he scolded. "Use your left hand. Just because it's a holiday doesn't mean you can skive off."

"My left hand?" Virgil looked at him as if he were mad.

"I'm letting you try to hit it without a blindfold, so you'll be at an advantage over the rest of us. I'm just handicapping you to even up the odds."

"I'm lying in a bed and you don't call that handicapped? I may have nearly full movement, but I haven't got full strength back. I can't hold the stick _and_ hit."

Gordon gave a dismissive wave. "You'll be fine. Start 'er off, Alan!"

"What is it that International Rescue says?" Alan asked. "F-A-B?" he pulled a lever and "Thunderbird Two" tracked across the room before reversing. "Hit it, Virgil!"

To other cheers of "Hit it, Virgil!" Virgil swung at the piñata. The club made solid contact with the toy and ricocheted out of his hand. It bounced off the floor and hit Gordon on the shins.

"Okay, okay. I got the message." With an exaggerated hobble Gordon returned the stick to his brother, this time placing it in his right hand. "You've got three more attempts before it's someone else's turn."

Virgil's three attempts were just as ineffectual as his first, except that he did manage to keep hold of the club. "Whose turn now?"

"Age and beauty first. Grandma!"

Virgil relinquished the stick to his grandmother and his bed was moved clear. He cheered and applauded as one by one each of the adults was blindfolded by Gordon and had a go at breaking the piñata. Each of them failed as miserably as he'd done.

Hamish had one swing and then claimed he was too old for such silly games, but some of those enjoying the party noticed that Edna spoke to him quietly after he'd retreated to the back of the group, and that he was rubbing his injured shoulder.

Jeff Tracy filed that information away for future reference.

"Right… Is there anyone who hasn't had a go yet?" Gordon asked.

"Me!" Ginny bounced up and down. "Me!"

"Anyone?" Gordon pretended to look over her head. "I can't see anyone volunteering."

"Me, Ungle Gord'n!"

"I guess we'll have to put the piñata away till next year."

"UNGLE GORD'N!'

Gordon feigned surprise. "Did you say something, Ginny?"

"I wanna go!"

"You want a go?"

Ginny jumped up and down in excitement. "I wanna go!"

"You want to go? Where?"

"I wanna hit the pinhearta."

"Oh…! You want _a_ go? Okay, then. Lower it down, Alan."

The piñata was lowered down so it was only just above Ginny's head.

"Let me blindfold you." Gordon made a point of not tying the blindfold too tightly. "Is that comfortable?"

The blindfold gave an exaggerated nod and slipped down Ginny's nose. An eye glinted over it.

Gordon pretended not to notice. "Now I'm going to spin you around three times. Are you going to count with me?"

Ginny, giggling on each revolution and the blindfold slipping further and further down over her mouth, was unable to. She stopped her rotations facing the piñata.

"Let me get out of the way first," Gordon suggested and scrambled clear before unhooking the piñata from its line and hanging it from a broom handle; facing Alan who held the other end. He took up a thin, almost invisible, cord, wrapped it around his hand, and winked at the adults. "Let's count Ginny down. Three…"

"Two…"

"One!"

"Hit it!"

As Ginny swung the club in the uncoordinated fashion of a three-year-old, only just managing to catch the tip of "Thunderbird Two's" wing, Gordon pulled the thin cord and the piñata exploded toys all over the little girl. "Yay! Ginny's the winner! And on her first hit!"

Giggling, Ginny pulled off her blindfold and scooped up some of her new treasures.

One of them, a small green plane, she carried over to Virgil and presented it to him. "Dat's for you, Ungle Virgil."

"Thank you, Honey."

One by one, each of the adults accepted a carefully chosen small toy. Each of them proclaimed it the best Christmas present they'd ever received.

Grandma, standing next to Lisa, having just been given a toy flower, whispered: "You've got a treasure there."

Lisa, almost in tears at her daughter's unexpected generosity, had to agree.

There was a knock at the door.

"Ah," Jeff looked at his watch as he approached the source of the sound. "They made it." He opened the door and welcomed their latest visitors inside.

It was the nurses and other staff from the hospital who'd just come off duty. They wished everyone a merry Christmas, thanked the Tracys for the invitation, and noticed that Virgil's bed was back beneath the mistletoe.

He scored several more pleasurable kisses from the female members of staff.

Grandma offered the newcomers a hot drink, but they all said that they couldn't stay for long as they had their own celebrations to get to. She then pressed a piece of gaily wrapped Christmas cake into each of their hands "for later".

"You can stay long enough for one Tracy tradition," Jeff told them all. "Each year Lady Penelope gives us a gift of Christmas crackers, and this year she and I agreed it would be good if we all enjoyed the fun." Several boxes were produced of the round tubes with their pinched in ends.

"Christmas crackers!" one of the nurses exclaimed. "I've heard of them. Aren't they those English things that you pull, and they have a toy inside?"

"And a silly joke, and an even sillier hat," John told her.

"Oh, well…" She shrugged. "It's Christmas."

After the briefest of lessons in the art of pulling the Christmas cracker, the room resounded with a multitude of mini-explosions, exclamations of surprise – and disappointment when the cracker failed to fire, groans at the excruciating jokes, laughter at the ridiculousness of the newly adorned headgear, and over it all, the strong scent of burnt gunpowder.

Virgil pulled his cracker with Ginny and graciously allowed her to keep the toy.

A short time later all the hospital staff thanked their hosts, gathered up their parcels of cake and Christmas cracker remnants, and retired to their homes to spend the rest of Christmas day with their own loved ones.

All that remained were Virgil, his family, and his closest friends. "What have you got planned for us now, Gordon?" their father asked.

"Well, it's traditional for a family singsong…"

There were groans from Gordon's brothers, and it took all of Lady Penelope's finishing school training to suppress a shiver of horror.

"…but as our number one musician's out of action," Gordon grinned, "temporarily, we'll have to do something else."

"Before we do, can I show you something?" Virgil begged.

Gordon looked surprised by the unscheduled addition to his agenda. "Dunno," he drawled. "Show us something? I've got things planned, you know."

"I know, but this won't take long."

Gordon grinned. "Shoot."

"Thanks." Virgil pressed the button on the box that had started the day's celebrations. The more recent additions to the party looked surprised when a piece of furniture that had been standing sedately off to one side of the room, came to life and rumbled towards the bed.

Virgil turned the button two clicks to speed it up. The workstation trundled around the bed, slid into position and, when he pressed both feet against its pedals, stopped.

"Wow!" Bruce exclaimed, as the carousel spun. "What's that?"

Virgil grinned. "My Christmas present. I've got no excuse to be bored now." He pressed his right foot and the carousel stopped at the keyboard. "Now – apologies in advance. I haven't had a practise today and this is the first time I've played without the glove in months… I suppose you could say that it's the first time that I've played with these fingers." He played a set of scales to warm up and then began his recital.

There was complete silence, aside from the crackling of the fire, as the stirring notes of Beethoven's _Ode to Joy_ filled the room. At first Virgil kept the bass simple, but as he grew in confidence in the abilities of his new hand, he made the accompaniment more and more complex.

Finally, when his hand was beginning to tire, he concluded his concert.

He was astonished to hear the loudest round of applause that he'd ever received from his family. He looked up to see each and every one of them offer him an emotional standing ovation. An ovation that was joined by at first Parker, then Bruce before it spread to the rest of his audience. Ginny asked why daddy was crying.

A little embarrassed by the unexpected overreaction Virgil looked down at his hands. The veins on the back of his left hand were standing proud and through his thin skin he could see the blood pumping through them. "That's an interesting effect, Brains," he said, keen to divert attention away from what he regarded as a sub-par recital. He displayed his hand to the man who'd done so much to bring it back to working order.

Butch took a deep breath and reclaimed his seat.

Jeff was frowning. "Does it hurt?"

Totally unconcerned by his hand's striking appearance, Virgil was more interested in examining the effect. "Nope. I suppose it's always done this and I haven't known about it because of the glove."

"I-If you wouldn't mind," Brains began, "I would like to examine your hand."

Virgil seemed more worried at losing valuable family time. "It won't take long?"

"No. N-Not long at all."

Taking advantage of the unexpected break in his plans, Gordon sidled up to Lisa and Butch. "Would you mind if I were to have a word with Ginny somewhere private?" He grinned. "You're welcome to come as chaperones if you want."

"All right," Lisa agreed. "Shall we go to our unit?"

"Thanks." Gordon swung Ginny up and onto his hip. "You and I are going to have a conversation, Virgiggler."

Ginny giggled.

The snowy outside air was bracing after the warmth of the house, and the four of them, Gordon still carrying Ginny, jogged across to the Crump's temporary home.

Butch unlocked the door and let them in. "Brrr. Freezin' in 'ere. Put th' 'eater on." He flicked the appropriate switch.

Gordon swung Ginny off his hip and placed her onto a comfortable chair. Then he pulled up another, placing it so he was facing her. "We'll wait until your mama and daddy are settled before we begin."

"Here." Lisa handed out some blankets. "This'll keep us warm until the room heats up."

Gordon accepted a blanket. "I'm not planning on taking a long time. We might be back in the house by the time the air loses its chill."

"Maybe." Lisa claimed a seat and, shivering, wrapped a blanket around her. "But at least it'll have a head start for when we come back here later."

Gordon turned back to Ginny. "Now, Miss Crump…"

Ginny giggled.

"… You're a clever girl." Gordon was sure he saw Butch puff up with pride. "Your mama says that you worked out that, even though I was wearing a mask to hide my face, you knew it was me who took you for a flight in Thunderbird Two."

Ginny nodded.

"I want to say thank you to you for not telling anyone that I'm a member of International Rescue. Your mama tells me that you didn't even want to tell Uncle Virgil."

"That's right," Lisa confirmed. "She's a good girl."

Gordon smiled. "I know she is. And so are your parents for not telling anyone either." Then he lost his smile "I'm sure your mama and daddy have told you why it's so important that you keep it a secret."

"'Cos bad guys could hurt you, or Ungle Virgil, or Ungle Alan, or Ungle Scott, or Ungle John, or Mr T, or Mrs T."

"That's right," Gordon agreed. "Us and a whole lot of other people. I know that there will be times when you're absolutely _busting_ to tell someone that you know who International Rescue are…"

Ginny giggled again at the face he pulled when he said _busting_.

"…because I often want to tell people who we are; like on the day of the earthquake. But I can't. It's hard not to tell a secret, but it's important. That's why it's a secret."

Ginny gave an emphatic nod. "I know."

"I know you know. And I know that your daddy knows, and your mama knows. Which means that you know that you can talk to them if you're ever _busting_."

There were giggles again.

"And to say thank you, and to help remind you how important it is not to tell anyone, I'm going to give you a present; something that only a handful of people in the world have." Gordon reached into his pocket and pulled out a flat and multi-coloured object. "This is one of International Rescue's uniform badges. Only members of International Rescue are allowed to wear them, and maybe one day that will be you, but until then, I want you to hide it some place where only you, Mama, and Daddy can find it. Maybe stitch it inside Mr Bunny's jacket or something?"

"Don't worry, Gordon," Lisa reassured him, "we'll find somewhere suitable."

"Are y' gonna say than-cue t' 'ncle Gordon?" Butch suggested.

Ginny did more than that. She slipped off her chair and, reaching up to him, gave her honorary uncle a big hug. "Dank you, Ungle Gordon."

"Thank _you_, Ginny. It's a relief to know that my secret and International Rescue's secret is in good hands. And now…" Gordon stood, hoisting Ginny back onto his hip. "It's time to re-join the party…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It wasn't too late, but it was too soon, when the Tracys finally returned Virgil to his hospital room. He would have felt disappointed that his Christmas was over, except that the day's festivities had tired him out and he was asleep before they'd locked his bed's wheels into place.

Grandma kissed him on the forehead. "Merry Christmas, Virgil," she whispered. "Thank you for making it a special day."

Tiptoeing, the Tracys followed her out of the room.

"Merry Christmas…"

_To be continued…_


	43. Chapter 43

_The morning of February 14__th_

Virgil hadn't been able to get much sleep last night. He could have asked a nurse for something to assist him, but he didn't want to take the chance that he'd oversleep and miss what was going to be one of the most important days in the previous six months.

Today he was going to walk.

All right, so he knew that that was a slight exaggeration, and that he wasn't even going to be able to remain upright without the support of a physical therapist and a pool of water, but the very idea that he was no longer going to be confined to this bed made him want to leap out of it in joy, and run around the room.

The idea made him laugh.

"You're in good spirits."

Astonished, Virgil looked over at the man who'd just entered his room. "Gordon?!"

Gordon grinned at the surprised expression. "Hiya. I see you're ready."

At the shock of seeing his unexpected visitor, Virgil had forgotten about the preparations the medical staff had made for this morning's activity. He'd been sprayed in a liquid that had solidified about him to keep his healing body dry. It was the first time he'd sat on his bed without bed linen hiding his body in months. "But…" Dumbfounded, he stared at his brother. "Why are you here?"

"I've got the day off to do whatever I want. Thanks for the gift, by the way."

"Huh…?" Virgil was still in shock. "Oh…" Realisation of the date and what it meant surfaced. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"Why _are_ you here? Why aren't you off doing your own thing?"

"I asked if I could be extended the privilege of helping you walk again, since you did the same to me."

_Privilege_? Virgil had never thought of aiding his recovery as being a privilege. And when he'd helped Gordon take those first fearful steps, that had been more out of a desperation to revive the old Gordon that they'd known and loved, than...

Than…

Yes, it had been a privilege.

"What I don't get," Gordon was saying, unaware of his brother's thoughts, "Is how do you do it?"

Virgil tried to regain the thread of their conversation. "How do I do what?"

"Remain cheerful, despite having being stuck in a hospital bed, miles from home, for so many months."

Virgil finally pulled himself together. "Being stuck in a hospital bed, miles away from home, for so many months," he grinned, "means I don't have to put up with you every day... Which also means that I appreciate it when you're here."

"I admire you."

Virgil felt that he was starting to lose the thread again. "You admire _me_?"

"Yeah. You know what happened to me. I sank into an abyss that nearly drowned me."

Virgil could remember that terrible time only too well. "Most of the time I've known that there was at least a chance that I'd walk out of here one day. When you were in that abyss, you thought you'd never be able to walk anywhere, or do anything."

"And for a time, I wanted to make the abyss permanent." There was no trace of Gordon's traditional good humour. "Thanks for not helping me." He patted his brother on a blackened arm before screwing up his nose. "I thought you were wearing a wetsuit. That stuff feels more like tar."

Virgil looked at the black protective coating that covered his body from the neck down. "It's some kind of spray-on latex-type stuff…" He saw a smirk grow on his joker brother's face and was quick to expand his explanation. "It's because they don't want to risk pulling me into, or out of, a wetsuit in case they damage my skin before it has a chance to form properly. It's looking too good to risk damaging it."

Gordon sat up. "You've seen it?"

Virgil nodded. Buoyed by his hand's progress and the knowledge that Angela was walking out and about, he'd willingly watched as the medical staff had made their preparations for the morning. While some of his body still looked like a prop in a horror movie, with the translucent skin revealing the biological activity that was happening beneath, it was less frightening than it had been last time.

Virgil was healing, and now he knew that for sure.

"I thought your hand was nearly better." Gordon indicated the latex that went right up Virgil's left arm and terminated at his neck.

"It is, but the skin's still not one hundred percent and they're concerned that water may affect it. They're not taking any chances that it can seep in anywhere." Virgil held up his right arm, which was just as protected as its twin. "Including my tracheotomy scar."

Finally, there was a hint of the old, irrepressible Gordon when, with a snigger, he eyed the obvious padding under the sprayed-on coating. "Is that why they've put you into diapers?"

"I'll have to be able to eat and drink before I'd even need to consider wearing diapers," Virgil growled. "Like I said, they don't want to risk damaging my skin. They say they can slice this stuff off so long as it doesn't stick to me. And they're still trying to keep me warm. My body hasn't quite got a handle on temperature self-regulation."

"How are your leg movements?" Gordon nudged him. "Let's see them in action."

"Okay." Virgil pulled his left foot back and then pointed his toes before he rotated his right foot. Then he lifted his right leg off the bed, bending his knee. He grimaced. "Every time I do this I get an overwhelming desire to get some lubricant to oil each joint."

"Lubricant and latex," Gordon smirked. "Just what do you and those sexy nurses get up to?"

"Can't you ever keep your mind out of the gutter?" Virgil frowned. "Even if I had the inclination to _get up to_ something, which would be totally unacceptable in my present situation…" He paused. "No one knows if it will ever be possible."

"Oh." Gordon lost his smile. "I never considered that."

One of those nurses bustled into the room. "Good morning, Gordon. Are you here to witness the next stage of Virgil's recovery?"

Gordon, Virgil was pleased to see, had blushed slightly upon seeing one of those _sexy nurses_ so soon after his insinuation. "I'm hoping I'll be able to help. Virgil helped me walk and I want to repay the favour."

The nurse busied herself bringing a wheelchair over to her patient's bed and preparing him for the transfer. "When you were a baby?"

"No." Ignoring his brother, Gordon leant across the bed; getting close to the nurse as if he was going to impart a secret. "He was a late developer and had only just learnt to walk himself when I started," he whispered. "Didn't even crawl." Ignoring his brother's scowl, he sat back. "I'm kidding. What I meant was that roughly five years ago, Virgil helped me learn to walk again. I was too scared to go into the therapy pool and he helped me fight those fears and take my first steps."

The nurse stopped what she was doing and stared at him, a half-folded blanket in her arms. "What happened to you?"

"I was in a crash and suffered brain damage. I had to relearn a lot of things."

"At a guess, you've made a full recovery."

"Yep. Some aspects of my recovery took longer than others, like learning what jokes were acceptable and what weren't." Gordon shot an apologetic glance at Virgil. "It was my mental attitude that took the biggest knock and was the hardest to repair. If it wasn't for my family, I'd still be in care. They brought me back from oblivion. Reminded me who I was and where I belonged."

"And brought back the same old pain in the neck that he always was," Virgil added.

Gordon grinned. "Yup."

Theresa, the physio, entered the room. "Good morning, Gordon. All ready?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Virgil was aware of a growing sense of excitement. As he was assisted into a wheelchair and wheeled into the heated therapy pool room he realised his heart was pounding so loud that he was sure that everyone could hear it.

If "everyone" could, no one commented on it.

"Unfortunately, we're understaffed this week," Theresa stated. "And because of the number of patients we've got going through the system after the earthquake and other events, I'm going to have to work with someone else at the same time as you, Virgil. Do you mind?"

"No."

She smiled. "Thank you. If you don't mind waiting, I'll go and get the other patient."

"Wait a moment…" Reliving his own memories, Gordon had been gazing around the room. "You've only got one sling seat." He indicated the device that lifted patients in and out of the water.

"That's right. We normally only assist one patient at a time, but because of numbers today we're having to assist two."

"So, there'll be delays for one or the other of the patients as we get them into the water?"

"Unfortunately, that's true."

"If I remember rightly, the first exercise is to sit in the seat and push your legs against the water's resistance."

A little surprised by his knowledge, Theresa nodded her agreement.

"Why don't we lift Virgil down to the water, so he can start those exercises? I'll stay with him while you get the other patient and make sure he doesn't skive off. There's nothing technical about kicking out and I'm sure I won't teach him any bad habits…"

"I'm not," Virgil interjected. "I wouldn't put it past you to try."

Gordon grinned, but otherwise remained serious. "By the time the second person's ready to use the sling, Virgil might be ready to 'stand', and no one will be held up."

The physio considered his suggestion. "Are you happy with this, Virgil?"

"Yes. I know that Gordon knows what he's doing."

"You've had training, Gordon?"

"Nope. I've had experience from the other side." Gordon pulled off his shirt and shoes, and stripped off his trousers.

Virgil wasn't surprised to see that beneath his clothes, Gordon was wearing a bathing costume. What did surprise him was its style.

Gordon, when swimming at home, like to wear a swimsuit that permitted him to cleave through the water with the least resistance and maximum contact with the liquid. This usually meant that he would swim in togs that were tight-fitting and brief. But in a public situation (such as he was in now – Virgil had supposed until he saw the truth), he would wear a bathing suit that would hide many of the scars that still marred his torso.

Gordon had no problems with people checking out his body; he just preferred them to look in admiration at his swimmer's physique, and not stare out of curiosity or worse… Sympathy.

But today Gordon Tracy wore a pair of togs that sat low on his hips; offering enough coverage to ensure some modesty and little else. His inference was clear. "I've been there and survived. You can too."

The younger Tracy stood. "Right. Do you need my help getting Virg into the sling?"

Theresa made no comment about the condition of her new assistant's body, but instead issued gentle instructions as to where he should go and what he should do.

Soon Virgil found himself suspended just above the water line, his latex-coated legs dangling in the water.

Gordon stood in front of him. "Do you remember what I did?"

"Tried to kick me."

Gordon chuckled. "That display of 'drowning' you put on had to be the worst bit of acting ever." He smirked. "See if you can kick me."

Keen to accept the challenge, Virgil drew his right leg back as far as the water's resistance and his seized-up joints would let him. Then he launched his leg forward at speed. In his mind's eye the action had enough energy to punt a ball the length of the field. The actual force was barely enough to send the water rippling.

He was saved from depression at the lack of result when Gordon, pretending to be caught in the meagre tsunami, disappeared under the water. When his brother resurfaced laughing, Virgil couldn't help but laugh along with him. "I think I've just lost the title of the worst actor," he said.

Gordon grinned. "Let's see if your other leg can do any better."

Once the physio was satisfied that, after that initial bit of play, both brothers were willing to devote their full attention to the exercise, she left the room and went to prepare her second patient. They didn't realise that she was back until she appeared in the pool next to them.

"You're doing well," she congratulated. "Are you both ready for the next phase?"

"That's…" Gordon dug into his memory banks. "Letting his feet sink to the bottom of the pool and giving him a chance to get used to being upright, before getting him to rock slightly from side to side so the soles of his feet get used to supporting his weight. No walking, lifting the feet off the bottom of the pool, or other big movements yet."

"That's right." Theresa turned back to Virgil. "Are you comfortable letting Gordon support you while you do this?"

"Yes," Virgil admitted. "It's all coming back to me now."

"Virgil helped me from the other side," Gordon told the physio.

If Theresa wondered about the "other side" of what, she made no comment. "Have you got hold of Virgil's support harness, Gordon?"

Gordon grasped two handles that protruded from the harness that was strapped to Virgil's upper torso. When their situations had been reversed, he'd worn a wide belt around his waist. Virgil's healing midriff meant that he had to be supported by a harness that hung off his shoulders and was strapped around his chest. "Put your hands on my shoulders, Virg. I won't let you fall."

"You haven't so far." And both brothers shared a warm smile.

"I'm sliding the sling out from under you, Virgil…" Theresa told them. "Let your feet drop down."

Virgil did as he was told and guided his legs down until his soles were against the tiles. "I'm standing!" And Gordon felt his brother's grip tighten on his shoulders. "I'm standing on my own two feet! Using my own legs!"

Hearing the delight in his brother's voice, Gordon couldn't stop his own beaming smile from lighting up his face. "I know." He made sure that he had a tight grip of the harness. "Can you feel the bottom of the pool against the soles of your feet?"

"Yes!" Virgil sounded, and felt, almost disbelieving at the sensation. "I can feel the pool!"

"Well, let's take a moment to enjoy that, shall we?" Gordon told him. "There's no rush."

"I want to move onto the next step. I want to walk!"

"I know." Gordon reined in his brother's enthusiasm. "But you don't want to overdo things. Don't run before you _can_ walk."

"Never mind running. I'll be happy walking."

"We'll do that soon. You've been flat on your back for the last six months and you can't rush things now. Give your body a chance to get used to being upright again and remind itself what goes where and how."

The physio, having overheard their conversation, relaxed and went to assist her other patient.

Gordon waited till she'd gone. Then he grinned. "Can you wriggle your toes?"

"Yep."

"How're you feeling? Any odd sensations?"

"After all this time, it all feels odd."

"Do you feel ready to go onto the next stage?"

"Almost."

"Almost?"

"Please, before we move on, will you do something for me?"

Surprised, Gordon stared at his brother. "If it's possible."

Virgil's eyes were shining, an outward reflection of his inward excitement. "I want to stand unaided. I want to take my hands off your shoulders and for you to let go of the handles and I want to prove to myself that I can stand on my own two feet."

"Do you feel strong enough to do that?"

Those eyes were transformed into two brown beacons of steely determination. "Yes."

"Okay, then. But I'll just let go and move my hands a couple of millimetres clear. I'm not going to let you fall."

"Thanks." And Gordon felt the twin weights on his shoulders lift.

Opening his fingers, he moved his own hands outwards far enough that he wasn't touching his brother, but close enough that he could make a grab before Virgil did something unwise.

Virgil stood there.

Unaided.

On his own two legs.

Legs that for a short time hadn't existed. "I'm doing it!" And Gordon saw the absolute joy on his brother's face. "I'm standing, Gordon!"

Scared that he might spoil the moment by knocking Virgil over, Gordon managed to stop himself from expressing his own delight in a joyous embrace. "You're doing that all right." Virgil watched as a familiar impish grin formed. "I think the medicos lied to us. They only told us that they'd amputated your legs, so we'd think they were wonderful now."

"They weren't joking," Virgil told him. "I've seen photos of my stumps."

"Really?" Gordon was shocked… And unsure how he'd respond if he'd been offered to see those same pictures. He decided to concentrate on the present. "How are you feeling? Stable?"

"As stable as Tracy Island."

"If you want to be compared to something ancient and dense, I'm not going to stop you."

Virgil laughed and let his hands settle back onto Gordon's shoulders. "Tell me what to do next."

"Okay." Gordon reclaimed his grip on the harness. "Start rocking side to side, but don't lift your feet off the floor."

"So, I can give my legs a chance to get used to bearing my weight."

"As well as giving your body a chance to get used to keeping its balance when you're off centre. Lean on me as much as you need. You can give that hand of yours a workout by trying to do a Vulcan nerve pinch on me."

Virgil gave a melodramatic sigh. "If only that were possible."

Gordon braced himself and felt his brother shift his weight to the right and Virgil's weaker left hand tighten its grip. "Now back the other way." The right hand increased its pressure.

Trying to keep his enthusiasms in check, Virgil rocked slowly from side-to-side.

"_Rock a bye baby, on the tree…_"

"Shut up, Gordon," Virgil growled. "Drowning would be preferable to hearing you sing."

Gordon laughed.

The laugh reminded Vigil how glad he was that Gordon had chosen to spend his birthday with him. Not only was he enjoying the company of a loved family member, his brother was proving to be a natural tutor and encourager. He kept setting goals that were not so hard as to be impossible, and stopped what was a repetitious exercise from becoming tedious.

As they worked through the procedures, Gordon would occasionally check with Theresa that he wasn't doing anything wrong, or the physio would give a suggestion of how to improve their technique. Virgil and the other patient would offer each other encouragement and share how great it was to be out of bed and finally on the road to recovery.

"How are you feeling?" Gordon checked after what he thought was a reasonable length of time.

"Fine. No problems."

"Ready for the next stage?"

Virgil reaffirmed his grip on Gordon's shoulders. "Yes."

"Okay. Continue rocking, but when your weight is on your leg stop and raise your foot." Gordon glanced across at the physio, who gave a slight nod. "Not too far; just off the ground. Hold that for a second, place your foot back down, and then rock back the other way."

Virgil did as he was told. He rocked to the right and raised his left leg, so his toes were barely touching the pool's tiles. "I'm doing it! I'm standing on one foot!"

"Great! Now rock back onto the other one."

Trying not to rush, Virgil lowered his left leg and swayed back until it was taking his weight. He raised his right leg and rocked left.

They continued their swaying dance, Virgil lifting each leg higher each time until Gordon had to make a grab for him when his enthusiasms got the better of him and he nearly over-balanced.

"Steady…" Gordon brought the patient back to the vertical and waited until both feet were planted firmly on the floor of the pool. "Don't rush this, Virgil" he reminded him as he held his brother still. "I'm the one who's supposed to act first without thinking. You're the one who's supposed to be serious and sensible."

"Alan's the one who acts first without thinking," Virgil corrected. "You're the one who doesn't take anything seriously."

"And you're still the one who doesn't rush at things like a bull at a gate. Stop, take a deep breath, and relax. You don't want to burn yourself out before you've even got moving."

Virgil gave a frustrated sigh and nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks… How are your soles feeling?"

"A little sore, but they're not going to stop me."

"I didn't think they would. Are you warm enough?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, do you literally feel ready to take the next step?"

Forcing himself to think calmly and rationally Virgil considered the question. He concluded that nothing was holding him back. "Yes."

Gordon looked over at the physio. "Can we?"

With an apology to the other patient, Theresa interrupted their session and adjusted her grip so that she could see what the two men were doing. "Take it slowly," she advised.

Gordon held Virgil's eye. "You heard the lady. We're taking it slowly. Okay?"

Virgil nodded. "Okay."

"One step at a time."

"Right."

"Baby steps."

"Understood."

"Step out. Bring your feet together. Stop and regain your balance."

"Okay."

"This isn't a race."

"I know."

"No zooming around the pool at 400 knots."

"Gordon!"

Gordon chuckled at his brother's exasperation. "Which do you want to start with?" His eyes twinkled. "Your Dad leg or your _Brichil_ leg?"

Virgil had to remind himself which leg was which. Over five years ago he and his father had stood either side of Gordon in a pool like this one. Jeff had supported Gordon on his right side, whilst he had stood on Gordon's left. "Right."

"Okay. Dad leg first."

Virgil lifted his right leg. He swung it forward about five centimetres and then planted it firmly on the pool's floor. Then he shifted his weight forward, feeling Gordon move with him. Once he as sure he wasn't going to topple, he brought his left leg forward and planted it next to the right.

"Brichil leg first this time… Look up at me," Gordon added when Virgil peered into the water to see where his left foot was going. "Keep your body upright."

Virgil obeyed; keeping his eyes on the top of Gordon's head as the latter looked down through the water to ensure they didn't get their feet entwined.

Bringing his right foot up next to his left, Virgil planted it on the ground and took a moment to make sure he was stable. "Did it!" he exclaimed. "I walked!"

"You did!" Gordon let go of the harness with his right hand and held it high. "High-five!"

Virgil slapped his weaker left hand against his brother's.

The physio and the other patient restarted their session.

"Ready to walk again?" Gordon took a firm hold of the harness.

"Dad leg," Virgil said, and walked his right leg forwards. "Now…"

"Brichil leg," both brothers chorused and laughed as Virgil's left leg lifted off the ground. He moved it forward, placed it down, shifted his weight, and drew the right leg up next to it.

"How are you feeling?" Gordon asked, aware that the hands that were gripping his shoulders weren't clinging as tightly as before. "Getting tired?"

"No," Virgil lied.

"Gonna beat my record, are you?"

"Yep. 'm gonna do seven steps."

"We're going to have to work out how we're going to turn you around." Gordon wasn't sure that that was going to be possible without help. He didn't want to ask Theresa to desert the other patient mid-exercise. "You've done two full steps out… How about you do something I didn't. Let's turn around here. Turning will be the equivalent of the extra steps. Okay?"

Virgil, unwilling to admit that even two more steps was sounding like a daunting prospect, nodded.

"Right. Don't go anywhere." Gordon stepped closer. "Put your right arm about my shoulders. That's it." He swivelled so that he was standing at Virgil's side and his left arm was braced across his brother's back and he had a firm grip of the left handle. His right hand had an equally firm grip on Virgil's right arm. "I'll pirouette, and you walk around me."

"'kay," Virgil agreed. "Brichil leg firs'?"

"Brichil leg first. I've got you."

Forcing himself to look at the distant wall, Virgil stepped out and across with this left leg.

"Don't twist your body," Gordon warned. "We don't want to damage something that's hasn't healed yet."

Concentrating on using his legs and not his torso to turn, Virgil made the transition, Gordon helping as much by lifting and swinging his brother around as by bracing him.

Ahead was the finish line; the sling seat that had lifted him into the water earlier. Virgil took a deep breath and stepped forward. He stumbled.

"Whoa!" Gordon exclaimed, hauling his brother upright before his upper body was submerged. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." Virgil planted his feet back on the floor of the pool and stared the sling down. "Brichil leg this time."

Gordon held him back. "Are you sure you want to carry on?" He shared a glance with the physio. She was watching them both closely and he gave her a reassuring wink.

Virgil wriggled his body to loosen Gordon's grip. "Not stoppin'."

"Gordon…" Theresa , hampered by her need to care for her own patient, reached out to the brothers. "I think…"

Gordon raised the fingers of the hand that held Virgil's right arm, and she stopped talking. There was as much point telling him not to let Virgil hurt himself or do something stupid, as there was telling Virgil that he was to stop walking before he'd reached his goal.

Virgil was already taking that next step.

And Gordon matched him.

As Gordon had expected, Virgil's tenacity carried him to the end. There the younger Tracy continued to hold the elder as an orderly lowered the sling seat down to the pool.

But Gordon didn't try to sit Virgil in it. He was supporting most of his brother's weight and knew that if he were to try to change position it could mean disaster. He was surprised when Theresa swam over to him. "Let's get you sorted, Virgil," she said sliding the sling under the water. "There. You can sit down."

With a feeling of exhausted relief and Gordon's assistance, Virgil did so.

Finally, able to release his grip, Gordon did up the strap under Virgil's arms to stop him from falling out. "Okay?"

Virgil nodded. Then he grinned and grabbed Gordon's hand. "We did it!"

Gordon's grin matched his brother's. "YOU did it!" he corrected. He took a step backwards and rotated his finger in the air to signal that the orderly could lift the sling and its passenger out of the water. As soon as he knew Virgil was clear of the sides of the pool, he hauled himself out and accepted a warm fluffy towel from a second orderly with a word of thanks.

Rubbing down his hair, he trotted over to where Virgil had been transferred to a chair. "Thanks guys." He slung his towel around his neck and crouched down to help Virgil wrap another towel around his torso. "Are you cold?"

Virgil shook a head that seemed so heavy he could barely lift it. He wasn't cold. What he was: was exhausted. Even a simple one-word answer was too difficult to contemplate. But his eyes were bright at the enormity of what he'd achieved. "I… did… it."

Gordon patted him on the shoulder. "You did, Virg. Everyone's going to be proud of you. First thing we do when we get back is call them and tell them. Right?"

Virgil managed another exhausted nod and Gordon wondered if he'd even manage to stay awake for the trip back to his room.

"Would you like a robe, Gordon?" Theresa asked.

"Be right back," Gordon promised, leaving Virgil to the care of an orderly who had brought a wheelchair over. He headed over to where a large piece of towelling was held out to him. "Thanks."

"Thank _you_!" the physio gushed. "I couldn't have achieved half of what we did without your assistance."

Gordon gave an _it was nothing_ shrug and glanced over to where his brother was being wrapped in warm towels. "Virgil helped me get my life back and I had to return the favour."

"Is there any chance you could stay for the rest of the week? The other physio's on leave and his replacement had a family emergency and had to pull out at the last minute. Having someone here that Virgil trusts and knows what he's going through is going to help his recovery enormously."

"I'd love to, but…" Gordon considered the question. "I'd have to check that my boss is happy for me to take more time out. We're short staffed too."

"Okay. Let me know..." Theresa looked at Gordon sideways. "You know I'm going to have to ask you this. What do you mean by you and Virgil being on different sides?"

"A little over five years ago, I was in a high-speed boat crash," Gordon admitted. "My brain not only had to put up with slamming to a sudden stop against the side of my skull, I was submerged and without air for longer than I care to think about. I lost most of my brain functionality, including my motor skills. It took an operation to repair the damage I'd done, but it didn't fix a total and irrational fear of water. I refused to go into the therapy pool and it took Virgil and Dad hanging on to me on each side to give me enough courage to take my first steps. That's why the right leg's the Dad leg and the left is the Brichil leg. I couldn't say his name properly."

"Oh."

"_Gordon…_"

Glad for the chance to step away from the seriousness of painful memories, Gordon slipped back into his joker persona. "Ah, ha," he cackled. "My master calls." Twisting his body into the stoop favoured by a mad scientist's assistant, as stereotyped by various Hollywood movies, he shuffled to Virgil's side. "How can I assist you, Master?" he asked, bowing even lower and staring up at his brother.

He was shocked when Virgil lunged at him. He found himself pulled into a tight embrace and heard a muffled "Thanks" mumbled into his shoulder.

There was no question of clowning, teasing, or drawing away and, with no hesitation, Gordon held on just as tight. He knew the emotion that came from finally taking those first steps after months of not knowing if they could ever be made. When he spoke it was quietly, and in total seriousness. "It was a privilege, Virgil."

Virgil, emotionally and physically drained, couldn't respond. He clung to his brother, unwilling to admit to the feelings that were welling up inside him, but equally unable to deny them. Gordon, feeling the shaking shoulders, ignored his knees' protests at having to kneel on the rough floor. Nothing would have induced him to break their embrace.

Their interaction didn't go unnoticed by the others present and Theresa decided that the kindest thing that she could do was leave the brothers alone. She escorted the orderlies and the other patient out of the room.

A full two minutes passed before Virgil felt strong enough to let go. He sat back. "Sorry," he apologised, wiping his eyes.

Gordon wiped his own, equally red, eyes on a towel. "I think they've put too much chlorine in the pool," he joked.

"Yeah." Virgil managed a laugh.

"You okay?"

Virgil looked down at his hands. "Yeah," he repeated.

"Ready to go back to your room?"

Virgil nodded.

Gordon got to his feet and realised that they were alone. "We seem to have been deserted." Grabbing another towel, he placed it over the wheelchair. Then he found himself facing a dilemma. "If I could get you into the wheelchair I could take you back to your room." He bit his lip. "Should I lift you across? Can I? I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"Are you willing for me to try?"

Virgil finally looked up and Gordon could see some emotion that he couldn't quite place. "Yes."

Gordon reached out and then stopped, still unsure that he was doing the right thing. "Anywhere I shouldn't touch?"

"You can't hurt me."

"Are you sure?"

In reply, Virgil held his arm out and Gordon slipped underneath.

He knew that Virgil had lost a lot of weight over the last months, but still he was shocked at how light his brother was. He wondered if the skeletal structures he could feel through the latex were real bone or polymer.

Not that he commented on his musings as he sat Virgil in the wheelchair. "Okay?" he checked, wrapping the towel around his brother's legs and ensuring that there was no chance of any heat escaping. "Are you sure you're not cold?"

"I'm sure." But then Virgil grabbed at his hand. "I did it, Gordon!" And Gordon saw elation and disbelief in the tired eyes. "I stood. I walked! I didn't have any legs and I walked!"

Gordon grinned, the sudden showing of enthusiasm reigniting his own excitement over what had been achieved. "You sure did. Now, let's go and tell everyone. Or better still…" He retrieved his trousers and pulled his phone out from the pocket. "Let's tell them now." He pushed a speed dial and handed the instrument over.

The phone was answered almost immediately. "Hello, Gor…" Jeff began and then checked himself. He smiled. "Hi, Virgil. How did it go …? Hold on, I'll put you onto the video network, so John can join us. Everyone's keen to hear how things went."

Virgil barely waited for the screen to change so he could see the occupants of the lounge, along with a small square in the corner showing his elder brother's expectant face. "Did it! I stood! An' I walked!

"Yes!" As Virgil and Gordon watched, Scott punched the air in celebration. "How many steps?"

"Not's good as Gordon." Virgil made a face. "I only manage' four an'a bit."

Gordon leant closer, so the camera could see him. "_A bit_ equates to a turn. I couldn't do that until a week after my first steps."

"Y' carri' me through th' turn."

"I _helped_ you through that turn. You did the hard work."

Too happy to split hairs, Virgil grinned, his whole face alight with delight. "Thanks for givin' Gord'n the day off, Fath'r."

"When he asked I couldn't really deny him his request," Jeff admitted. "And I'm glad I did."

"How many steps are you going to do tomorrow, Virgil?" John asked.

"Six." Virgil looked up at his brother. "'Ow many you'd do day two?"

"Eight, I think."

"Then 'm doin' eigh'!"

"When I get to visit you, I want to see you walk 50!" Alan enthused.

Jeff held up a warning hand. "Don't rush him, Alan. Let him take it at his own pace."

"Dad's right," John agreed. "Besides, it won't be long before you won't even have to count how many steps you can do. You'll just be able to do it."

Scott took a seat. "Have they said when they're going to get you into the harness and walking on dry land?"

"N'."

"We haven't had a chance to talk to the physio," Gordon elaborated. "They're short-staffed here and she's taken one of the other patients back to his room."

"Are you in your room, Virgil?" Grandma queried.

"N'."

"You're sounding tired."

"Don' wantta go back t' m' room. Firs' chance 've 'ad to get ou' of there in months."

"Soon you'll be able to walk out of there with no help," Alan reminded him. "And then you'll be able to come home."

"Can' wai'."

Gordon placed a gentle hand on Virgil's shoulder. "I think it's time we went back. I don't know about you, but I'd like to get into something drier."

Virgil did not want to go back to his room, but common sense and his tired body told him that he needed to rest. Gordon's wish to get changed gave him the excuse to leave without admitting weakness. "'F you want to go bacg, Gord'n, guess we' bedder."

No one was fooled by his bravado.

"Give us a call when you're back in your room," Jeff told him. "We can talk then."

"'Kay."

Gordon took the phone from his brother. "Catch up with you fellas later," he told it before switching off. Having gathered up his clothes, and after a "Can you hold these for me?" as he dumped them with care onto Virgil's lap, he grasped the handles of the wheelchair.

Virgil said nothing on the trip back to his room, and Gordon wouldn't have been surprised if he'd dozed off.

He was therefore stunned when he reached down to claim his clothes and Virgil grabbed his hand. "Thank'q, Gordon! Than's for 'verything!"

Gordon could almost feel how amped his brother was and wondered if, despite Virgil's exhaustion, he'd actually manage to sleep. He smiled. "Like I said, it's my privilege. I can't think of anything I'd rather do this particular birthday. We've achieved something amazing." He squeezed his brother's hand and took the clothes. "I'm heading back to the house for some lunch. I'll see you in about an hour? Then we can party!"

Virgil looked at him in hope. "You'll come bacg?"

"Of course, I will. I didn't fly halfway around the world just for a swim. You and I have some serious us time owing, Virg." Gordon gave Virgil a light punch on the shoulder, "and I aim to make a start this afternoon. See ya soon."

"'Kay." And Virgil allowed himself to be transferred to the care of the waiting medical team.

_To be continued…_


	44. Chapter 44

_Half way_

* * *

_The afternoon of February 14th _

"Ready to party?" Gordon asked. "Let's hit the town and find the nearest wild hotspot."

The truth was that he had no intention of going anywhere, but that didn't mean that he wasn't going to ensure that he and Virgil didn't enjoy themselves this afternoon. Even if they couldn't leave the building, he had several schemes pocketed away for the rest of the day.

He started off by pulling up a seat next to Virgil's bed. His brother was back in a hospital gown and under the bedsheets, and Gordon was expecting him to be almost as elated as he had been this morning.

"Look what I found." Gordon reached into his pocket and pulled out a red ball. "Remember this?" He gave it a squeeze and it responded with a half-hearted squeak. "I think I wore it out. I remember the day that Alan gave it to me, I thought it was one of the greatest gifts ever, and not only because it meant I had an excuse to exercise my hand. I used to love squeezing it when the nurses weren't expecting it. They would wonder where the sound came from, since I wasn't capable of making it. It was about the only practical joke I could do for a long time." He produced the meek sound again. "It wouldn't have quite the same effect now. That's why I've bought you a new one." He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a similar ball. Squeezing this produced a sound not dissimilar to a whoopee cushion.

Gordon laughed. "I know your hand doesn't need the exercise now, but you'll be amazed at the reactions it gets." With another laugh he produced the earthy sound again.

Virgil didn't laugh. In fact, Gordon realised, he hadn't smiled once since his visitor had returned to the room.

"Want a go?" Gordon persisted. "I'm tellin' ya, wait till someone is bending over and then let rip. It's a real hoot." He held out the ball and when Virgil didn't take it dropped it into his brother's lap.

The tiny weight seemed to awaken something in the invalid and he, slowly and without enthusiasm, picked the ball up. He squeezed it. "Do you realise they won't let me out of here until I can make this sound for real?"

It took Gordon a second for his thought processes to divert down the new track. "That can't be too far away. Look at how far you've progressed. You walked this morning, Virgil. Actually stood on both legs and walked!"

There was no repeat of the morning's overflowing or quietly contained elation. "Yeah."

"It can't be long before they're confident that you'll be able to take on food without leaking everywhere."

Virgil let his fingers relax and the ball rolled unimpeded off his lap. He paid no attention as it rolled onto the floor.

"What's wrong?"

Virgil turned dull eyes onto his brother. "Do you have to leave?"

"Not immediately. I've been given the day off. You've still got me for at least another four hours."

"Do you have to go home then? Can't you stay here? I heard the physio ask you to stay and help."

"I'm sorry, Virg." Gordon lost some of his good humour. "I did ask Dad, but he doesn't want to leave the team short-staffed. Alan and Scott are going to get John tomorrow and that'll only leave Grandma and Kyrano available if we're called out. If I could, you know I would stay."

"But you can't because other people are more important than a freak like me."

"Huh?" Gordon frowned. "Freak? Where did that come from? You're not a freak."

"Aren't I? There's no one else like me, is there?"

"Other people have had the same treatment. Look at Angela Eagles. She's had her leg replaced.''

"That's only half a leg. I've lost both legs, a hand, and most of my abdomen. No one else has had to have half their body replaced."

"Probably not at the moment. But that fact that you're recovering has given other people with only _half a body_ the chance to be just as lucky."

"Lucky?" Virgil snorted. "Do you call this lucky?"

"Yes. You could have died."

"Would that be a bad thing?"

"That would be a very bad thing. That would be catastrophic for the family."

"Catastrophic for the family. Not for me. If I'm so important then why aren't you allowed to stay?"

"I explained that." Theorising that with the mood that Virgil was in, nothing was going to appease him, Gordon decided to attempt to move the conversation away to something less controversial. "I'm not going to be able to visit you again until I'm next on leave, so you'd better make the most of me while I'm here. We've got all afternoon. And I want to spend this precious time with you. What do you want to do?"

"I can't do anything. I'm stuck in this bed. Helpless."

"All right then… What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't want to talk. I want you to stay."

"I want to stay too, but I can't because we're short-staffed without you. If John wasn't due a break I might have been able to wrangle out another couple of days leave from Dad, but I can't, because I can't let the team down. If I'm not there, who'll look after Thunderbird Two?"

"_I don't care about Thunderbird Two!"_

Shocked as much by the words as the volume and venom with which they were said, Gordon could only stare at his brother.

"I don't care about some plane! What I care about is my family! Only none of you care about me! You only care about International Rescue!"

The bitterness in those statements was just as shocking. "Of course, we care about you." Gordon deliberately kept his voice calm and low in the hope that Virgil would follow suit. "That's why I'm here."

"No, it's not. You're here because you think it's a privilege."

"And it is."

"A privilege that makes _you_ seem special! You haven't changed, Gordon." Virgil looked at his brother in disgust. "You're just like you've always been. Thinking only of yourself. You have to be the centre of attention. Look at today!"

"Today?" Gordon frowned. "What about today?"

"Today you were off telling everyone how wonderful you were because you survived an accident. You left me alone, Gordon!"

"Not for…"

"I've been in an accident too, remember! You're not the only one who nearly died and has had to relearn how to walk! How to walk on these… _things_!" Virgil waved his arm over the bedsheets.

"And as soon as you said you needed me, I came back to help you."

"Acting the fool, as usual, so that everyone would watch you. So, you'd be the centre of attention. So, that everyone would see what a great guy you were helping your crippled brother! Your crippled freak of brother!"

"You know me. That's not why I, erm…" Gordon decided that, if he was going to calm Virgil down before he said something that they'd all regret, it might be wise to show some agreement, "…act the fool. I do it to make people laugh. I wanted to make you laugh."

"You can't be serious about anything, can you? You can't stop and consider what your antics mean to other people! One day your joking about is going to get someone killed!"

"You know I'm always serious when we're on a rescue."

"Oh, yeah!? Then who was it who told me not to go anywhere when I was trapped?"

Gordon blanched. "Oh."

"I was dying, Gordon!"

Gordon could manage little more than a whisper. "I know."

"And you thought it was funny!"

"No, I didn't. If there's one situation that had nothing funny about it, it was that day and the days following."

"I was trapped beneath a great big hunk of concrete and I couldn't move! And you told me not to go anywhere!"

"And I wished I hadn't as soon as I'd said it. I would have apologised then, but…" Gordon remembered the vile taste that had filled his throat, threatening to choke him, and sending him running for the Firefly. "I couldn't stay any longer."

"You couldn't stay?! I had no choice!"

"I had to do what I could to get you out of there and John said..." Gordon wasn't sure if this statement was going to help. "John said that you'd appreciate me cracking a joke. He said that it would have made you feel that if I was acting normally then I must think that everything was going to be okay. He said that it would make you feel better. I'm sorry if you didn't think like that."

"John." Virgil looked disgusted. "There's another one who only thinks of himself."

What had gone on before, while painful, at least made sense. That statement meant nothing to Gordon. "Sorry?"

"Mouthing off about us all. Talking as if I didn't care. Talking about _him!_"

"Sorry," Gordon repeated. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"And Alan's just as bad. Acting like a spoilt kid as he tries to kill himself. And Scott!" Virgil shook his head in disbelief, but didn't enunciate exactly what Scott's issues were. "You're all the same! You're all more interested in yourselves than me: the freak."

"Will you stop saying that. You are not a freak."

"I'm not natural, am I?"

"Well…" Gordon's usual ability to make a quick reply had deserted him. "You're still you where it matters, up here." He tapped his head and then wondered about the validity of his statement. "And here." His hand moved over his heart.

Virgil folded his arms and glared at the bulges in the sheet that delineated his legs. "That's about the only part that's still original."

"What would you have had us do? Let the hospital go ahead with the traditional treatment? We wanted to give you the chance to have a normal life. Don't you want that?"

"Anything would be better being some kind of Frank and Stein's monster."

"What!?" Gordon didn't know whether to laugh or not. He decided not.

"That's what the hospital staff call me."

"They do?" Gordon had always found the hospital staff to be kind, caring and respectful. He couldn't imagine any of them making such a derogatory comment, even in fun.

"And I am, aren't I? I'm made up of all sorts of spare parts."

"Very specific spare parts designed to hold you together until your own body can replace them. By the time you can walk out of this hospital it will be your skeleton, muscles and tissues doing the walking. Not some spare parts." By now Gordon was becoming seriously worried. "Virgil…"

Virgil glared at him. "What?!"

"Is, erm…"

"Get on with it!"

"Is everything okay?"

Virgil gave a bitter laugh. "Is everything okay? I'm lying in a hospital bed; half of me's been replaced with bits of plastic; you're sitting there pretending that you care, while everyone else is home enjoying themselves; and you ask me if everything's okay? Of course, everything is NOT okay." He threw his bedclothes off, revealing his grey and translucent legs. "Does _that_ look okay?"

Stunned by the sight before him, Gordon decided that this was the one thing that Virgil had said this afternoon that was true. Something was very much not okay. "Ah…" He swallowed. "Had… Hadn't you better cover up? You don't want to get cold." He reached over and gathered up the bedclothes, intending to hide the monstrosity.

Virgil kicked the sheets out of Gordon's hands. "Is that what you want as a brother?" he demanded. "Frank and Stein's monster."

Gordon decided it was time to get some help. "It's not that bad. I've seen worse. Look, I'm, erm… Going to pop out for a moment… Okay?"

"Sure," Virgil sneered. "Not a problem. Why should you even pretend that you want to be with me on your birthday? Now that you've seen _them_!"

"I _do_ want to be with you. If you want me to stay, I'll stay." Gordon sat back down and wished a nurse would come in. "What do you want?"

"What do I want!? I want to get out of here! I want a normal life!"

Gordon was fighting to keep his eyes from straying back to those abnormal legs. "We all want that, Virgil. We've fought for that right from the beginning. We're still fighting for it."

"From your comfortable beds; in your own rooms; in your own space at home."

"No!" Gordon took a deep breath. "You don't know the stress Dad went through deciding which operations to authorise to keep you alive, and thinking that he'd probably killed you. You don't know what Brains and Tin-Tin went through, trying to fly through a cyclone to get the equipment to help you live to the States. You don't know what we went through, being told that you had died and thinking that it was at least partly our fault."

"You." Virgil raised a hand that spoke of the injustice of it all and rolled his eyes. "It's all about you."

Something must have happened to give Virgil this attitude, Gordon theorised. If the doctors didn't know what that something was, they needed to know it was happening so they could treat it. But how could he call them…?

He spied the red ball on the floor and decided to take a chance. With a light-hearted: "Better pick that up before someone stands on it." He ducked down, his stabilising hand 'accidentally' knocking the buzzer off the bed and out of sight. "Oops." Making the most of the buzzer's relocation, he pushed its button and then returned it to its place. "Butter Fingers."

"Now you're calling me names?"

"No. I was calling myself _Butter Fingers_. For knocking the buzzer." Gordon attempted a disarming grin. "Maybe I should have said _Buzzer Fingers_?"

"I can think of more appropriate names for you."

Gordon lost his grin at the snideness of the remark. He heard the door behind him open and close. "How are you feeling?"

Virgil took no notice of the approaching nurse. "What I am feeling is sick and tired. I'm sick of you and I'm tired of this place. Every day's the same."

"Today was different. Today you walked. Wasn't that amazing?"

"Four steps. Four lousy steps. I couldn't do more than you on my first attempt! I couldn't do as many as you!"

"I was using my own legs. You're having to get used to yours."

"And why is that?" Virgil demanded. "Because they're not mine! I'm only half a person now. The rest of me's a hybrid. I'm some kind of cyborg. A freak! Frank and Stein's monster! Look at me!" Once again, he indicated his legs. "I hate them!"

Gordon glanced at the nurse, hoping that she realised that he was the one who'd pressed the buzzer and understood why.

By the look on her face she had. She pressed a button on her radio. "Room two, T.I. wing. Possible psychological reaction."

The radio buzzed its reply. "Affirmative. Psy-reaction noted. Assistance on the way."

A light off to one side caught Gordon's attention. A video was recording and he hoped that Virgil managed to restrain himself from talking too freely.

And at this precise moment he was; having found something else to rant over.

Virgil rounded on the nurse as if he'd only just become aware that she was there. "You keep away from me!" he demanded, pointing at her to ward her off.

Ignoring the finger, the nurse took a step closer. "Virgil…" she soothed, as the door opened again and a doctor, carrying a bag, entered the room. "Calm down and let's talk."

"Talk? Talk! _He_ wanted to talk." It was Gordon's turn to be almost stabbed by the end of Virgil's finger. "I'm sick of talking. Especially to a has-been Olympic champion who's still trying to relive his glory days!"

To Gordon, that sounded like an echo from the past.

"I'm sick of the needles, and prodding, and poking, and inhuman treatment." Virgil saw the doctor. "I'm sick of all of you all. I'm outta here!"

Gordon didn't look at the semi-translucent cyborg legs that were heading towards the floor. "Whoa! Wait!" he demanded, holding down Virgil on the bed. "You can't get up now."

Virgil fought against his brother's stronger grasp. "Why not!?"

"You've only just started walking in the pool. If you try to stand, now you'll damage your legs!" Gordon forced himself to use his calm, everything's going to be all right, rescue voice. "You may ruin any chance of walking properly. You may never walk again. None of us want that."

"Gordon's right," the doctor confirmed. "We believe that what's happening to you now, Virgil, is a side-effect."

"What?" Gordon glanced at her. "Side-effect?"

It was only a split second's distraction, but it was all Virgil needed to free his hand. The blow to Gordon's face was hard enough for the shock to send him tumbling towards the floor.

"Grab him!" The doctor yelled as her patient made another bid for freedom.

"NO!" Gordon launched himself from the floor to the bed, knocking Virgil backwards and pinning his brother's shoulders to the mattress. "I'm sorry, Virgil. But I can't let you walk now. Tomorrow we'll go to the pool again and you'll do more steps than I did, okay? But not now."

"I hate you!" Virgil fought against his brother with a strength that no one had thought he possessed. "I hate you, Gordon Tracy!"

Despite receiving some painful blows, Gordon hung on. "Maybe now, but you'll thank me later."

"No, I won't! I _hate_ you! I hate all of you!"

"Can't someone do something?" Gordon begged, reluctant to release his grip by so much as a micron.

"_I hate me most of all!"_

"Just hold on," the doctor instructed as she readied an injection.

"_I hate my legs!"_

"That's what I'm doing!"

"_I hate my hand!"_

"I'll administer a sedative."

"_Get rid of them!"_

"Wait! Get bloods first!" A different accent demanded. It was a voice from the other side of the world. "We need to understand what's causing this."

"_If you don't I will!"_

"Any other substances introduced into his system could nullify the results," a second accent emerged from a speaker. "We need clean samples, so we can stop anyone else from having this reaction."

"Hold his arm still, Nurse," the doctor commanded. "I need to swab the injection site." She held the hypodermic high and readied the sedative.

"Needles?!" Virgil yelled. "Keep away from me!" he screamed at the doctor, battling even harder to free himself. "I'm sick of being a guinea pig."

Gordon was kneed in the midriff. "Keep still," he gasped. "Please! We're trying to help you."

"Help me? You all want to hurt me! I'm not going to be a guinea pig anymore. I'll give you your samples and then you'll leave me alone. I'll give you everything. I don't want them!" Virgil tore at his left hand. Red marks were scored down his skin. "They're not mine! Get them away from me!" He kicked his legs against one another, trying to push them free of his body.

"Stop him!" The doctor yelled. "Hold him down!"

The nurse made a valiant attempt, clinging onto Virgil's right hand, but was kicked clear. Taking a balancing step backwards, she stood on the ball, which rolled out from under her feet. Losing her balance, she fell to the floor.

The doctor's hands were filled with medical paraphernalia. "Ring the buzzer, Gordon! We need assistance!"

Since he was the only one within reach of that particular cable, the request made sense, except that Gordon had a firm grip on a struggling pair of shoulders. "I can't!"

The doctor realised that she and Gordon were the only ones available to restrain her patient. Dropping a hypodermic into a tray, she managed to snare Virgil's right hand, clinging to it gamely as she tried to prevent him from hurting himself even more. _"We need help in here…!"_

Lisa and Butch Crump had anticipated having a quiet day. A morning's family tinkering on the Red Arrow had been followed by lunch, and then they were going to enjoy a visit with their good friend Virgil Tracy at the hospital.

"When will Uncle Virgil be better?" Ginny asked as her daddy carried her high on his shoulders down the corridor that led to the room.

"I don't know, Honey," Lisa responded. "But I hope it will be soon."

"Me too. Don't like this place." Ginny screwed up her nose. "Stinks."

They could hear what sounded like shouting. As they drew closer they realised that it was coming from the room they'd intended to visit and that, whatever was happening, it sounded violent.

Lisa took Ginny from Butch.

"Wha's goin' on," he wondered. "Soun's like a figh'."

"_We need help in here…!"_

"I think we'll let Daddy visit Uncle Virgil alone today," Lisa said backing down the corridor. "They might like to talk man-to-man." She shot a meaningful glance at her husband before carrying her daughter out of earshot; Ginny protesting that she wanted to see her honorary uncle.

Butch watched them go with an uncertain gaze. He then straightened, squared his shoulders, and marched into the room.

He saw a sight that he couldn't reconcile.

At first glance it appeared that some horrible procedure was about to be performed and that his friend was trying to protect himself from this abominable act. Then Butch realised that one of the people holding Virgil down was his friend's brother, and that a woman was also trying to stop Virgil from thrashing about. Then he saw that a nurse was picking herself up off the floor and knew that something terrible had to have happened.

He hurried forward. "C'n I help?"

Gordon, determined not to look anywhere except at Virgil, recognised the voice. "Butch! Grab his hands and hold them still!"

Virgil was his friend. The Tracys were Virgil's family. Gordon was a Tracy. With a "Righ'," Butch did as he was instructed.

"Let go of me, Butch!"

"Don't!" Gordon puffed. "He'll hurt himself. Let the doctor give him a sedative."

The nurse entered the fray again. She threw a blanket over Virgil's legs and then put her full body weight onto it, pinning them down.

"Get off me!" Virgil tried to kick her free. "Don't want a sedative. I _hate_ you, Gordon. _I hate you, Butch_!"

"No, you don't," Gordon stated. "You don't hate Butch."

"I do!" Virgil struggled some more. "Lemme go!"

"Can you turn his right arm, so I can reach the crook of his elbow, erm, Butch?" the doctor requested. "I need to get some blood samples first."

Butch paled. "Blood?"

"Look at me, Butch," Gordon commanded. "Don't look at her. She's got to do that so that she can find out what's gone wrong. Then she'll give Virgil a sedative. Look at me and you'll be fine."

"You're a wimp, Butch," Virgil taunted. "You're such a wimp you can't even stand the sight of blood. You're nothing, but a mindless, brainless, stupid, moronic, bag of muscles, with all the personality of a linisher. Marrying Lisa's the only good thing you've done with your life. And she's too good for a tattooed moron like you. I don't know what she sees in you." He let out a howl when the hypodermic needle pierced his skin. "_Let me go!_"

"He doesn't mean it, Butch," Gordon soothed. Then he tightened his grip on his brother, pushing Virgil further into the bed. "Look at me, Virgil! Anything you've got to say; say it to me. I can take it."

"Take it? I've had to take it too many times, Gordon. I've had to take your arrogance, and selfishness. I've had to take always being the butt of your jokes. Well, I'm not taking it any longer!" Virgil's fight against his captors went up another notch. _"You forced me to have these new legs!"_

Gordon glanced across at the doctor, who was watching a vial fill with scarlet liquid. "How much longer are you going to be?"

"_I don't want them!"_

She pulled the vial clear. "One more."

"_I don't want this hand!"_

"Be quick!"

"_Take them away!"_

"I would be if he'd… only… keep… still." The empty vial went shooting out of her hand and across the floor. With a mild curse, she readied another.

"_I don't want to be Frank and Stein's monster!"_

Gordon decided that if reason wasn't working, then maybe an outright order would. "Virgil! Lie still!"

"NO! I need to get out of here!"

"What you need, and what you're going to do, is lie still," Gordon barked. "And that's an order."

The attempt at seniority backfired. "An order!" Virgil's eyes burned in anger. "Since when do you have the right to order me about?!"

"Don't make me call Dad!"

"You can do what you want! I don't care what he says! He doesn't care about me!"

"Of course he does!"

Virgil struggled some more, but it seemed to Gordon with less ferocity. Either the side-effect, whatever it was, was wearing off; or else he was tiring himself out. "Let me go!"

"No."

"You have no right to restrain me!" Virgil ranted. "This is a free country."

"That doesn't include the right to assault people verbally or physically."

"Assault?! You're all holding me against my will!"

"For your own good."

"Let go of me, Gordon!" Virgil re-intensified his efforts, leaving Gordon to the conclusion that his brother had found his second wind.

"Butch," the doctor pleaded. "Hold his arm still!"

Butch made the mistake of looking where the doctor was working. His world seemed to tunnel in on itself.

"Butch!" Gordon practically screamed when he felt a weight press down against his side. "Don't pass out now. Look at me!"

"He can't hack it," Virgil told Gordon. "Can you, Butch?" he sneered. "You're weak! You're feeble! You're not worthy of being Lisa's husband!"

Butch took a deep breath. Determined to show that Lisa had every right to call herself 'Mrs Crump' he concentrated on what he was doing. Focussing all his thoughts into keeping the thrashing arms on the bed, he steadied himself. "I'm arlright."

"You're doing fabulously," the nurse reassured him. "It won't be much longer. The doctor's nearly got all that she needs."

Virgil had refocussed his hatred back against Gordon. After telling everyone present that they couldn't be related because they didn't have the same father, he proceeded to call his brother several names that Gordon has always assumed that he'd never hear outside of WASP. "I hate you, Gordon!"

"Yeah, I know. You hate me."

Gordon was surprised when his agreement with the statement seemed to bring about a positive response. Beneath his tired hands, shoulders lessened their struggle.

Then Virgil's eyes seemed to lose focus. The face that had been filled with anger and hatred softened into the features of a loved and loving brother. His eyes closed.

Gordon looked over at the doctor.

She injected the last of a clear liquid. "That'll keep him relaxed."

"We c'n le'go?" Butch checked.

"You can let go," she confirmed, taking her patient's pulse. "He's not going to wake up for a long time."

Gordon straightened, trying to loosen his back muscles; tense after their long fight and shook his cramped hands. "Are you okay?" he asked the nurse.

She managed a smile. "I'll live."

"You do know that when he finds out that he kicked you, he'll want to kick himself."

The nurse chuckled. "In that case it's just as well that he didn't manage to remove his leg." She proceeded to help the doctor return Virgil back to his bed.

Smiling at her relaxed manner, Gordon realised that the sight of the blood coursing beneath translucent patches of skin meant there was someone else who needed his help more. "Sit down, Butch." He pushed the big man gently into a chair. "Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths," he instructed, crouching down next to his friend as he guided the big shoulders down with a touch lighter than that he'd used on his brother. "Stay there until you're feeling better, and then we'll both go over to the house. Okay?"

Butch, his face pointing towards the floor and his eyes closed, nodded.

"Thanks for your help, Pal."

Standing, Gordon turned to face the doctor. "What do you mean by this being a side-effect? A side-effect of what?"

"We don't know," she admitted. "There have been other measurable side-effects associated with this treatment, such as the loss of calcium as the body leaches it out of existing bones to replenish new bone. Symptoms such as that are expected, recognisable and treatable. This, however, is something new to medical science."

"You must have observed this reaction in other patients."

"We have; to a limited extent."

"Then why didn't you warn us that this was likely to happen?"

Gordon heard an Australian accent. "We had no proof."

"We hypothesised that it was a probable side-effect," the New Zealand accent interrupted. "But the Weta in the ointment with that hypothesis was the knowledge that if anyone were to show these symptoms, it would be this subject."

Gordon eyeballed the video camera in the digital nurse. "This subject being Virgil."

"Yes. Because he was the first to receive the treatment and had had the greatest volume of tissue replaced. One hypothesis is that it's the subject's realisation that the limbs that he is learning to use are not the limbs that he was born with that creates a negative psychological reaction towards those limbs."

"I'd say it's more than a hypothesis now," Gordon clarified. "Virgil walked on his legs for the first time this morning and then," he frowned at the memory, "tried to rip them off this afternoon."

"There will have to be more research before we can give a definitively agree," Timoti told him. "We've got to factor in that Virgil's been using his hand for months with no perceivable ill effects. Another hypothesis is that the trigger for this reaction is connected, somehow, to the polymer."

Bryce's voice continued. "Because we hadn't seen any evidence of the symptoms prior to today, we didn't have proof that either hypothesis was true and repeatable. Which meant that we had no evidence to confirm that the negative reaction was a condition relating to the procedure."

"And because the symptoms were so mild in other, ah, patients, they weren't noted until they had passed and the patient was 'back to normal'. It was possible that they were just a result of the tedium brought about by months of being constrained in hospital."

"Why did you wait until you'd taken the blood samples before sedating Virgil?" Gordon demanded. "Things would have been a lot easier for everyone if you'd given him the sedative first."

"There may be some markers in the body that will give us a warning when an episode is going to happen," Timoti told him. "Once we know what those markers are, we can take appropriate action to reduce the effect."

"Which," Bryce added, "judging by the ferocity of this subject's reaction, compared to that observed in others, the extent of the initial procedure potentially has a bearing on the magnitude of the reaction. If we have advance warning of when and how that reaction is going to happen, we will hopefully be able to lessen its effects."

"Send through the blood test results as soon as you can," Timoti instructed the doctor. "We need to study them immediately."

The light showing the video camera was operating went out.

Gordon shoved his hands into his pockets and wished that it wasn't Virgil who was the researchers' guinea pig. Then he remembered something that his brother had been said and felt pity and anger well up inside him. "Who had the gall to call Virgil Frank and Stein's monster?"

"Frank and…" the nurse coloured slightly. "I think it was one of the auxiliary staff."

"What happened to treating patients with respect?"

"Ah… It doesn't get used much now." The nurse smoothed a sheet. "Not now that we know that this is a successful treatment."

"It's really upset him!"

"I didn't even know that Virgil knew," she admitted. "we were always very careful not to say it in front of him."

"We? The medical staff used it?!"

Her face burning, the nurse concentrated on making Virgil's bed.

He glared at her; needing to be angry at someone, but unwilling to take it out on someone who'd been just as shocked by Virgil's behaviour as he'd been.

He was side-tracked by a quiet, "How are you, Gordon?" from the doctor. "He hit you."

"Me?" Gordon touched the side of his face, feeling some tenderness. "Fine."

"Are you sure? Let me take a look…"

Gordon submitted to the briefest of examinations. "It was just a lucky strike."

"Lucky? You've got some bruising."

"I've had worse."

"Especially verbally. Are you sure you're okay? Virgil said a lot of nasty things to you."

"If I'd taken any notice of each time my brothers had said they'd hated me when we were kids, I'd be an insecure gibbering wreck." Gordon treated the doctor to cocky grin. "Instead of the wonderfully well-rounded guy I am… I'm fine." He looked down at the slumbering figure on the bed and lost his smile. "I just need to know that he's going to be okay." He sighed. "I guess I'd better report home. Are you ready to head over to the house, Butc…?"

But Butch had already gone.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Gordon had made his report to a stunned family and was lost for something to do. Deciding that a snack might improve his mood, he headed into the kitchen.

He met Lisa pouring three cups of coffee. "Gordon!"

"Hi."

She replaced the coffee pot on its stand and gave him a hug. "Happy birthday."

"It was this morning…" Gordon accepted her embrace. "Less so now."

"I know. Butch told me."

"How is he? He seemed pretty shaken up by the whole thing."

Lisa regarded her friend shrewdly. "It looks like he wasn't the only one. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm okay."

"I'm serious, Gordon."

"I know, but you've got enough to worry about. You don't need me adding to it."

"We don't mind. Virgil will tell you that we're good listeners. We helped him when he was at ACE and was going through a bad patch."

"I bet I know when that was," Gordon admitted. Then he shrugged. "Okay. They say that misery loves company. Maybe Butch and I can cheer each other up… That's if we don't depress each other even more."

He discovered that he wasn't the only one trying to cheer up Butch Crump when he got to their motel unit. "Hiya, Bruce."

"Hi, Gordon."

"Sit down," Lisa pulled a chair closer to the couch that was sagging under her husband's weight.

Gordon put the tray of coffee mugs onto the small table, handed one to Lisa after she'd sat down, took one for himself, and accepted the seat. He looked around the small room seeing two Valentines' cards decorating the dining table and one of Ginny's drawings – a picture of a big love heart with "Mama and Daddy" written on it – pinned to the wall. It was a reminder that today was supposed to be happy. "Where's Ginny?"

"She's made some friends at preschool. I thought that, with what I heard over at the hospital, it might be better if she went to play with one of them."

"Good plan." Gordon regarded Butch Crump. He'd never seen the big man look so downcast. It was almost as if he'd shrunk under the onslaught he'd received at the hospital. "Did you get the chance to hear what the researchers were saying, Butch? That wasn't Virgil talking. It was a side-effect."

"Side-effect?" Bruce frowned.

"They don't know why, or how, which is why they needed to take bl… the samples, but it's something that's happened to everyone who's had the treatment. Unfortunately for us, Virgil's reaction was the most violent of all." Gordon sat forward. "You realise that he didn't mean a word of what he said, Butch? He'll be mortified when he's back to normal and he realises exactly what he did."

Butch finally looked up and Gordon could see that his eyes were pink. The same shade as the marshmallow centre the former gang member hid under his tough exterior. "Then why' he say i'?"

"I don't know. The medicos don't know either. That's why they want to find out to stop it from happening to anyone else. Don't worry about what he said to you, Butch. He called me worse things before you got there. Then again," Gordon sat back and tried to look relaxed with a smile that didn't include his eyes. "He's had decades' worth of memories to draw on. After all the teasing and pranks I've done to him over the years, I probably deserved it."

"Gordon!" Lisa scolded. "That's not true."

"Bu' why'd he even think those thin's?" Butch asked. "He said I'm stupid. I'm no' stupid…" He looked at his wife with pleading eyes. "Am I?"

Lisa squeezed his hand. "No, Honey, you're not."

Gordon felt the need to reinforce her words. "I don't think so."

"Definitely not," Bruce confirmed.

"Then why'd he said i'?"

Lisa rubbed her husband's arm. "You heard what Gordon said. It wasn't Virgil talking."

"I' came ou' of his mouth."

"Erm… I have a theory," Bruce offered, "that might explain where Virgil got the idea of what to say."

Gordon sipped his coffee. "Shoot."

"First impressions."

Butch frowned at Bruce. "Whatcha mean?"

"I mean, think back to the first day that we met Virgil. He turned up at ACE, freshly graduated top of his class from the most prestigious school in the country, and waltzed straight into a job that was created for him; simply because his father was friends with Mr M. We all thought that he was going to be some stuck up, know-it-all, whizz kid who wouldn't pull his weight. We all figured that he probably had plenty of theoretical skills, but in reality, didn't know the head of a hammer from the handle. Do you remember?"

"I wasn't there that week," Lisa admitted. "But what Bruce just said was how you described him to me, Butch."

Butch gave a slow nod. "I 'member."

"None of us were friendly towards him," Bruce continued, "because we didn't trust him. And we didn't trust him because we didn't know him. Imagine what we would have been like if we'd known he was Jeff Tracy's son! And to cap it off we played a trick on him and wound up getting him a final warning on his first day. _I_ got him a final warning. If I'd been in the hospital room today I probably would have been some kind of arrogant, selfish…" Bruce tried to think of a suitable adjective. "I don't know what Virgil thought of me that day, but it wouldn't have been complimentary."

"It probably would have been something similar to what he called me," Gordon recollected. "I remember his first week. It was hard getting our shifts to coincide, but I was keen to hear how he was coping out in the real world. I called him from the bathyscaphe at the first opportunity I got. I could hear that he was trying to sound positive, and not quite making it."

Bruce turned to Butch. "Can you remember when he first met you?"

Now it was more than Butch's eyes that were pink. "No." He looked down.

"I can. I wanted to see what you were going to do and what his reaction would be. He'd been working so hard at trying to make a good impression for Mega that he didn't hear the morning tea bell go. He worked right through the break until you stopped him. You got right into his face."

Butch squirmed at the memories.

"All of a sudden he had this stranger, a man who was bigger than him, covered in tattoos, right inside his personal space. From what I could see of his expression, he got a heck of a fright. That was before you told him to stay away from Lisa." Bruce chuckled over Lisa's disapproving _Butch!_ "That's a heck of a first impression. The look on his face was nearly as priceless as the first time he met Lisa and discovered that the two of you were married. And…" It was Bruce's turn to look uncomfortable, "And he thought you were stupid, because I told him you were stupid." He looked down. "I'm sorry, Butch."

Now Butch looked surprised… And disappointed. "Ya did?"

"Yes. But that was my fault, because I'd never taken the time to get to know you better. I thought you were some dumb muscleman who'd only got the job because you had an extremely persuasive wife. It was only because of Virgil that I first made an effort to have a conversation with you. A _real_ conversation, not just something work-related like _pass the m8 x 65 zinc plated bolts_. Once I'd done that I discovered that I'd been wrong all those years and that you are intelligent and fun to be around."

"Oh." Butch looked shyly at the ground. "Thanks."

"But, until Virgil had the opportunity to talk to you, his first impressions were based on you threatening him and what I'd told him. That's what he remembered today."

"You've also got to remember, Honey," Lisa added, "that you tried to beat him up before he had the chance to get to know you."

Gordon's ears picked up. "Yeah? Virgil never told me this story."

Lisa smirked. "I'm sure he didn't." Leaving Gordon frustrated and making a mental note to ask a few questions when things had settled down, she turned back to her husband. "Remember what assumptions you made about him, before you knew him. Virgil did the same about you."

"Oh…" Butch squirmed again. "Yeah…"

"Thinking about it, you may be on to something, Bruce," Gordon agreed. "Only I think it's not only his first impressions of Butch that he was remembering, although they undoubtedly had an impact. I think he was remembering his life while he was at ACE."

"Watcha mean?"

"Before my accident, what he said about me, that I was arrogant, and selfish, and always had to be the centre of attention, were all true."

"Gordon!" Lisa scolded again.

"I'm facing facts. Remember how disrespectful I was to you and Butch?"

"You've apologised since then."

"Which, if my theory is correct, adds more credence to what I'm saying. According to Virgil today, I am nothing but a has-been Olympic champion who is still trying to relive my glory days. Alan said almost those exact words to me when he disowned the family. Virgil overheard him then and the memory must have stuck in his mind. I know I've never forgotten what Alan said nor the way he said them."

"He didn' mean i'," Butch insisted.

His eyes on his mug, Gordon managed a half chuckle. "He was right though." He sipped at his coffee. "Virgil's accident was at ACE. I'm no psychologist, but it kinda makes sense that the opinions that he dragged up today were those from when he worked there."

"But he didn't have those opinions when he left ACE," Bruce reminded him. "We were all friends and," he looked embarrassed. "And I remember him telling me how pleased he was that, after your accident, you reverted back to the same personality that you had before you won your medal."

"Maybe my accident was the cut-off point, because I was a physical link with his time at ACE and what's happened to him since?" Gordon shrugged. "It's only a theory, and it's probably a lame one… But it does tally with some of the things he said about our brothers… Although I've still got no idea what he was saying about John."

"It's a theory that makes sense," Bruce told him. "At least until we hear what the professionals have to say about it."

There was silence as each of them considered and analysed what had been said.

Gordon regarded Butch. Although less tense than he had been before, the big man still seemed downcast. "I know I've already said this, Butch, but thanks for your help back there."

Butch flushed slightly. "I didn' do nothin'."

"Yes, you did. I've seen many horrific things in my time, and the way Virgil's legs look at the moment rates right up there on the horror scale. When I first saw them, I wanted to run away. But you could see that there was something that needed doing and you did it. Despite all the blood on show…" Gordon wondered if he was going too far, but Butch, after a deep breath, held firm, "you got stuck in and stopped Virgil from hurting himself even more. You kept it together and kept him together. You're a hero."

"Hero?" Butch went even redder. "No, I'm no'."

"Yes, you are. Willingly getting involved in a situation that you know could lead to disaster for you, just so you can help someone else, is being a hero. Trust me. A member of International Rescue knows what he's talking about."

Lisa squeezed Butch's hand. "Gordon's right. From the little I heard, I knew that what was going on wasn't good. And I'm proud of the way you walked into that situation to help Virgil."

"Oh." A small smile played at the corner of Butch's lips. "Thanks."

They all gave him a moment to bask in the warmth of the compliments.

Gordon wished that someone could offer him the same morale boost. He scratched at an invisible spot on his jeans. "Do you know what I really find gut-wrenching about all this?"

His friends waited for him to enlighten them.

"Virgil was happy this morning. In fact, he was more than happy. He was excited that he'd actually stood on his own two legs and walked, so much so that I could feel it; it was like an electric current fizzing out of him. He'd done something momentous and he knew it. We both did." Gordon smiled at the memories. "I can remember what that was like: the joy… The… The _exhilaration_ of taking those first steps. I can remember the exhaustion… I can remember the emotional high…" The smile vanished. "And then his own body slammed him back down onto the Earth again. He wasn't allowed to enjoy the moment…" Gordon stared into his coffee. "Life can be cruel sometimes." He sipped his drink.

"Have you spoken to your family?" Lisa asked.

Gordon nodded. "Alan and Scott have gone to get John from Thunderbird Five. He and Alan were due to exchange duties tomorrow, but now the entire family's going to fly out to Bearston. They'll probably take Thunderbird Two as far as Barduq and then fly the Odonata here…" He set his coffee cup to one side. "I hope Virgil remains sedated until he's back to normal. Apart from the fact that I don't want to see anyone else in the family get yelled at, he wasn't being discreet about International Rescue. That was the biggest shock of all."

"What did he say?"

"That he didn't care about Thunderbird Two. That was when I knew that something was really wrong."

"Ah… You'll have to enlighten us, Gordon," Bruce reminded him. "We only know the bare minimum about International Rescue."

Gordon managed a wry grin. "Virgil's Thunderbird Two's pilot. I'm only filling in while he's out of action 'cos I'm his co-pilot. Normally he's so protective of her that no one else can get near her pilot's seat. Virgil saying that he doesn't care about Thunderbird Two is like Butch saying he doesn't care about Lisa."

"Who'll be flying Thunderbird Two today? Since both pilots are in Bearston."

"Scott's the back-up pilot." Then Gordon chuckled. "What am I saying? Scott's International Rescue's number one pilot. The only reason why he doesn't fly Thunderbird Two is because even he can't be in two planes at once."

"Is that your role in International Rescue?" Lisa asked. "As Thunderbird Two's co-pilot?"

"Nope." And Gordon's friends saw him swell in quiet pride. "Thunderbird Four's my baby."

"Th' subm'rine," Butch told the others.

"Give the man a prize," Gordon quipped. "John's the primary Space Monitor in Thunderbird Five and Thunderbird Three's Alan's."

"Wow…" Butch breathed. "Wish I coul' see 'em."

"One day," Gordon promised. "After what you've been through and how you've helped us all, you deserve it. And then maybe I'll be able to take you for a ride in Thunderbird Four. The problem is that I can't fly Thunderbird Two _and_ pilot Thunderbird Four at the same time. We're short-staffed without Virgil with us…"

_To be continued…_


	45. Chapter 45

Virgil slept a fitful, sedated sleep. Most of the time he was smothered by a world of uncomprehending blackness, but occasionally he would dream that the world would lighten and that eyes were watching him. Those staring, boring eyes were invariably associated with an ungovernable anger and a compelling need to rid himself of his alien limbs.

And then the darkness would return.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

When Virgil awoke, he saw a pair of bright blue, watchful eyes regarding him. But these eyes, rather than being a cue for self-destruction, represented hope and security.

"Sco'?" Virgil lifted his right hand to rub his face in an attempt to clear away the fog that had descended over him. His mind, feeling like it was wading through porridge, blocked the information that his hand refused to move. He closed his eyes and dozed briefly.

But he was awake to hear his brother's words. "Are you back with us, Virgil?"

"Where' I b'n?" Virgil opened his eyes.

Scott's expression was inscrutable, a sure sign to those who knew him that he was keeping his emotions well hidden from the world. "How are you feeling?"

'Dopey' was how Virgil was feeling as he dozed off again. The sedative that he'd been given was taking its time in releasing him from its deadening clutches. He dragged himself back to wakefulness as the porridge morphed into custard.

"Where…" He tried to lift his hand again. "Where'z Gord'n?"

Custard became his grandmother's thick chicken soup and Virgil suppressed a desire to request that some be poured into his intravenous bag, so that he could once again enjoy the panacea.

His mind registered that the hand wasn't moving anywhere.

Looking down he realised that not only his right, but his left hand was tethered to the bed by padded leather straps. Later he would discover that his legs had also been restrained by sheets wrapped in half around each limb, so he couldn't kick them against one another.

As the chicken soup thinned to weak tea, comprehension returned along with confusion. "Wha'…?" Virgil pulled against the leather restraints. "What' thiz for?"

Scott's reply was unemotional. "As a rule, the medical establishment frowns upon people trying to undo their handiwork."

Virgil tried to make sense of what had been said and his world around him. "Huh?"

"You tried to rip off your hand, Virgil."

"I did?!" Virgil attempted to look down at his recently resurrected hand. He was thwarted by the leather strapping and the fact that he was lying flat on the bed. Then the memories of the unrelenting anger and the need to be freed of his cyborg self returned. Dismayed, he allowed his head to flop back onto the pillow. "I did."

Scott looked across the bed and a doctor, taking this to be an unspoken invitation, moved closer. "Virgil…"

Virgil, unaware that she had been there, turned his head so he could see her.

"What happened to you, Virgil, is a side-effect of the surgical procedure you have undergone. We are still investigating, but it appears that there is a kind of physiological and associated psychological tipping point when the amount of polymer left in the body is reduced to less than half of the original amount. A kind of withdrawal."

Virgil stared at her. "Withdrawal?"

"Once that tipping point is reached the patient will experience aggressive behaviour and animosity towards the replacement tissue."

"Like trying to rip their hand off."

"In your case."

"Has it happened to other patients?"

"To a lesser degree."

"Will it happen to me again?"

"The other patients have only been affected once."

"I hope I'm like the other patients…" More memories came flooding back. "I kicked a nurse, didn't I? Is she okay?"

"She barely felt it. You don't have enough strength in your legs to do any real damage – to her or you."

"Did any of the other patients physically attack those around them?"

"No…" the doctor admitted. "But then no other patients have had the same amount of reconstructive surgery that you've had. Their symptoms weren't as intense. They were abusive, but not to the extent that you… that your withdrawal was expressed."

Virgil remembered some of that abuse. "Gordon! I was horrible to Gordon. Where is he?"

Scott looked up from where he'd been entering something into his cell phone. "Don't worry about Gordon."

"But I have to apologise to him!" Virgil fought against his restraints as he attempted to sit up. "I said horrible, cruel things to him! I've got to apologise!"

"Gordon knows it wasn't your fault," Scott soothed. "We've had it explained to us." He pocketed the phone.

"But I have to apologise."

"Calm down. You don't."

"I do! I was horrible to him!" Virgil continued to fight against the handcuffs. "Undo me, Scott!"

"If you don't settle down the medicos are going to think that you're still experiencing withdrawal symptoms and will knock you out again."

"I'm not!"

"I know you're not. Now, before we're interrupted, relax and tell me… Do you want one of us to stay with you?"

Virgil looked alarmed at his interpretation of the suggestion. He sagged back into the bed. "Stay?"

"Here."

"Here?"

"So you're not alone."

"Alone?"

If Scott felt aggrieved by the repetition of his words, he didn't show it. "Do you want one of the family to stay here in Bearston with you? You said that you felt abandoned."

"According to the doctor, I was going through some kind of withdrawal. I said a lot of things I didn't mean."

"But not everything you said was untrue, was it, Virgil? Do you need one of us to keep you company until you can leave the hospital?"

"I'd never ask you to stay. Work's too important."

"That didn't answer my question. Do you need at least one of us here, close by, full time?"

Virgil said nothing. If he spoke, he was sure that he'd give away the truth. That he was bored. That he was lonely. That all the time that he'd been in hospital alone, he'd desperately wanted the companionship of a family member, or at least the reassurance that one was close by. That what had just happened to him had driven home the fact that no one knew what was going to happen next and that that scared him.

But Scott could read him like a book. "It's been months! Why didn't you say something?"

_Don't say anything. Saying something might reveal everything._

His brother's lack of response was a waste of time when Scott didn't need to hear the words. "Right. I'm going to have a discussion with the old man and see if we can come up with a solution."

Virgil never discovered that Scott's "discussion" with Jeff had started with: _He's not to be left __ alone again!_

Gordon walked in through the door. He appeared composed, relaxed and happy, and Virgil didn't know that as soon as the family had received Scott's initial text message: _awake, coherent, normal_, he'd made a dash for the door of their home-away-from-home; not even stopping to read Scott's second, more personal, message: _He's asking for you_.

He hoped that Virgil wasn't aware of his slightly elevated breathing and heartrate after his dash down the road and through the hospital. "Miss me?"

"Gordon, I'm sorry," Virgil gabbled. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean any of what I said. I wish I could take it all back. I really am sorry. I was cruel and horrible and none of it was true. I didn't mean any of it. I'm sorry."

Gordon grinned. "Will you stop beating about the bush and tell me you're sorry?"

"I'm sorry, Gor…"

Gordon held up his hand to stop Virgil's monologue. "You don't have to apologise to me, Virg, because it wasn't your fault."

"But I slammed all your good intentions back into your face. I'm the one who should have felt privileged, because on the day where you could have gone anywhere, and done anything, and been with anyone you wanted, you chose to spend that day with me, in a stuffy hospital, in a place that can't have good memories for you. I ruined your birthday and I can't forgive myself for that."

"It was… different," Gordon admitted. "But you didn't ruin my birthday. I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend the morning."

"And you couldn't think of a worse way to spend the afternoon – being insulted and abused."

"Don't worry about it. If I had a dollar for every time one of you guys told me you hated me while we were growing up, I'd be as rich as Dad." Gordon could see that what he was saying wasn't appeasing his brother. "Relax, Virgil. None of what you said was you talking."

"It came out of my mouth."

"That's what Butch said."

"Butch!" Now Virgil looked even more horrified. "I forgot about Butch. I have to apologise to him."

"Ah… Yeah…" Gordon lost some of his good mood. "It probably won't hurt, even though he's been told it wasn't your fault. He has been quiet since it happened. I'm not sure if that's because he's still upset over what you said or if he's creeped out over having to hang onto your hand."

"My hand…" Virgil groaned. "I have to apologise to him!"

"And I'll go and get him once the rest of the family have had a chance to say hi," Gordon offered.

"Rest of the family?" Virgil was mortified. "They're here?"

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

Virgil had an irresistible urge to hide beneath the bedclothes, but his restraints wouldn't let him. "Don't let them see me like this! Please…" He turned to the doctor. "Untie me."

Scott had already begun undoing the straps on his side of the bed. "You don't need to worry about them seeing you, Virg."

Virgil's head snapped back around to his brother. "I don't? Why?"

"They already have."

"What?"

"We've all taken turns at keeping an eye on you over the last three days."

"Three days?!" Finally freed of the leather restraints, Virgil used his right hand to rub his left wrist as he stared at his elder brother.

"You've been sedated for three days… Aside from when they let the sedative wear off, so you could wake up. As soon as you showed signs that you were still trying to maim yourself they'd sedate you again."

"Three days…" Virgil looked at the cloth bandages that hid his left hand. "What did I do?"

"It's not as bad as it looks," the doctor reassured him. "They're only scratches, but we didn't want to risk putting adhesive bandages on your new skin, so we've used gauze pads and roll bandages instead. "Your hand's healing well, so we should be able to remove the bandages tomorrow morning… Do you want to sit up?"

"Yes, please." Virgil used the time it took for the head of his bed to be raised to think. "I can remember abusing Gordon… and Butch… And kicking at the nurse… And…" He indicated a slight discolouration to Gordon's cheek. "Did I do that?"

"Yep." Gordon grinned. "You scored a lucky shot. If both of my hands hadn't been occupied doing something else, you wouldn't have got near me."

"I _hit_ you?"

"It was a love tap, nothing more. I'm just glad that you'd forgotten that I keep my pocket knife in my pocket," Gordon admitted. "If you'd got your hands on that, I hate to think what you would have done to yourself."

"I think I did remember. It was like my mind was compartmentalised into two. One part, the aggressive part, wanted to hurt you, me, and everything else. The other part was wondering what the heck was going on."

"Hmmn." The doctor made a note. "That's interesting."

Virgil, wanting to know everything before the rest of his family turned up, so he had time to prepare himself for any recriminations, ignored her. "What else did I do?"

"Not a lot," Gordon told him. "You were never given the chance. First sign of any aggression and you were sung a chemical lullaby."

"_Not a lot_ is not the same as nothing," Virgil reminded him. "What did I do?"

"You didn't _do_ anything," Scott told him. "You did manage to say one or two things though."

Virgil felt his stomach give a lurch. If he hadn't been concerned about what he was going to be told, he might have been pleased to feel the sensation. "What did I say. And to who?"

"Apparently," and Gordon laughed, "Dad's a _megalo-manacle tyrant_." He turned to Scott. "Is megalo-manacle a word?"

For the first time Scott's impassive expression showed signs of relaxing. "It made the point."

Virgil groaned. "He must be furious with me."

"He's not," Gordon reassured him. "He would have found it funny if he'd known that you were going to be okay."

"Did I abuse anyone else?" Virgil missed the warning glance that passed from Scott to Gordon.

"Nothing major," the latter stated.

"Are you sure?"

Scott pointed to where his brother was absentmindedly plucking at his hand's bandages. "Virgil…"

Suddenly aware of what he was doing and how it could be interpreted, Virgil sat on his right hand.

The door opened, and a group of people streamed inside. Seeing who they were, Scott and Gordon stood back to allow their family closer access to the bed.

"Are you going to tell him?" Gordon whispered.

"No."

"Probably wise."

"Virgil!" Grandma hurried over to her grandson.

Virgil accepted and returned her comforting hug. "I'm sorry, Grandma."

"Whatever for?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know. I just have a feeling that I should be apologising to all of you." He looked around the family group; trying to hold everyone's eye; trying to work out who felt the need for a more personal apology. John, he noted, seemed the least able to hold his gaze.

"You don't need to apologise," their father growled. "So long as you're all right."

Virgil shrugged again. "I think I am. I don't remember anything after the initial episode… I, erm… I hope I didn't say anything I shouldn't?"

"Lots of stuff." Alan pulled up a chair and chuckled at his brother's pained expression. "Like what?"

"Like…" Virgil was acutely aware that the doctor was still present. "Family secrets?"

"Aside from casting doubts about my parentage, nothing," Gordon reassured him, and winked at their father.

"What!?" Virgil looked startled.

"Don't worry about it…" Gordon grinned. "I'll head back over the road and let everyone know you're all right. Shall I tell Butch you'll want to see him later?"

"Please. Tell him I need to apologise to him in person… And Gordon!"

Gordon, almost at the door, turned back. "What?"

"In the morning – At the pool – That was real…" Virgil was desperate to make his brother believe. "That was me."

Gordon took a moment to consider what he was being told. Then he smiled. "You and me both, Virgil."

His return to their home-away-from-home was made at a slower speed than his departure. He hadn't admitted it to anyone, but Virgil's words of abuse had hurt. Whoever had dreamt up the idiom _sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me_, had never had a brother call him names calculated to do just that.

His visit with the Crumps and Bruce had done little to soothe his pain. He may have done his best to buck Butch up, but it was only now, after Virgil's almost never-ending apologies, that he felt free of what had become a semi-permanent knot in his gut.

On the off chance that someone he needed to see was making use of the communal facilities, he cut through the main house.

The lounge was empty, so he continued out the back door and stopped outside the Crumps' unit. He knocked.

The door was almost ripped off its hinges.

"Gordon," Lisa greeted him. "Come in."

"Thanks." Gordon stepped across the threshold and into a feeling of déjà vu. "Hiya, Bruce. Butch."

Three days ago, Bruce had been sitting in the chair that he was sitting in now. Three days ago, Butch had collapsed on the maltreated couch that appeared to be sagging even more. Three days ago, Lisa had pulled up a chair for their visitor before reclining in her own seat. Three days ago, the Valentines' cards had sat on the table and the loving picture had been pinned to the wall.

Three days ago, Gordon had sat here and talked until he'd heard a vague buzzing noise followed a short time later by the sound of familiar voices. He'd stepped out of the Crumps' unit and into a swarm of Tracys.

"How is he?" Jeff had asked.

Gordon had shrugged. "Sedated. The doctor said he'll be out of it for a few hours yet."

"Do you feel like telling us what happened?"

Gordon would have rather not relived that hour. If nothing else, he didn't want to risk anyone in his family being mad at his brother or accusing him of disloyalty, when he was sure that none of it was Virgil's fault. "Okay."

"We'll have a debriefing in Virgil's room. We won't be disturbed in there."

Gordon had tried to give an honest recollection of his memories. He started out by remembering the high points; Virgil's enthusiastic desire to walk; his own attempts to rein that desire in; the excitement and elation when those first four steps were made; and the emotional realisation that they were finally seeing real progress in Virgil's rehabilitation.

Then it was time to remember the early afternoon.

Gordon had started off by telling them that he'd just left the Crumps and Bruce, and detailed the theories that had been put forward as an explanation as to why Virgil had used the words he'd said.

The Tracys had waited to hear what those words were.

Gordon had begun his recollections unemotionally, as if he was telling his family about a TV programme that he'd watched earlier that day. He'd debated whether he should reveal everything, and then decided that if he didn't tell his brothers what Virgil had said, then it might cause problems should it be revealed at a later date.

John had looked especially discomforted at what had been said about him.

Alan had frowned.

Scott had looked inscrutable.

Gordon had told them how Virgil had stated clearly and loudly that he didn't care about Thunderbird Two, and the shock he'd felt at that revelation.

He, unable to look his family in the eye, had repeated Virgil's belief that they all cared more about International Rescue than they did about him.

He had told them that Virgil had shown no appreciation of the joke that he, Gordon, had made when Virgil had been trapped; adding that he could understand Virgil's reaction and that he wasn't sure that he wouldn't have felt the same way himself. John had reached out to comfort him.

He had told them all that Virgil considered himself to be a freak, and revealed that the medical staff's nickname for their patient had been "Frank and Stein's monster". A phrase that had had Grandma snorting in angry indignation.

He had told the family how Virgil had hated himself and what he'd become, and how he had been determined to remove every trace of the "monster".

He had described Virgil's "cyborg" legs and how he'd had to physically restrain his brother from walking on them.

He, doing his best to not reveal how the words had hurt, had detailed each and every slanderous thing said against him, censoring a few of the baser phrases to protect Grandma's sensibilities.

He had detailed Butch's unexpected, but welcome, arrival and Virgil's taunts.

He had told his family about the relief when Virgil had finally stopped fighting against him, and then his building anger when he finally had time to consider what had and hadn't been said.

He had finished speaking and there had been silence.

No one had said much as they'd filed out of the room. That was until Grandma had said: "Come with me, Gordon," and had led him to the stairs. Then she'd stood on the bottom tread and had pulled him into an embrace that he'd discovered was the tonic he'd needed. No one had commented as he'd clung to his grandmother and felt the knot between his shoulder blades that had settled there since he'd had to hold Virgil down dissipate.

But the knot in his gut had remained.

That was three days ago, and now all the knots of tension had gone.

Gordon sat in the seat that Lisa had pulled forward for him. "Where's Ginny?"

"Playing with her friends," Lisa told him. "How's Virgil?"

Gordon smiled. "Got a major attack of the guilts. Once he'd done almost everything except disembowel himself to try to make it up to me, he begged me to come over here and say that he's sorry. If he thought he could make it he'd drag himself over here, so he could apologise in person. But as he can't, he's hoping that you'll go over and see him soon, Butch."

"We will go," Lisa promised. "Right, Butch?"

Butch launched himself from the couch. "'ll make coffee."

Frowning, Lisa moved her legs so her husband could get past. "Should we go over now?"

"I'd leave it a bit," Gordon advised. "The family's only just arrived at the hospital, so we'll have to give Virgil time to get the need to apologise to each and every one of them out of his system." He checked his watch. "This evening's visiting hours should be soon enough."

"Did he say anything about how or why he thought up what he said?" Bruce asked.

"No. And I didn't want to ask him. We'll leave that a few days until he's had a chance to come to terms with everything. One thing he did say was that he felt that he was split into two. One half was observing the other's actions and couldn't do anything to stop it… Not so much Frank and Stein's monster as Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde."

"Huh?" Bruce stared at Gordon. "What and what?" He accepted the mug of coffee that was handed to him. "Thanks, Butch."

With a "thanks" Gordon accepted a mug of his own. "Forget I said it," he advised. "Virgil found it hurtful and I don't want him hurt again."

"Okay." Bruce looked at Lisa, who shrugged.

Butch collapsed back onto the couch.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"How many steps are you going to take today?" Gordon asked. "Five? Six?"

Virgil shrugged as the wheelchair approached the door to the pool therapy room. "I don't know. I've had four days with no exercise and I might not even be able to walk as many as I did originally."

"With the audience you've got today, you'll probably do forty. Just to show off."

Virgil chuckled. "You'll be in the pool with me?"

"Me? Miss out on the opportunity to spend time in a pool? What do you think?"

Virgil chuckled again as the automatic doors swung open. The orderly pushed him into the room; parking the wheelchair next to the swing seat and applying the brakes.

Gordon stripped off and dove into the pool. He swum underwater for a distance before surfacing next to the small crowd seated along the edge. "Ready for a treat?"

His father smiled. "Of course we're ready. We've been waiting for this for months."

"Well don't expect miracles. He hasn't had a lot of exercise over the last few days."

"Gordon…" Scott was using his exaggerated patience voice, "Virgil having the legs to stand on _is_ a miracle."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "Anything else is a bonus."

John nodded. "And after all this time, and all he's been through, I'll be happy to simply to see him upright."

"Okay." Gordon grinned. "But leave the throwing of bouquets until after the show's over." Slipping back under the water he surfaced next to the descending swing seat. "Your audience is ready for some action."

Virgil's feet touched the water. "I only hope they're not expecting miracles."

"Nah. Why would they do that? You've only survived being crushed under a concrete beam, lost both your legs, and you're about to step out on a new pair. What's so miraculous about that?"

Happy within himself, with what he was about to do, and that his family were there to see him do it, Virgil laughed.

He was no laughter and all concentration when he stood in the pool, both of this hands resting on Gordon's shoulders, and prepared to take the first step.

Gordon looked him in the eye. "Ready?"

Virgil nodded. "I'm ready."

"Good. Take your time and I'll follow your lead."

"Right. Dad leg first?"

"Dad leg first."

Virgil rocked himself to the left. He lifted his right leg, swung it forward, placed it firmly on the floor of the pool, shifted all his weight onto it (with a little bit on Gordon's shoulders for stability), and drew his left leg up, planted that leg solidly on the ground, and stopped. "Brichil leg now."

"Brichil leg it is."

Virgil walked through a mirror image of his first step and brought himself to a standstill. He looked over at his family.

Each of them were grinning broadly. Scott saw his glance and gave him a thumbs up.

Virgil grinned back.

Then he straightened and prepared himself for the next step. "Dad leg."

"I'm not stopping you."

But this time, instead of bracing his Dad leg and taking a moment to regain his balance, Virgil put his weight onto it and swung his Brichil leg forward, managing to combine two steps into one smooth motion. "I did it! I walked!"

"You did!" Gordon beamed at him. "Again, or do you want to turn around?"

"Again."

"Let's do it."

They did it.

To the accompaniments of cheers, whistles, and applause from his audience, Virgil completed his trek out, turned with the assistance of Gordon and the physio, and then walked the six steps back to home base without stopping. Utterly exhausted, he allowed the swing seat to lift him out of the pool, and the orderlies assist him into a dry robe and then his wheelchair.

He barely had a chance to settle before he was wrapped up in an ecstatic hug. "I'm so proud of you, Virgil!"

"Thanks, Grandma." Despite his exhaustion, Virgil couldn't keep the happy smile off his face as he accepted the congratulations from the rest of his family. Everyone was in high spirits as he was escorted back to his room.

Where he fell asleep as soon as he was placed in his bed.

_To be continued…_


	46. Chapter 46

Jeff decided that he could run International Rescue and do Tracy Industries' work equally well from the home-away-from-home and was a regular visitor to the hospital. His able-bodied sons visited whenever their International Rescue duties allowed them, and Grandma split her time between watching over her boys at Tracy Island and Bearston.

Virgil's progress continued from strength to strength. Every day he walked further; at first in the pool and then suspended by a harness between two supporting beams on dry land. His legs weren't yet strong enough to support his weight, but at least he was getting some mobility.

He was able to play trickier and trickier musical pieces.

He was reintroduced to liquids and then solid foods.

He was getting better.

There was only one dark spot in his brightening world.

Lisa and Ginny had visited the evening of his triumphant walk in front of his family. Butch, Lisa had explained as she'd ferreted through her bag for things to keep Ginny occupied, wasn't feeling well and had decided to stay at home.

Virgil had accepted this. Gordon had said that his friend had been quiet over the three previous days and Virgil supposed that helping in a preschool meant that Butch had been exposed to some kind of infectious bug. He told himself that as soon as Butch was feeling better, he'd visit, and then Virgil would finally have the opportunity to apologise face-to-face.

But one day without a visit became one week.

One week became two.

Two weeks became a month and more.

Virgil was regularly visited by Jeff, by Bruce, by Olivia, by Hamish and Edna, by Greg and Mavis, by Mr Watts, by Winston and Rex, by Freddy and his family, by Lisa and by Ginny. The rest of the Tracys, Brains, Lady Penelope and Parker, and the Kyranos visited whenever they could.

But he never saw Butch.

He grew stronger. Strong enough to attempt a wider variety of upper body and leg exercises. Strong enough that he felt relaxed when his father left Bearston to travel to other States to visit companies under the Tracy Industries' banner. Strong enough that he wasn't confined to his bed and could find his way around the hospital and its grounds alone with the assistance of a motorised hoverchair.

But the increased freedom didn't necessarily equate to reduced boredom, and it didn't take away the ever-nagging knowledge that Butch was avoiding him…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

Virgil was sitting, fully clothed, in his hoverchair, in his room. He had nothing to do. He'd finished his morning exercises – one hundred steps supported by the harness; it wasn't lunchtime; and he couldn't expect any visitors until visiting time this afternoon.

He was bored.

Bored enough to feel a little rebellious.

He sat in his hoverchair and considered his options.

The rebel decided that it was time he did something and hang the consequences. He'd waited too long and now was the time for action.

His hoverchair required no obvious input to get it moving. A slight lean forward and he was propelled in the same direction. A tiny movement to the right and the hoverchair would turn the same way. The physio department encouraged him to explore, knowing that those movements were strengthening his core muscles and aiding his progress. But exploring wasn't supposed to include venturing beyond the hospital's boundaries.

Virgil justified his actions by telling himself that he was going to give himself a good workout.

Deciding that however rebellious he was feeling, he wasn't foolhardy, he made some preparations. He still wore the band on his right wrist that monitored his every waking moment and sent that information to the robotic nurse; but he wasn't sure if that included knowledge of his whereabouts. Ensuring that the GPS function on his phone was turned on, the phone was in his pocket, and the computer was recording the resulting output should anyone feel a need to find him, he turned towards the door, leant forward, and began what was going to be, for him, an epic journey.

No one took any notice when he rolled through the foyer and down the ramp outside. It was a trip he'd taken many times before, and no one thought anything of it. He didn't stop to think what the medical staff would say if they knew his plans.

Virgil ignored the garden with its paintable scenes and the maintenance sheds with the arrays of tools and machines waiting to be repaired. Instead he headed for the front gate.

He reached the threshold and hesitated. It wasn't in his nature to do anything "naughty" without a valid reason, and leaving the hospital grounds without getting anyone's approval was definitely in that category. But didn't he have a valid reason this time?

He let the rebel take command and tell himself that he was a grown man, that he was in a free country, and that so long as he didn't do anything really stupid, he wasn't hurting himself or anyone else.

He leant forward and the hoverchair left the hospital grounds. Fully expecting to be caught as he waited at the pedestrian crossing, he watched the traffic glide past, but no one spoke to him. The lights changed, he traversed the guiding white lines, turned left, and was free.

Virgil knew where he wanted to go, but he hadn't gone too far when he realised there was a major flaw in his plan. He didn't know where he was going. The last time he'd made this trip; the _only_ time he'd made this trip; he'd been in an ambulance with windows that had prevented him from seeing outside.

He knew that his goal was about 150 metres from the hospital and that the place had originally been hidden behind an overgrown wilderness. That was until the Skulz had paid a visit. Since then a tall, hopefully impenetrable, wall had been built around the property.

Virgil found a likely candidate.

He also found a problem.

It wasn't an ugly wall, as walls went, but it appeared to have been designed with one thing in mind; to keep those outside out. And in order to keep undesirables such as the Skulz and the press away from the Tracys and ACE, the imposing gates to the property had been sealed.

And the only one of the Tracys who'd never been given the key to this fortress was Virgil.

There was an intercom so that visitors could request admission, but Virgil was reluctant to use it. If he'd known he'd be talking to one of the Crumps or Bruce, he wouldn't have hesitated. But if he spoke to Hamish or Edna Mickelson, he was pretty sure that their next conversation would be with his father.

And Virgil wasn't feeling that rebellious that he was willing to face an angry Jeff Tracy.

Despite that hurdle, he wasn't about to give up. Riding the hoverchair along the length of the wall he considered his situation.

He heard what sounded like a sob.

And then another.

Curious, he backed his hoverchair further down the road until he could see behind a small bush that softened the wall's lines. "Virginia?"

The small girl clutching a well-loved rabbit toy lifted her tearstained face from where it had been buried into her dirty knees. Seeing the man in the strange levitating chair, she tried to hide further behind the bush.

Realising that she didn't recognise him out of his hospital gown and away from the familiarity of his room, he smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's me, Virginia. Uncle Virgil."

For a moment it seemed that she didn't believe him. Then she sniffed. "Ungle Virchil?"

"Yes. Where's your mama and daddy?"

"At home."

Virgil wondered which home. Then he decided that the seven months since the earthquake would have seemed like a lifetime to the little girl. "Why are you here?"

"Went 'sploring."

"Ah. I've gone exploring too. Does anyone know where you are?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Me neither. So, we've both gone AWOL, have we?"

Ginny frowned.

"How did you get out here?"

"I pushed the plate."

"Pushed the plate? You mean pressed your hand against the palm reader?"

Ginny nodded. "Uncle Gordon showed me how."

"Uncle Gordon would." Virgil, imagining the delight his brother would have taken in programming the security system so that Ginny could use it, shook his head in exasperation. "Isn't it time you went home?"

This question heralded a wave of fresh tears. "Can'."

"You can't go home? Why not?"

There was a huge sniff and Virgil wished he had some tissues with him. "Can't reach the plate."

"Ah." He looked over to where the palm reader was situated, well above a four-year-old's reach. "It's nearly lunchtime, and you must be hungry. Do you want me to help you?" He had expected Ginny to reply in the affirmative, but instead she shrank back into the bush.

"Don't you want to go home and have something to eat?"

With a shake of her head, Ginny mumbled something into Mr Bunny.

"Sorry, Honey," Virgil apologised. "I didn't understand what you said."

"Mama and Daddy are shouting at each other. Don't like it."

"Shouting?" Virgil frowned. In all the time he'd known Butch and Lisa he couldn't remember them ever raising their voices to one another. The only time that he'd known Lisa to be mad with her husband, she'd been that furious that she'd been almost frighteningly quiet. He wondered how much he should ask. "Do they often shout at each other?"

"Lots." Ginny sniffed. "Then Mama tells Daddy she do'sn't love him anymore."

Virgil went cold. He told himself that this had to be the overactive imagination of a creative child. "I'm sure she doesn't."

"She does. An' Daddy says he don't care."

"Oh, Virginia…" Virgil wondered what he should do and say. "I'm sure that's not true. Grown-ups say things they don't mean when they're angry. Including telling people that they care about that they don't love them anymore."

"Why?"

Why indeed? Virgil was pretty sure that whatever the Crumps' problem was, it wasn't a side-effect of a polymer withdrawal. "Once, when I was a little older than you, our next-door neighbour bought a shiny new tractor. It was all gleaming red and yellow, and had all these fascinating attachments on it. I wanted to have a close look at it, so one day, when no one was watching me, I snuck next door."

Ginny gave a sniff. "Was it a nice tractor?"

"I thought so. It had bits that went up and down and round and round and I wanted to know what they all did. I decided that if this bit went up and down, then it must be used for hammering stuff into the ground. And that the bits that went round and round must have been used for pulling stuff closer. What I didn't know was that while I was enjoying myself the neighbour had to drive away in a hurry. To keep his tractor safe, he had locked the door to the shed. When I was ready to go home, I discovered that I couldn't get out."

"Whatcha do?"

"There wasn't much I could do except wait; getting colder and hungrier. What I didn't know was that my daddy was looking everywhere for me. He got so worried that he asked my grandma to help find me. And then he asked some friends of his to help find me; and pretty soon almost the entire town was searching for me. When the neighbour came home, he found me. He took me home to my daddy."

"Did your daddy shout at you?"

"Yes, he did," Virgil recollected. "But that was because all the time that I'd been missing he'd been scared that I'd been hurt or that something bad had happened to me. Grown-ups don't like showing children that they are scared, so they shout instead."

Ginny considered this. "Will Daddy shout at me?"

"I think he probably will. And your mama might too. But it's because they love you, and they don't want to see you get hurt, and they don't like being scared."

"Did your mama shout at you?"

"Erm…" Virgil reflected back to that time. He didn't want to frighten Ginny even more with the harsh realities of life. "No. She wasn't there."

Ginny gave a slow nod of understanding. "Have you been scareded?"

"Many times, Virginia." Virgil managed a wry grin. "Many times."

Ginny stroked Mr Bunny's ears and sniffed, while Virgil considered what they should do next. He couldn't activate the palm reader, Ginny couldn't reach it, and he didn't want either of them alerting people who didn't need to know of their presence. He hoped that no one became suspicious about the strange man talking to the little girl and called someone in authority, blowing the whole situation out of proportion.

A solution came to him. "Are you ready to go back home?"

"Don't want Mama and Daddy shouting at me."

"I know, but the longer you're away the more they'll shout at you. It's better to get it over and done with. And then you can have your lunch."

Her stomach overcoming her misgivings, Ginny stood.

Virgil lowered the hoverchair to the ground. "Can you climb up here, onto the seat next to me? Mr Bunny's light enough that he can sit on my knee, but my legs are still too sore to hold a big girl like you."

"When will your legs get better?"

"Soon, I hope … If you stand on the seat you might be tall enough to press the plate."

Ginny gave her comforting companion to her honorary uncle. Virgil took Mr Bunny and sat him on his lap and then reached out to the little girl. Unaware of one of his hands' gruesome past, Ginny clung to them both and pulled herself up onto his chair. She put a steadying arm about his neck.

Supporting her so that she couldn't fall backwards, Virgil smiled. "Ready to fly?"

He was rewarded with a small giggle.

"Up we go…" Virgil activated the 'chair's hover function, and Ginny's giggles grew louder. Those giggles increased as they glided over to the locking mechanism. "Can you press the plate?"

The gate swung open…

-F-A-B-

In the communal area of the Tracys' home-away-from-home digital plans were spread out on the large dining table. Around them Hamish Mickelson, Max Watts, Greg Harrison, Olivia Annan, and Winston Patterson were joined, via video conferencing, by some other members of ACE, Jeff Tracy, and the architects charged with rebuilding the complex.

Mickelson looked at his watch. "Where are Butch and Lisa? They knew what time we were going to start."

"Ginny was hiding from them," Winston offered. "They're probably still trying to find her."

"Probably arguing over the best place to look," Watts growled and received a warning frown from his immediate superior.

"I think we'd better make a start," Mickelson suggested.

"Agreed," Jeff responded. "We'll concentrate on the CAD section until they get here. Do you have any thoughts on the department's layout, Mr Patterson?"

"Definitely." Winston gave an emphatic nod that could have been one of Ginny's. "First and foremost being that it is built on ground level."

Jeff gave a grim smile. "That's a given. With isolating dampeners protecting it from any earth movement."

Computer Aided Design not being his area of interest, Greg looked away from where he'd been studying the plans in time to see a head glide almost like magic past the windows. "What was that?"

Max Watts was equally mystified. He went to stand so he could peer out the window, and then remembered that this was a company meeting and that his boss, Jeff Tracy, was 'present'.

He sat down again.

-F-A-B-

This was the first real opportunity that Virgil had had to see the house, but he concentrated on making sure that Ginny didn't fall as they bypassed the large, imposing building. As they drew closer to the motel units at the rear, they could hear voices.

Raised voices.

Virgil felt Ginny shrink into him as Lisa screamed. "This is all your fault, Butch Crump!"

"My faul'? Ya're th' one who was gonna take her t' her friends!" Butch's bellow was just as loud, and Virgil could feel Ginny trembling.

"Why is it always me? You could do something constructive for once!"

"C'nstructive? I was gonna help ACE plan the fact'ry!"

"So was I. But I can't now, can I? I've got to find Ginny! I can't leave _you_ to do it." There was bitterness, and Virgil could almost hear hatred, in Lisa's yells.

Ginny buried her face into her honorary uncle's shoulder. "Don' wanna go back."

Virgil stopped the hoverchair and stroked her hair. "You have to, Honey. It's because they're worried about you that they're shouting."

"They' always shoutin'."

"I know. You said." Virgil took a breath, one that he hoped was deep enough to stabilise the both of them, and leant forward. The hoverchair rounded the corner.

"Ginny!"

Lisa rushed forward, sweeping her daughter off the 'chair and into her arms. "Where have you been?"

"She managed to open the gate," Virgil told her. "It looks like the gardener's left his bags of clippings leaning against the fence and she was able to climb up them to the palm reader."

Lisa suddenly realised who had been Ginny's taxi. "Virgil?"

"Yeah." He gave what he hoped was a light-hearted chuckle. "To the rescue again." He looked past the two Crump ladies. "Hi, Butch."

Butch Crump had an expression as if he was caught between a crashing aeroplane and a crushing furnace and didn't know which way to run. With a mumbled "Hi," he looked away.

"Oh, _you_!" Lisa spun on him. "Can't you at least be civil to him? He _is_ your friend! _And_ he brought Ginny home safely."

"Yeah." Butch flapped a hand, but didn't look in Virgil's direction. "Thank'."

Virgil could feel that the negative undercurrent was not only between the Crumps. "I still owe you an apology, Butch."

Butch didn't respond, causing Lisa to glare at him.

Having waited weeks for this opportunity, Virgil discovered that, now that the time had arrived, the words he'd planned and rehearsed felt like they were the wrong things to say. "I guess you've been busy. Father told me you were helping plan the new and improved ACE."

"We were supposed to be in a meeting doing that now," Lisa said. "But then Ginny went missing and…" Those watching saw her face crumple before she buried it into her little girl's hair.

Virgil realised that he still had Mr Bunny on his lap. "Virginia will want this." He held the soft toy out to Butch.

Butch hesitated and then, with a "give it t' her then," he stalked away into his unit.

Virgil watched him go. He then realised that he wasn't the only person who'd observed the big man's exit. "Hi, Bruce."

"Hi, Virgil… erm… Should you be out of hospital?"

Now Virgil had something tangible to feel uncomfortable about. "No."

"Uncle Virgil said we're a whale," Ginny offered.

"What?" Red eyed, Lisa stared at her hoverchair-bound friend.

He managed a chuckle. "She means AWOL." He held the toy rabbit up to Ginny, who took it with a shy grin. "I was like Virginia. I needed to escape. I'm fed up with hospitals and she doesn't like shouting."

Lisa started. "Shouting?"

"Is everything okay?"

Lisa hesitated. Then with an obviously false smile, she nodded. "Everything's fine."

"Will your daddy shout at you, Uncle Virgil?" Ginny asked.

Looking past the two Crumps, Virgil saw Hamish Mickelson exit the building. The older man was staring at him as he talked into his phone. "I think there's a strong possibility that he will."

Bruce stepped closer. "Come on, Virgil. I'll escort you back before you get into more trouble."

"Thanks… But shouldn't you be at the planning meeting?"

"Uh… No." Bruce didn't offer any more as, with a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, he encouraged him to glide down the driveway.

They reached the end. "Guess I should do something to block Ginny's escape route." Bruce hefted the bags away from the wall, propping them against a sturdy tree. Then he pressed his hand against the palm reader. Something, not much bigger than a small bird, detached itself from the wall and hummed behind him. "I suppose we ought to programme you into this."

"That's if I'm ever allowed out of the hospital again. They'll probably chain me back to the bed to stop me escaping." Virgil pointed at the flying object humming at Bruce's shoulder. "What's that?"

"That?" Bruce flipped his hand at the gizmo, and it ducked out of his way. "That's my guard sparrow."

"Guard sparrow?"

"Yeah. Your father arranged it. The leader of the Skulz threatened to get me as revenge and this is supposed to stop them."

Virgil knew all about the fight, principally because seven months ago John had filled his many hours of waiting by writing up each and every event that had befallen the Tracys. This text he'd presented to Virgil in a kind of e-reader that he'd jokingly called the "MI-book", saying that if someone unauthorised tried to access it, it would self-destruct in five seconds. With the text hidden behind several passwords and other security features, it was highly unlikely that the MI-book would need to emulate the cassette tapes of the old _Mission Impossible_ TV series.

Even now, the MI-book would self-update with details of International Rescue's latest mission.

Although Virgil had read every record from seven months ago, he had never read these later stories.

He regarded the "guard sparrow". "How does it work?"

"I'm not one hundred percent sure. I know that it's got 360-degree video and GPS, to keep track of me and everything that goes on around me. I think it can also spray something to dissuade would be attackers. As soon as I walk through this gate, it buzzes after me. When I'm somewhere where I don't want it bothering me, I stick it into my pocket. That's switches off the videoing and sound recording functions."

"I'm glad you're being kept safe."

"I wish it wasn't necessary. Still…" Bruce stepped out. "Better than having some big ugly guy tailing me."

"I guess so."

Together they left the property and turned onto the path leading to the hospital.

Virgil bit his lip. "What's going on, Bruce? Lisa and Butch sounded like they really hated each other. And Virginia said they're always shouting at each other. That was why she ran away."

"It's the earthquake."

"The earthquake?"

They were almost at the pedestrian crossing before Bruce enlarged on his response. "Remember what Butch and Lisa used to be like together. The four of us would be out and then those two would get into a clinch that was embarrassing."

"I remember. I never knew which way to look."

"They're not like that now. It's like they can't agree on anything. Butch wants to return home. He wants to get their house fixed up, so that when ACE is operational again, they can step straight back into work with no other concerns. Lisa doesn't want to leave. Ginny's settled here and they're well away from the aftershocks."

The lights changed, and they began to cross the road, the guard sparrow trailing behind Bruce. "I've even heard Mr and Mrs M yelling at each other."

"What?!" Hearing this, Virgil sat up straight in disbelief; stopping his hoverchair dead still in the middle of the pedestrian crossing.

Bruce, a couple of steps ahead, stopped and turned back, waving aside the guard sparrow as it made a sharp U-turn. "Have you broken down?"

"What? Oh." Virgil glanced at the waiting traffic, leant forward, and the hoverchair moved again. "Auntie Edna and Uncle Hamish?"

"I try not to listen, but the walls of that place aren't that soundproof. Mrs M accused Mr M of thinking more of ACE than her." Bruce shrugged. "Greg and Mavis seem to be holding it together, but they've spent a lot of time at their kids' places. Now that Greg's involved in rebuilding ACE…" He didn't enunciate his thoughts. "I think that planning their wedding is giving Winston and Rex a focus, so they don't have the time to argue."

The pair of them turned into the hospital grounds.

Virgil frowned at the complex before him, without seeing it. "Father's never said he's heard anything."

"Do you think he'd tell you anything that would be likely to upset you?"

"No…"

"And…" Bruce paused. "I don't know that he knows. Everyone's been very careful not to have their, erm, discussions in public."

"Lisa and Butch were very public today."

"They were worried about Ginny."

"Can we do anything?"

"Just concentrate on getting better, Virgil. We need some good news."

They reached the ramp leading into the hospital building and Virgil stopped. "You don't need to come in, Bruce. No point us both getting into trouble."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It's not visiting hours anyway. Will I see you soon?"

"Tomorrow…" Bruce lowered his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I, erm, start my new job on Monday."

Virgil's jaw dropped. "New job?"

"Yeah." Finding the concrete easier to look at, Bruce nodded. "It's an engineering firm in an industrial estate about ten minutes away. I only hope their initiation practises don't include sending me headfirst down a conveyor belt."

Virgil chuckled; but he wasn't feeling happy.

"I figured that now that my home's been condemned, I may as well stay in Bearston."

"But what about ACE?"

"I've…" Bruce ran his hand through his hair. "I've quit."

"You've what?!"

"I discussed it with Greg, and then Mega, and finally Mr M. They're all behind me."

"But why?"

"The usual reason." Bruce managed to look at Virgil with a mirthless grin. "Money."

"Can I help? You know that you only need to ask …"

"No!" Bruce held up his hand to silence his friend. "Thank you for the offer, Virgil, but that's why I didn't want to tell you. Not that I don't appreciate all that your family's done for me, but I don't want to continue sponging off the Tracys. I want… I need to be able to pay my own way. From now on I'll be able to contribute something towards staying here… That's until I get my own place."

"But what about your friends? What about Olivia? Is she staying with ACE?"

"Yes. She's loyal to Mr Mickelson and Mr Tracy." Bruce paused. "She thinks I'm betraying everyone." Another pause. "We've… ah, we've broken up."

"Bruce!"

Bruce pretended to give an unconcerned shrug. "Better now than after we've made some permanent commitment."

Virgil had wondered why the couple had rarely visited at the same time. From what Bruce was telling him it was clear that buildings weren't the only things that the earthquake had ripped apart.

"When I told her my plans, she got annoyed," Bruce admitted. "The more we discussed it, the more heated the discussion seemed to become. I eventually asked her what her plans were, and she said she was staying with ACE, because she'd known Mr M for longer than she'd known me. I said I hoped it wasn't in the same way and she slapped my face and stormed out. I didn't even mean it that way, but we haven't spoken since."

Virgil could see that the whole saga had upset his friend. "I'm sorry. You seemed happy together."

"You understand why I've got to do this?"

Virgil understood. "Yes."

Bruce indicated the doors at the top of the ramp. "You'd better get in there before you get into more trouble. I will visit when I can; definitely next Saturday. I'll have heaps to tell you then."

"I'll look forward to it. And next time I visit you I'll make sure it's some time when I can walk there without the fear of my legs falling to pieces."

Bruce managed a grin.

He watched as his friend glided up the ramp and through the doors and then turned. Then, with a "Come on, Fido" to the guard sparrow, he shoved his hands back into his pockets and retraced his steps back to his home.

On the street, two figures in the shadows watched as he pressed his palm against the reader and then walked through the gates.

"That 'im?" one asked of the other.

"That' 'im."

"You gonna make 'im pay?"

"'m gonna make 'im pay. 'E owes me." Muzz slammed his fist into his hand. "Big time."

_To be continued…_


	47. Chapter 47

Virgil returned to his room exhausted after his mini-expedition. He received a mild scolding from the nursing staff and was then assisted into his nightshirt and into bed for a regenerating sleep. As he closed his eyes he thought that the only regrets he had about his excursion were the shocking and unwelcome revelations.

He wondered what, if anything, he could do to help his friends.

He hoped that Bruce would be happy in his new job.

He couldn't believe that Edna and Hamish Mickelson were fighting.

He loathed the idea that Lisa and Butch were at each other's throats. And that they were scaring Ginny.

And he especially hated that Butch seemed to have taken his, Virgil's, words to heart.

Virgil slept.

He awoke some minutes later; sensing rather than knowing that he was not alone.

He opened his eyes.

A hideous apparition stared down at him, and Virgil had to blink the sleep away before he realised that the skeletal image glaring at him was a tattoo of a skull etched into another man's face.

Not that this visitor was any more pleasant to look at than his facial adornment. He appeared to be made exclusively of a tatted leather jacket, dubious jeans, greasy hair, bloodshot eyes and a grotesque smile.

And that smile wasn't pleasing nor friendly. It was a smile filled with gloating malice that seemed to bear an inverse relationship to the number of teeth in that cesspit of a mouth.

"'member me…?" Muzz leered down. "Poodle?"

Virgil did remember, but he said and did nothing. Even though his natural reaction was to recoil against his visitor's vile breath.

"Time t' play."

Virgil didn't move, but his brain was working frantically as he tried to evaluate his situation, hypothesise potential scenarios, and decide what would be the best way to escape them. _I hope someone comes in soon. Someone capable of dealing with him._

"Playin' possum, is ya, Poodle? Well, tha' won' work. I saw ya out in th' street talkin' wi' Sanders. Oh, yeah. I 'member 'is name. I 'member ya sissy name too: Virgil Tracy. I 'member tha' ya go' me locked away." The former leader of the Skulz smirked. "I saw ya get about in ya fancy chair, Poodle. That' somethin' I ain't bin able t' do fa yars – be free t' go where I wan' on th' streets. I bin in jail."

Virgil knew this. Although in the years since he'd testified in the court case he'd managed to forget about the man who'd knocked Bruce out and then had attempted to stab his concussed friend with a knife.

But he remembered him now. _Where's the buzzer? _

"Nice place ya got 'ere, Poodle," Muzz told him, staring about the room as Virgil inched his hand closer to where he hoped the call for help would be.

His fingers failed to find the pager.

"Betcha ge' good food? Good comp'nee? C'n see ya friends 'n' fam'ly whenever ya wan'? C'n come an' go as ya please?"

Giving up on the buzzer, Virgil didn't correct Muzz by telling him that, as his digestive tract was learning how to process it, the food he was being given was basic, but nutritious. He didn't say that he was usually stuck within the walls of the hospital and company could only visit during certain hours. He didn't tell him that he couldn't see his friends and family on a whim, since most of them were half a world away. And he didn't add that he'd just been told off for his rebellious jaunt.

"Ya don' look like ya'd be able to fight back now… Poodle."

_That's the first thing you've got right._

"Don' ya legs work so good? Is tha' why ya'll in 'ere? How bad is they?" Muzz whipped Virgil's blankets off his body and flung them down to the bottom of the bed.

Virgil was pleased to see that the former gang leader recoiled at the sight of his healing legs. _Serves you right. _But he took care to not show any visible reaction.

Muzz regained his composure. "Hurt bad, is they? Can't ya use 'em?" He leant closer to the bed. "Is ya stuck in there withou' ya'll chair?"

Virgil was not about to confirm to his tormenter that he was correct.

Muzz pushed himself away from the bed and began a slow walk around it. "Nice place," he repeated. "Beddar than where I spen' m' las' yars. Tha' was small an' dark. This is brigh' an' has plenty o' room, don' i'?"

Virgil didn't agree that his room was indeed a lot more pleasant than a prison cell would have been, even though he'd frequently regarded it as his own prison.

"Ya beddar be happy here, coz ya' gonna be here for a looooong time."

Virgil lay still and watched as Muzz walked past his literally bony feet. _How far away from the bed and the door would he need to be for me to make a run for it? Could I make a run for it? If I pushed off the bed, would I have enough momentum to make it to the 'chair without having to put my weight onto my legs? I'd have to risk at least one. But would I have time enough to reach the chair, sit in it, turn, and run for the door? Would the chair have enough speed to escape the room before he caught up with me? If I were to instruct my workstation to come over to my bed, would that surprise Muzz enough to give me a head start? Would it block his way? No. He'd hurdle the bed and catch me before I was at the door. The button's too far away for me to press, anyway. Turn away, Muzz. Just give me a second!_

"Quiet, ain'tcha. Cat gotcha tongue, Poodle?"

_Don't expect me to meow __**or**__ bark._

Muzz lunged at the bed, pushing his horrible face close to Virgil's.

His years of not showing any fear while working with International Rescue stood him in good stead and Virgil didn't flinch. He wouldn't give the biker the satisfaction.

_My heartrate must be racing. Why doesn't someone wonder what's wrong with me and come to check that I'm all right?_ Out of the corner of his eye he could see that the electronic nurse still had two reassuring green glowing lights; one to show it was operational, and the other to say it was transmitting.

Muzz appeared surprised by his victim's apparent calmness.

_I've got you wondering, haven't I? You're wondering if you've misread my abilities, or maybe if you saw someone else and thought it was me. You're wondering if I'm going to be as much fun to 'play with' as you thought. Well, go away and play somewhere else – like in the middle of an erupting volcano. No… My brothers would feel duty bound to save you, even though they'd all like to do to you what your cronies did to me five years ago._

It was then that Virgil realised that if Muzz wasn't going to have the pleasure of seeing him squirm, then Bruce would be the next target. Would a "guard sparrow" be enough of a deterrent against a determined gang man – maybe with a whole gang behind him?

Virgil decided that if worst came to the worst, he'd have to do all he could to save Bruce from that fate. Even if that meant laying his own body on the line. It wasn't as if it was the first time.

But for now, he'd continue to lie still and evaluate the situation second by second, hoping that an avenue for escape would open up.

But escape wasn't going to be easy.

Reaching up his sleeve, and with a grin that was so malicious that Virgil felt an involuntary shiver go up his spine, Muzz slowly pulled out a long rod with a knob on the end. "S'pose ya'll wonderin' wha' this is?" he taunted, as he rolled the rod between his stained fingers.

_I don't know what it's for, but I think I know what your plans are for it. _

"Gonna have some fun."

_I don't think I'm going to enjoy myself. _

"I's plastic. Stronges' plastic known t' man."

_I would doubt it. Brains has come up with numerous compounds._

"Can' be picked up by x-ray."

_Which is why you thought you'd bring it into a public hospital._

"Tough enough t' flatt'n a man's skull."

_Yep. Thought so. This isn't good. I wish I could get to my workstation. I've got plenty of things I could use to defend myself in it. Screwdrivers… Awls… Embroidery needles…_

With a crack that must have been heard throughout the ward, Muzz slammed the rod onto the bedside table. A tumbler shattered under the knob's blow, showering Virgil with splintered glass and water as a five-millimetre dent appeared in the table's surface.

Virgil flinched.

Muzz saw him.

Virgil's cell phone rang a tune that he knew well. _Come to my rescue, Scott._

Muzz ignored the phone. Smirking, he prodded Virgil's ribcage with the rod. "So, you c'n move, c'n ya?"

_Nope. That was an involuntary reaction. I did the same thing when I was unconscious, and the walls collapsed at ACE… According to John's MI-book._

Muzz reversed his walk around the bed; running the rod down Virgil's legs…

_Don't hit them, please don't hit them…_

…Across the soles of his feet…

_Thank heavens I haven't got full feeling there._

…And back up his left side, blocking Virgil's only escape route.

_I've got no chance of reaching my 'chair now. _

The phone went to voicemail.

_I hope you're calling for help rather than leaving a message, Scott._

The biker came to stop level with Virgil's chest. He swung the rod upwards in his right hand, allowing it to drop into his left. "Where shall we start, Poodle?"

_With a demonstration against yourself?_

"Legs?" The knob touched the fragile, translucent skin of Virgil's knees.

_No._

"Stomach?" Virgil was prodded in the abdomen.

_Please, no. I've only just got that working again._

"Ches'?" The rod bumped along Virgil's ribcage.

_No, thanks. I've already had ribs broken once since I arrived here._

"Or shall I intraduce i' t' ya pretty face, Poodle?"

Virgil felt the length of plastic tapped him painfully on the nose which started to run as his eyes watered. _Don't sneeze. Don't sneeze._

The cell phone rang again.

"Shut up!" The rod flashed through the air and the computer, which housed Virgil's cell phone and acted as a videophone, exploded into a shower of sparks.

Virgil flinched again as pieces of hot metal landed on his body and his bed. _Surely __**someone**__ heard that! _He thought he could smell burning. He hoped it wasn't him.

Standing the rod upright on the bed, Muzz leant on the knob and appeared to evaluate his options.

Virgil evaluated what the outcomes would be if he were to grab the rod from out of his tormentor's hand. _Do I have the upper body strength to fight him?_

_Too late…_

Muzz swung the rod onto his shoulder and gave Virgil's body some earnest consideration. "Eenie, meenie, minee, mo. Where shall I pu' th' firs' blow?"

_Very poetic. I'll put it to music. A real piece of Jailhouse rock._

Muzz shrugged. "M'be 'll star' a' the top an' work m' way down?" With an expression of pure sadistic pleasure, he raised the rod high…

Years of seat-of-the-pants life and death decisions had honed Virgil's instincts for danger and he rolled clear just as the rod slammed into the cavity in the pillow left by his head. His legs hit the floor with a jarring thud. Ignoring the shockwaves that seemed to radiate through his body, Virgil stood and took a step forwards. Then he took another.

There was a crack and he fell to the floor, adrenaline pumping too much for him to understand whether he'd fallen because his legs had given out on him, or if his subconscious mind was reminding him that he wasn't ready to stand unaided yet. "FIRE!"

"Fire?" Muzz snorted a laugh. "Yeah. Ya'r gonna burn… Poodle."

Virgil ignored the taunts as he scrambled for the window, hoping that Ted or someone was out there and would see him, or at least be curious as to where the fire was. "FIRE!" He banged on the glass.

No one was there.

_Keep your eye on the ball._ Virgil rolled over, so he could see the approaching menace and crawled backwards into a corner, using his trembling legs to push him away from the threat. "FIRE!" he yelled a third time; adding a "HELP!" to his repertoire. He looked around for something he could use to defend himself.

Muzz was moving slowly, getting a kick out of the distress he was causing to his victim. He seemed unconcerned that someone might hear Virgil's calls.

_Did he block the door somehow?_

In his brief moment of being vertical, Virgil had managed to grab one thing. The key that activated his workstation. He slammed his hand down on the button and then dialled it up to full speed.

Three beeps confused Muzz enough to stop his advance. He watched as a kind of desk in the corner of the room seemed to come to life. It moved towards him, its carousel spinning like a huge pair of jaws waiting to devour what or whoever was before it.

For a moment Virgil hoped that Muzz might think that he was about to be lunch and would hightail out of there. But, as the rod swung through the air and into the carousel's mechanism, he realised that the biker's IQ wasn't as low as he'd wished. Then a second wish came to mind, one that was briefly fulfilled, that the rod would become jammed in the carousel's workings.

Backed into a literal corner, he made use of Muzz's distraction to catch his breath and look around him. The air seemed close. _I could never reach the door before him. Could I break the window? How? It will be toughened glass and unbreakable. But if I could get hold of the rod…_

But the rod had been freed and was used to attack the advancing workstation, which died with the grinding of gears, the winding down of the motor, and the splintering of the work surface. _Surely someone can hear the noise!_

And Virgil still hadn't found a means of defence. "HELP! FIRE!"

"SHUT UP!" Muzz swung the rod at Virgil's head; narrowly missing when his target dived to the side. Then he swung down again, and Virgil felt the rod graze the side of his left thumb as he pulled it clear. _Hey! I've only just got that back! _

Lying on the floor, Virgil scrabbled at the low windowsill, searching for an object that he could use to defend himself or alert the world to his predicament. His fingers closed around something small, round, and hard. Holding it in his fist he waited until Muzz was in striking range. He knew he had no hope of defending himself otherwise.

Muzz kicked the remains of the workstation clear and prepared for his next assault.

Virgil had no choice. With a yell to try to get someone to take notice of what was happening, he rolled closer to his attacker, using his momentum to slam his fist into the most vulnerable part of Muzz's body that he could reach from his precarious position. He had the presence of mind to open his hand at the point of impact, saving his fingers from crushing, and the object rammed home, shattering.

There was a scream as Muzz swore and dropped the rod. Virgil grabbed for it, but Muzz was fitter, stronger, and faster, and Virgil felt the rod slip out from his fingers.

The screaming continued; loud, piercing and persistent. The room was growing hazy.

Virgil looked straight up to where Muzz, his face an expression of pure ugly fury, was drawing the weapon back for the coup de grace.

Virgil had no hope now. He had no method of defence. The remains of the workstation were beyond his grasp. No one would be able to hear him through the noise. No one would see him through the haze.

He covered his face with his arms in a futile attempt to protect his head and hoped that he'd be knocked unconscious on the first blow, so he wouldn't feel the pain. He'd experienced enough of that over the last seven months.

There was a splintering crash followed by an animalistic roar over the scream. "Leave 'im 'lone!"

Virgil lowered his arms in time to see Muzz slam into the window. The gang man bounced off the toughened glass, the rod flying towards Virgil's head, and hit the floor. Virgil, unable to believe his good fortune, rolled over and grabbed the weapon and held tight; not willing for this to only be a temporary ascendancy.

But Muzz wasn't going anywhere. Butch Crump was kneeling on his former associate's back and had pulled the man's arms almost up his shoulders.

"Lemme go, Butch!"

"Shut up, Muzz. Ya're goin' back where ya belong. Prison."

Muzz let out a stream of invective that seemed to be without end.

Rolling back onto his back, Virgil took a deep breath of relief and started coughing in the acrid air. The screaming sound finally registered in his brain as the piercing siren of a fire alarm. "Smoke?" He levered himself up onto his arms.

"Ya bed's on fire."

Fire was an exaggeration, but the bedclothes were clearly smouldering.

Several nurses and orderlies had rushed into the room; gasping when they saw the upheaval. "Virgil!" The orderlies started spraying the bed with fire extinguishers.

"I'm okay." Virgil managed to get into a sitting position with his back against the wall. "Where's security?" He pulled up his legs and dragged the hem of his nightshirt over them, hoping to save his saviour from the sight.

"Get Virgil a blanket," the more senior nurse commanded. "Not from there," she added when a very junior nurse went to take one from a cupboard. "It will be contaminated by the smoke."

The nurse vanished into the corridor.

"Wadda we do wi' 'im?" Butch asked, indicating his captive, who was cursing and swearing at him. "Shut up! There's ladies present!" He tightened his grip on Muzz's arms, as the senior nurse slipped past to check on her patient.

"There are cable ties in my workstation," Virgil told him. "Or what's left of it. You can tie his wrists together."

The nurse crouched next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad, considering. He never managed to hit me."

She indicated his position, far away from his bed. "How did you get here?"

Virgil managed a shaky laugh. "Walked, fell, and crawled."

"Walked!" The nurse appeared more horrified by Virgil's admission than the reason why he'd had to make it. "On your legs?!"

"I didn't have an option. I never was much good at walking on my hands."

An orderly found a cable tie on the floor. Trembling and unwilling to get to close to a situation she didn't yet fully understand, she held it out to Butch.

"M' hands are kinda full," he told her. "Ya're gonna have to do i'."

The orderly looked at her associates and then, taking care not to get too close to the foul, cursing head, wrapped the cable tie around Muzz's wrists. She slid the end through its lock, pulled, and scuttled back to the safety of the far side of the room.

Seeing that she'd been unwilling to risk hurting the man on the floor, Butch pulled the cable tie even tighter, eliciting a howl from the captive. "Grow a set, Muzz. Tha's nothin' compared t' wha' I woulda done t' ya if ya'd hurt m' Pal." He found another cable tie, sat on Muzz's legs to stop them kicking, and tied his ankles together.

Then, as he got to his feet, Butch looked over to Virgil. "You okay, Pal?"

Virgil nodded. "I am now." A perky floral face stared up at him, the remains of his one weapon of defence and, saddened by its destruction, he picked it up. "I've broken Virginia's solar flower."

"She c'n get ya 'nother… Now…" Butch looked down at Muzz. "Whadda we do wi' ya?"

The junior nurse with the blanket hurried back in, followed by a security guard. "The police are on the way."

"Good." The senior nurse accepted the blanket and wrapped it around her patient. "Bring the wheelchair over here," she ordered. "We'll have to take Virgil to another room. This one will need a good cleaning and I daresay that the police will want to examine it before that can be done."

"Uh… We can't," a nurse admitted. "There's an obstruction in the way." She pointed between the end of the bed and the wall to the remains of the workstation and the writhing and cursing man.

"Soon have tha' sorted," Butch promised and, without anyone's approval he picked Virgil up off the floor. Virgil endured the embarrassment of being carried around the bed and placed into the wheelchair without comment.

More security arrived, took one look at the carnage, and went into action. Muzz was hauled to his constrained feet and dragged out of the room.

Now he was safely in the protective embrace of the wheelchair, and the nurses had finished fussing around him, checking that he felt well and supplying him with blankets, Virgil held out his hand. "Thanks for saving me, Butch."

The big man turned red as he clasped his hand. "Lisa woul' neva have fargiven me if ya'd go' hurt an' I didn' do anythin' t' help ya."

"I'm glad you did. I don't think I'd be as comfortable as I am now if it wasn't for you."

"I wouldn' le' anyone hurt ya." Having nominated himself in the role of bodyguard, Butch stayed close to Virgil's side as he was wheeled along the corridor and into another room.

"Right, Virgil," the senior nurse stated. "Let's get you sorted and into bed. Then a doctor can have a look at you." She turned back to her patient's self-appointed bodyguard. "Thank you for your help, Butch, but you can visit Virgil later."

But Butch, having only just plucked up the courage to visit, was reluctant to leave. "C'n I come an' see ya lata?" he checked with his friend. "Wouldcha mind?"

Virgil smiled at him. "I'd love that, Butch."

"Say this aftanoon's visitin' time?"

"I'll look forward to it. Then maybe I'll get the chance to apologise to you properly."

"Ya don' have t' do tha'. I'm th' one who shoul' be 'plogising." Butch suddenly looked awkward. "I'll 'splaine everythin' lata."

He was escorted out of the room by a no-nonsense nurse, who seemed to fear a biker-beater less than the biker.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Having undergone an examination with his doctor, reported to the two researchers in Australasia, and been interviewed by the police, Virgil was finally allowed to have his much-needed sleep.

He awoke some hours later; sensing rather than knowing that he was not alone.

He opened his eyes.

"Father?"

Jeff Tracy smiled down on his son. "How are you?"

Virgil shifted, trying to get comfortable, and looked down the bed to where his legs were held by a kind of harness. "I'm in traction, that's how I am."

Jeff looked pained. "Are you in any discomfort?"

"I'm not used to this bed and there's a lump in it," Virgil felt beneath his shoulder blade to see if he could find the annoyance. "Aside from the usual, that's all."

"You're lucky."

"Yes, I am. And this," Virgil waved his hand towards his legs, "is in case I had put too much pressure on my bones when I tried to walk. It's only a precaution to prevent any deformation."

"I know. The doctor explained it to me. She also told me that Butch saved your neck."

"He did. I think he came over here to try to talk to me and maybe explain what's wrong. That didn't work out, so he's going to come back this afternoon."

"So, you'd rather that I didn't visit then?"

"I'm sorry. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. I just need to know that you're okay…" Jeff's eyes narrowed a little. "And not doing anything stupid."

"I needed to talk to Butch and as it seemed that he didn't want to talk to me…" His eyes down, Virgil plucked at his bedclothes. "Are you going shout at me?"

"I was going to. I was with ACE's architect on a conference call with the rest of the team when you made your appearance. Hamish confirmed that what I was hearing about you being outside the house was correct and that you'd gone AWOL. At that point I was ready to blast you for risking seven months' worth of hard work… But too much has happened since then… I'm just glad you're all right."

"Except for this lump." Virgil fidgeted again. He indicated his right shoulder. "Can you feel anything under there? I can't reach far enough."

Jeff slipped his hand under his son's back. "No, I ca…" His fingers touched something. "Just a minute…" His fingertips gained purchase and he dragged the unknown object out.

A floral face beamed up at him. "You have a friend."

"Virginia's flower!" Virgil smiled when he saw the piece of plastic. "Can you put that somewhere safe, please? I don't want to lose it. It's all that survived after I used it to tell Muzz to back off."

Jeff placed the flower head gently into the drawer in the bedside table. "Now, do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Starting where?"

Jeff sat back and folded his arms. "Starting with: why you thought it was a good idea to leave the hospital grounds and go exploring without letting anyone know what your plans were and where you were going."

Virgil shrugged. "I was bored. I knew I had an hour before I had to worry about anything medical, it wasn't visiting time, it wasn't lunchtime, and I was already dressed and in the hoverchair. And… I wanted to try to talk to Butch. I still haven't apologised to him directly for what I said to him last month. And I guess I rationalised that if I went further than normal I was giving myself a real abdominal workout."

"So, you left without telling anyone."

"I made sure my GPS was tracking me."

Jeff didn't make a comment.

"I managed to find the property, but then I realised that I couldn't get in. I'm not programmed into the locking system."

"Couldn't you reach the intercom?"

"Ah… Yeah, I could. But I didn't want to risk you finding out I'd gone AWOL. I thought if Auntie Edna or Uncle Hamish answered, I'd may as well head straight back to the hospital…" The sheet was plucked at again. "And I'd be guaranteed that you'd shout at me."

Jeff grunted, but didn't make a comment.

"I was trying to work out what to do next when I heard a child crying. It was Virginia. She'd run away from home because Lisa and Butch have been shouting at each other and she didn't like it. Did you know about that?"

"About Lisa and Butch shouting?"

"Yes. Virginia said they're always doing it and that they tell each other that they don't love each other. It's scaring her." Virgil looked at his father hopefully. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"I've…" Jeff frowned. "I haven't really heard anything, but I've felt, erm, vibes that all wasn't well."

"I had to convince Virginia that it would be better in the long run if she went back home. She didn't want her parents to shout at her. I told her that that adults shout when they're scared that something may have happened to their child, because they don't like being scared and don't want their child to see that they were scared. She asked me if my daddy was going to shout at me."

"That was a strong probability," Jeff admitted, "because what you told Virginia is true. You haven't had the opportunity to learn how much it hurts to know that your child may be in fear or pain and that you can't do anything to save him from it." Jeff's eyes wavered from Virgil's and he looked down. "No matter how old he is."

"I know." Virgil reached out and squeezed his father's arm. "Thanks for not giving up on me, Dad."

Smiling at the warmth and strength in his son's grip, Jeff placed his hand over Virgil's. "Thank _you_ for not giving up… Now, how did you get into the property?"

"Gordon had programmed Virginia's handprint into the system, so she stood on my hoverchair and let us in. Lisa and Butch had been looking for her. They sounded frantic."

"I'd imagine they were."

"I tried to talk to Butch, but he didn't want to see me. That was when Bruce suggested that he accompany me back to the hospital."

"And that was when Muzz saw you both?"

"I'd assume so. I suppose that he decided that I was an easier target than Bruce."

"And probably wanted his revenge because at his trial you remembered more about his attack on Bruce than Bruce did."

"Maybe." Virgil remembered another of the unwelcome revelations. "What's happening between Auntie Edna and Uncle Hamish?"

"Edna and Hamish?" Now Jeff looked surprised. "Like what?"

"When Bruce and his guard sparrow escorted…"

An already surprised eyebrow rose up. "Bruce and his what?"

"That security thing that flies after him when he leaves the property. He called it a 'guard sparrow'."

"Oh. It's called a Wandering INtelligent Guardian System, or WINGS for short. And if I'd known that you were going to go AWOL while there were Skulz about, I would have had one assigned to you, instead of paying to have security stand guard at your door."

It was Virgil's turn to be surprised. "Here? Now!" He glanced towards the door to his new room.

"That's right. I've given him photos of your friends and family, so we can come and go, but anyone who doesn't have a need to be here won't be able to get in."

The idea that he had a guard standing outside his room made it seem even more like a prison cell to Virgil. The idea saddened him.

"Now, what's this about Hamish and Edna?"

Virgil pulled himself together. "Bruce told me that he's heard them yelling at each other. I've never heard them yell at each other."

"No," Jeff said thoughtfully. "I can't say that I have either."

"Bruce said that Auntie Edna told Uncle Hamish that he cared more about ACE than her. He said the earthquake's put strains on most of the relationships over there. Did you know that he and Olivia have split up?"

"No." Jeff appeared surprised again. "Although, now that I think about it, I don't remember seeing them together as often as they were last time I was staying there. Then it seemed they could hardly keep their hands off each other and I remember thinking that it was just as well that she's admin and he's production. Did he say why they had broken up?"

"We didn't have time for a full debrief, but Bruce said that Olivia was accusing him of disloyalty to ACE. Did you know that he has quit?"

"Hamish did mention it to me. It's disappointing, but understandable. It's been seven months since the earthquake and we still don't have a definite timeline for when ACE is going to be reinstated. I was hoping that something concrete might come out of today's meeting, but we were interrupted by outside influences." A telling eyebrow was raised. "I've tried to keep people in nominal employment, and there's government assistance, but until ACE is fully operational, I can't guarantee a wage that will enable people to survive. Many are paying rents while still paying off their mortgages and other debts, even though their property is uninhabitable."

"Have you lost other employees?"

Jeff nodded. "Some have been fortunate to find employment where they're currently living."

Virgil gave a mirthless chuckle. "Maybe I should reapply to ACE again? By the time I'm fit enough for work it might need some new employees."

"Your job's secure and is being held for you until you're ready to return." Jeff sat back. "This isn't good. I need Hamish to start getting ACE's rebuild cranked up. But I don't want that need to be responsible for any stresses in their marriage… Anyone's relationship for that matter." He sighed. "I'll talk to them. Even if it means getting someone else in to coordinate the rebuild or doing it myself, I'm not going to let them risk their happiness."

"Good."

"Did Bruce say anything else I should know about?"

"No." Virgil felt a sudden surge of alarm. "You won't mention that he's the one who's been talking, will you? There's enough aggravation over there without people being mad at him too. The only reason why I've told you that he told me is because you probably would have guessed anyway."

"_People_ are likely to guess when I start asking questions," Jeff reminded him. "There's only one person who'd speak to me as candidly as you have, and only one place where you could have got your information. But I will try not to bring Bruce's name into it."

"Thanks."

"Now, tell me about the home invasion."

"Please," Virgil begged. "It may feel like I've been here an eternity, but I'm not willing to call Bearston General _home_ yet."

"Fair enough. Tell me what happened."

For what felt like the hundredth time today, Virgil did his best to recap everything that had happened without any embellishments or letting his father know how concerned he'd been.

But Jeff had a good idea of just how concerned that was. "Scott called me."

"Scott?"

"He was… I won't say panicked, but he was troubled. Especially when he couldn't get you on the phone."

"When has he ever panicked?"

"You know what I mean. I rang here; only to find the ward in an uproar. Someone had put smoke bombs into a full laundry basket."

"Someone?"

"Muzz may have had help. I think that's part of what sent everyone into a spin. Fear that the fire detection system wasn't working. That was until your bed started smoking and the sirens started screaming for real."

"That was after Scott's second call to me, which was why Muzz smashed up my computer. Sparks went everywhere. He broke my workstation too." Virgil saddened. "That's the only thing that's kept me sane these past few months."

"Don't worry, we'll get it repaired… When I finally managed to get hold of someone and tell them that something was wrong, that was when they'd discovered that Muzz had blocked your door. You must have heard them banging on it."

"No. I was too busy trying to think of a way of escaping. Or at least trying to find the best way to defend myself."

"You'll have to start wearing your watch again. If you'd had it on your wrist you could have let me know exactly what was happening."

"I can't. What's left of it is embedded in a concrete beam back at ACE."

Jeff smiled. "I'm sure John will be more than happy to make you another one. In the meantime," he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small item. "Here's a new phone to replace the one that was broken. I've put your sim card into it and it's all ready for you to use."

"Thank you." Virgil yawned.

"Are you tired?"

"Yes." Virgil could feel his eyelids droop. "I wish I could keep my energy levels up." He yawned again.

"Be patient. It'll happen."

There was a knock on the door. Surprised, Jeff got up to answer it.

Virgil couldn't see who was talking, but he heard an unfamiliar voice say: "I'm sorry, Mr Tracy, but this gentleman wasn't on your list."

"This gentleman is Colin Eden, the General Manager of Bearston General Hospital," Jeff told the speaker, who Virgil assumed was the security guard. "He's welcome to visit my son."

With a: "Thank you, Jeff," Colin stepped into the room. He smiled over at the patient. "Hello, Virgil."

"Hello, Mr Eden."

"Call me Colin," he was told.

Virgil smiled his thanks.

"I've come for two reasons," Colin admitted. "First: Virgil, I need to apologise – again – on Bearston General's behalf for what happened to you. There's no way that a gang member should have been able to get into your room. Especially outside of visiting hours. I only hope that there isn't any lasting damage." He indicated the traction harness.

"The doctors and researchers don't seem to be too worried," Virgil reassured him. "This is only a precaution."

"It's a precaution that shouldn't be necessary," Colin corrected. "The second thing that I want to say to both of you is goodbye… In a manner of speaking."

Both Jeff and Virgil were surprised. "Goodbye?"

"This is my last day as manager of Bearston General."

Jeff wondered if the man, who wasn't one of the better managers he'd met, even though he'd had a lot of respect for him and what he'd done for the Tracys, had jumped or been pushed. "What are you going to do?"

Colin's face lit up. "Work for Bearston General." He laughed at the Tracys' confusion. "I can't believe how lucky we've been. Ana just happened to hear about a scholarship that seemed to be perfect for her. She applied for it and has been accepted. It's enough to enable her to complete her training without any further assistance from her mother or myself!" He beamed in delight.

"So, you'll be returning to anaesthesiology?" Jeff guessed.

"I am. The board agreed to let me have my old job as Head of Anaesthesiology of Bearston General. But first Daniella and I are going to have two weeks' vacation. It's been years since we had a proper break and we're going to make the most of it." Colin's smile grew even bigger.

"I thought you looked like you'd won the lottery. Congratulations," Jeff shook the former manager's hand. "That's wonderful news for all three of you."

"There are those who will say it's wonderful news for Bearston General," Colin quipped. "My successor seems much more capable than I am. At least I hope he is."

"I hope it's someone who will enjoy that job as much as you will in your new, old position," Jeff said.

"So do I, for his sake." Colin smiled. "So, I will see you around, Virgil, but hopefully not in a professional capacity."

Virgil managed a tired smile. "I hope so too."

Colin recognised his patient's exhaustion. "You look like today's excitements have caught up with you, so I'll leave you alone."

"Virgil was just saying that he finds his lack of energy frustrating."

"Don't worry, Virgil, now that you're eating properly, that will come back."

"That's what I said," Jeff told the medical man.

Colin chuckled. "I'll probably see you both in two weeks. Take care."

"You too, Colin. I hope both you and Daniella have a wonderful time."

Virgil watched as the man, who was walking as if all the worries of the world had been released from his shoulders, left his room. Then he gave his father a sideways look. "A scholarship, one that _just happens_ to be perfect for Ana Eden, _just happens_ to appear out of nowhere?"

Jeff shrugged. "I may have had something to do with it. They've both done a lot for us, and probably wouldn't accept my help directly, so why not give them something that will enrich their lives? Colin and Ana Eden both enriched ours…" He saw his son's eyelids droop some more. "I'd better go. I've only been allowed in outside of visiting hours because of what happened, and I don't want any battle-axe of a nurse shouting at me for keeping you awake. And if you want to be awake when Butch comes to see you, you'd better get some sleep now. I'll visit again this evening."

But Virgil was already asleep.

Tucking the blankets in around him, Jeff looked down at his son fondly. "I hope you think it's all been worth it, Virgil. We're all looking forward to the day when you can come home."

_To be continued…_


	48. Chapter 48

_18 March_

_This is a letter that I started months ago, but have never got around to finishing. Back then my excuse was that typing one handed was tiring and that I couldn't type as fast as I wanted. Now that I've got the full use of both hands I have no excuse, but this is still difficult to write._

_I don't know why. It's not as if I don't know what I want to say, it's finding the words to say it that's hard, even though I know what the words I want to say are._

_Seven months ago, I wanted… No… I needed to tell you that I respected you, that I cared for you, that I valued your friendship, and that I loved you. But even though I knew that I might never get the opportunity to say them again, I couldn't bring myself to say those words. I desperately wanted to say them, I needed to know that you knew how I felt, but I just couldn't say those three words…_

_I… Love… You._

_Even writing them seems odd. That's why it's taken me seven months to…_

There was a sound and the door to the room slid open. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Lisa?!" Virgil quickly shut his computer down, hiding the letter away from his visitor. "No. Nothing important." He looked at the clock on the wall. "It's not visiting time yet."

She gave a shy smile. "I know."

"How'd you get past the security guard?"

"I just batted my eyelashes at him." With a shake of her head to release her long hair, Virgil was astonished to see the intelligent Lisa turn into a wide-eyed, simpering, blonde bombshell. "I told him that I was, like, such a ditz, and I was sure that it was, like, visiting time, and that my watch must be, like, fast, but as I was here, surely it wouldn't matter if I were just a teeny-weeny bit early for seeing my good friend Virgil Tracy." The intelligent woman returned. "He checked me against my picture, told me not to worry my pretty head over it, and let me in." She pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

"If you'd waited you could have visited me without having to lie to the security guard."

"I know, but I wanted to see you before Butch did. I wanted to warn you."

"Warn me?" Virgil frowned. "About what?"

Rather than answering, Lisa stared at the traction harness. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. This is just a precaution. It's jus…"

"Don't tell me about it now. We don't have the time and I'd be better off not knowing. Then either Butch can tell me after he's seen you, or you can tell me when I visit you the first time after your, ah, visit from Muzz."

"Lisa. Sit down and tell me what's going on."

Instead of sitting, Lisa hovered by the side of Virgil's bed. She checked her watch. "I should have left sooner."

"Lisa!"

Annoyed with herself, Lisa gave an exasperated sigh and sat down. "I thought it was only fair that you should know what I said before Butch tackles you over it."

"Tackles me over what? What did you say?"

She took a deep breath. "Do you remember after Butch and my's fifth wedding anniversary party." She perched on the edge of the seat, ready to run should someone arrive.

"The last time I was beaten up by the Skulz."

"Do you remember the following day?"

"Unlike Bruce, I didn't get concussion, so I remember every moment. But I was so sore that I forgot about my final first aid exam." Virgil had a feeling that he knew what she was talking about. "And…"

"And you remember when you found me outside the shopping centre?"

"Yes…"

"And I was drunk."

"Yes."

"And I…"

"Yes?"

Lisa looked embarrassed. "You remember what happened there?"

"I remember that nothing happened anywhere." Virgil would have sat forward if his legs' harness wasn't restricting his movements. "Lisa! What exactly did you tell Butch?!"

She bit her lip. "I told him the truth."

"The truth being?"

"I was mad with him," Lisa explained. "He wants to spend all day repairing the Red Arrow with his father, and he doesn't seem to want me to help, even though we had such fun together originally. I helped him restore it last time, and this time it's like he doesn't want to know me. He wants to go home and get our house liveable again. Here… Well, it's not home, but Ginny's happy. She's got friends at a preschool that she loves and we're all well away from the aftershocks. I don't want to risk her wellbeing."

"I can understand that."

"A month ago, we had an argument…"

_So, Virginia was right._

"…Things got rather heated…"

Virgil glanced at the minute hand of the clock that was moving closer to the vertical. "What exactly did you say to Butch?"

"I… I told him that I, erm, propositioned you."

"And…?"

"And…"

"And you did tell him that nothing happened?"

"Yes…" Lisa gave a reluctant nod. "…Eventually."

"Eventually?" Virgil was aghast. "How long after the initial conversation 'eventually'."

"Ah... This morning."

"This morning?!"

"After you found Ginny." Lisa looked at her watch and got to her feet. "I'd better go."

"Lisa…"

Lisa was walking towards the door. "I thought you should know so you'd have time to prepare for whatever Butch says."

"Lisa…"

"I'll come and visit you soon… That's if you still want to be my friend."

"Of course, I do. But Lisa…"

"I'll see you later."

And Lisa Crump was gone.

Virgil flopped back into his pillow and wondered what he was in for. This time he couldn't hope that Butch Crump would come to his aid.

Trying to take his mind off it he fired up the computer and continued reading where he'd left off.

_I do love you. I love you all. You're the people who mean the most to me in this world. I'm sure you'd say that you know, that you've always known, that putting it into words isn't necessary, but back then, seven months ago when I needed to do it the most, it seemed incredibly important. Incredibly important and impossible to say._

_Now it's just as important, if not more so after what we've all been through. You're my family and I love you all; as individuals and as a group._

_I love you._

_I can only hope that you are able to remember this after you read what I'm going to tell you._

Virgil shut the computer down.

He was in a mild sweat and wondering if Scott was picking up on his nervousness when his phone rang. He managed to smile at the face on screen. "Hi."

Scott Tracy smiled back. "Hiya, Virg. I'm just checking up on you."

"I've still got the full quota of fingers and toes. How about you?"

"I'm fine. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure. Why? Have you heard something?"

Scott hesitated. "Not 'heard'… Felt… Feeling."

Virgil could never accept that his family felt that empathetic clairvoyance was normal and a perfectly reasonable topic of conversation. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Scott."

"I wish I wouldn't too, but then sometimes I'm glad I… we… can. What's wrong?"

Virgil knew that his brother wouldn't stop worrying until he knew the truth. "Nothing major. I found out today why Butch hadn't been to see me. And he'll be here any moment to discuss it."

"Why hadn't he visited? Why now?"

"It's a long story, and one I'm not supposed to know yet, which is why I'm not sure that I'm looking forward to seeing him again. Can I call you back after visiting hours? I'll tell you everything then."

"I'll be waiting."

So did Virgil as the clock's hour hand ticked past twelve.

Ten minutes after visiting time started, Butch made an appearance.

Virgil decided that the best thing to do was to act naturally. Nothing had happened and if Lisa hadn't made her unexpected visit, he would be thinking that there was nothing to be concerned about except the need to do some major grovelling. "Hi, Butch."

The big man appeared unsure of himself. "Hiya." He hovered by the door as if he was considering making a run for it.

"Thanks again for coming to my assistance this morning. I was sure I was in major trouble. Muzz had promised that he was going to extend my stay here, and I was at the point where I figured he was right when you turned up. Guess it was your turn to come to the rescue, huh? You're making a habit of saving me just in the nick of time when I need your help most." Virgil wondered if he was gabbling and/or waffling.

Butch stared at the harness and the weights applying the gentle traction off the end of the bed. "Wha's tha' for?"

"I stood up when I tried to run from Muzz. My legs aren't strong enough when I don't have something to support my weight like water or a harness." Virgil tried to marshal his thoughts and slow his speech. "The quacks don't think I've done any damage to them, but they're making sure that I haven't deformed the bones or anything. I don't want to be bow-legged."

Butch made no comment.

Virgil decided that things would be easier all round if they were at the same eye level. "Sit down, Butch."

Butch hesitated.

"Please."

Butch decided that pulling up a chair and sitting in it gave him a moment to concentrate on something other than what was troubling him.

"I owe you a huge apology, Butch. I said things to you, and about you, that aren't true, and I had no right to say. I'm sure everyone's told you that it wasn't me saying them, but the words came out of my mouth and I wish I'd never thought them, let alone said them. None of them are true. You're a good friend. You're not stupid. And Lisa's lucky to be married to you."

"I know i' weren' yar fault," Butch admitted. "Gordon an' the res' o' ya fam'ly 'xplained i' t' me. Ya don' have t' 'pologise."

"I do. I'm sorry, Butch. Even if it meant being beaten up by Muzz, I'd take each of those words back."

Butch considered what his friend had said, and then made a gracious response. "I 'xcept yar 'pology, Virgil, coz I know i' wasn' yar fault… An'… An' I hope ya c'n do th' same for me."

"You don't need to apologise to me, Butch."

"Yeah, I do. I ignored ya this mornin'."

"No, you didn't." Virgil tried to sound reassuring. "You spoke to me."

"I didn' say everythin' I should of said. I shoulda said thanks fer bringin' Ginny home. I shoulda taken Mr Bunny from ya fer her. I… I shoulda 'pologised fer not comin' t' visi' ya."

Virgil wanted to make it easy for his friend. "You'd been unwell. Lisa told me that."

"No' really unwell. No' hospit'l unwell like ya b'n unwell. I ain't really b'n sick at all. Not fer weeks."

"I'm glad. I didn't like the idea of you being sick. I've been laid up in a bed for long enough for the both of us. I would rather be doing something interesting like…" Virgil wondered if he should offer Butch an opening to start him talking. "…Like fixing the Red Arrow. How is she?"

He was relieved to see his friend brighten a little. "She's lookin' beddar than she did afta the 'quake. An' her engine's purrin'. M' dad helped."

"That's great! And you must be enjoying spending time with your dad after all this time."

"Yeah."

"And Lisa must love having the chance to use her skills again."

"She's no' helpin'."

"She's not?" Virgil pretended to be surprised.

"She's busy wi' Ginny. An' she told me I should spend time wi' m' dad, so he feels like he's part of the fam'ly."

_Oh, great. They've got their wires crossed. Can I set him straight without creating more problems?_ "You and your dad must have been working together long enough that he's finally comfortable at being a part of family. And it would be a real family project if Lisa helped. And maybe Ginny could oil some parts or something? So long as she's supervised she's old enough not to go putting anything into her mouth or do anything stupid."

Butch sagged. "Dunno if Lisa would wan' t' help."

"I remember that she told me once," _once being twenty minutes ago,_ "that she loved restoring the Red Arrow last time. And she said that part of the fun was because the pair of you were working together. I'm sure if you asked her, she'd love to help." _Time to play my ace._ "And since I'm part owner, but I can't do anything practical, I'd be reassured to know that the best welder in the States is working on my car."

Butch appeared to consider what Virgil had said. "She's good, i'n't she?"

"Good enough that she put Alan's race car mechanics to shame. Remember?"

Virgil saw a faint glow of pride radiate from Butch's face. "I 'member."

_Have I done enough to at least get them talking? How do I get him to open up about why he didn't want to talk to me? Do I __**want**__ to get him to open up? _"How are the preparations for your anniversary party going? I wish I could make it, but…" Virgil indicated why that wasn't possible with a wave of his hand.

Butch's head sank. "Dunno if there's gonna be a party."

Virgil, alarmed by the news, stared. "Why not?"

"Dunno if there's anythin' t' cellybrate. Dunno if we're gonna stick together. Lisa sez we should make a decision. She sez we shoul' eitha make a effort to stick togetha for Ginny's sake, or…" Butch sniffed. "…go our sep'rate ways."

Virgil was horrified. He hadn't realised that things were this bad. "Separate ways? You mean live separately? In separate homes?"

Butch nodded. "In sep'rate cities."

"Separate cities?! Is that what you want?"

There was another sniff. "Dunno. I wanna go back home. It's nice here, bu' i' ain't home."

"I can understand that."

"All our things are home. Lisa's fam'ly's home. Ginny's clothes an' toys are home. M' tools fer workin' on the Red Arrow are home. M' home's home. ACE is home. But Lisa don't want t' go home."

"She doesn't?"

"She sez she feels safe here. She don' like th' aftashocks. Ginny don' like 'em eitha. Lisa sez that Ginny's happy, coz she's here an' there are no aftashocks and she sez she don' want Ginny unhappy." Butch looked at Virgil with big, red, watery eyes. "I don' want Ginny unhappy eitha! But this ain't our home!"

"So, you've cancelled the party?"

Butch sniffed. "Too many people invited t' cancel. Lisa sez we should make a decision. We either have the party to cellybrate bein' married ten years… or to say goo'bye to our marriage."

"But you still love her, don't you? You still love Lisa?"

With a howl, Butch burst into tears, burying his head into Virgil's blankets.

_How come I always end up as an agony aunt to these two?_ _Should I call Grandma again? _Virgil tried to twist his body against the traction harness, but couldn't reach the nearby box of tissues on his bedside table.

The one time today that he had hoped that no one heard what was going on in his room, was the one time that someone did. A nurse opened the door. "Is everything all right?"

"Erm…" Virgil didn't know how to respond. "I'm fine, but…" He made an apologetic grimace. "I can't reach the tissues."

Without a word the nurse got a new box out of a cupboard, opened it and pulled a couple free, and placed them on top of the box on the bed next to the man who appeared to be sobbing his heart out. _"Can I do anything?"_ she mouthed.

Virgil made a face, shrugged, and shook his head.

"_Call if you need me."_

Virgil nodded.

The nurse retreated.

Virgil considered whether or not to call Grandma. She seemed to have the magic touch where the Crumps were concerned, but it was night time on Tracy Island and she would be heading off to bed, if not already there. Plus, there was still the issue of Lisa's admission hanging over everything. This wasn't something that Virgil wanted his grandmother aware of until the air had been cleared and everyone was aware of the true facts.

With a sniff that had Virgil surprised that his blankets weren't sucked off his bed, Butch sat up. He took the two tissues and blew his nose loud enough to set Virgil's ears ringing.

The big man looked sheepish. "Sorry."

"You don't want to separate, do you?"

Hauling another handful of tissues out of the box and causing a mini-snowstorm of paper, Butch shook his head. "I love 'er."

"I know. That's always been obvious."

"I though' she love' me."

Virgil pretended to be surprised. "I thought she did too. Has she said she doesn't?"

"She' said otha thin's."

_Into the valley of death…_ "Things?"

"She…" Butch balled the tissues up and Virgil indicated the rubbish bin off to the side. The wad was propelled into the bin with great force.

Virgil waited. He wondered if Scott was feeling how nervous he was feeling. Then he wondered why he was able accept that Scott was able to feel what he felt. Then he wondered why he couldn't accept that Scott was able to feel what he felt. Then he tried to remember what it was like to be in Scott's shoes and on the receiving end of the empathetic clairvoyance… thing. As far as he knew it had only happened twice. And both times had been…

"Lisa said…" Butch began. And stopped.

"She said?"

"'Member th' day afta our fifth annivs'ry party?"

"I remember being very sore. And not being able to get any sleep because people kept on ringing me up to see how I was." Virgil managed a light chuckle.

There was no humour in Butch's replying: "Lisa left me coz the Skulz started th' figh'."

"I know. I also know that she regretted leaving you. That's why she got drunk."

"She said…"

When Butch paused again Virgil waited. After a full minute he realised that he was twisting his sheets into balls of his own. If he didn't relax his hands he'd wind up pulling his bedclothes off his body and revealing his less than perfect legs. That would create a whole different set of problems.

He forced himself to relax.

"My Lisa sez that…"

Virgil decided against prompting Butch.

"She sez that she… You… She an' you…"

Virgil watched as his friend struggled to find the words and phrasing that he felt were appropriate under the circumstances.

"That you an' she…"

Virgil came to a decision. "Nothing happened, Butch. Neither of us would let it happen."

Butch almost looked relieved that he didn't have to explain himself. Then he looked frightened. "But she did…?"

"Proposition me? Yes, she did. But that was because she thought she'd lost you forever. She wanted someone to comfort her and tell her that she'd done the right thing."

"Funny way of doin' i'."

"Remembering that she was upset, she probably wanted to punish you for forcing her to do the last thing that she wanted to do, which was leave you. I promise that nothing happened between us." Virgil made a salute with his right hand. "Scout's honour."

"Lisa didn't tell me tha' bit till today." Butch pulled a tissue out of the box and twisted it into knots. "Tha's why I couldn' come here t' see ya. Coz I though' ya'd betrayed me."

"I hope you know that I wouldn't do that to you, Butch."

"Tha's wha' I though', bu' Lisa said…" Butch swallowed. "Least she didn' say ya didn'."

"I met Lisa at the shopping centre," Virgil clarified. "I could see that she was unhappy, she… She offered…" He censored himself. "You know… I told her there was no chance of that happening and got her into my car. She fell asleep and I drove her to my place because I knew you were there. I wanted you two to get back together."

Butch mouthed a silent. "Oh."

"And Lisa wanted you two to get back together too. Do you remember her reaction when she saw you?" Virgil was relieved to see a soppy smile slowly spread over Butch's face. "She didn't even know I was there. She only had eyes for you. The man that she loved. The man that I'm sure she still loves."

Butch sagged. "You sure?"

"As sure as I can be, trapped in a hospital room all day." Virgil didn't let on that today, the first day that he'd escaped the hospital, was the first day that he'd been aware that anything was amiss. "Nothing happened, Butch. Nothing except that I had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Misfortune?" Now Butch looked confused. "Didn' you wanna… uh…? You know… Why? M' Lisa's gorgeous. An' she's sexy, an' intelligent, an' clever, an' a great motha, an' a wondaful welder..."

"She's all that, and she's yours. Even if I had been willing to betray you, and Lisa, and my own moral code, and the Tracy name; even if I had been willing to betray all that, you've got to remember that I wasn't in a fit state to do anything. I'd just been beaten up by a gang and the only thing I wanted to do before I met Lisa was go home and go to bed. _Alone!_" Virgil gave Butch a sideways look that was supposed to be humorous. "Instead of being kicked out of my own place and having to take refuge at the Mickelsons'."

There was an embarrassed giggle.

"Look… Butch…" Virgil hesitated. "If you and Lisa are genuinely having problems, maybe you should talk to someone. You've got Virginia to think about as well as yourselves."

"Don' wanna bother people with our probl'ms."

"I can understand that, but isn't your marriage more important than your pride? All three of you went through a traumatic experience with the earthquake. There are professionals out there who are trained to help people talk through their problems. Or if you don't want to talk to a stranger, you could try Grandma."

"Mrs T?" Butch looked surprised. "I dunno that Lisa would wan' us to tell her our probl'ms."

"You might find it easier talking to her, since she's helped you guys before. Suggest to Lisa that you both talk to Grandma, and if she's not happy about that then you can suggest seeing a professional."

"I'll ask Liesl." Butch looked at Virgil with gratitude. "Thank you," he enunciated. "An' sorry fer no' visitin'. Sorry fer bein' rude this mornin'."

"Forget it, Butch. If I'd been in your shoes, I'd probably have felt the same way."

"I ain't enjoyed bein' mad a' ya."

"And I've missed your company."

"We're solid?" Butch held out his hand.

Grinning, Virgil grasped it. "We're solid."

They chatted for a time before Butch became fidgety. "Would'ya mind if I left now? I wanna talk to Liesl."

"Go. And next time I see you I hope you're going to tell me that your party's going to be a celebration of the beginning of another ten wonderful years."

"See ya tomorrow." Butch got to his feet and then stopped. "Virg'l…"

"Yes?"

"If somethin' happened… t' me… d'ya think you an' Lisa would get togetha? I wouldn' mind."

Virgil considered his answer and decided to be honest. "I don't know. I 'love' her the same way that I 'love' you, and Bruce. You're my closest friends. Maybe if you had never been in the picture Lisa and I would have tried to see if we could be more than friends. But that year that I worked at ACE, I knew what I was going to be letting myself in for when I left. I've never considered my job to be compatible with a long-term relationship, so I've never sought one. Look at where I am and how I got here." He indicated the hospital room. "It's bad enough that I've put my family through all that fear, and worry, and heartache; I don't want to inflict that on anyone else; especially not someone I love."

Butch gave a sage and solemn nod. Then with a: "See ya," he walked out the door.

Virgil let out a breath. That had gone better than he'd expected. Then he got on his computer's phone and sent a text message. _Hi._

_Jeff Tracy: How'd your talk with Butch go?_

_Virgil Tracy: Good. He's just gone. Are you busy?_

_Jeff Tracy: Not really._

_Virgil Tracy: I need to give you a heads up._

_Jeff Tracy: Heads up?_

_Virgil Tracy: Nothing major. I don't want you to have any surprises._

_Jeff Tracy: Do you want me to come over?_

_Virgil Tracy: Yes, please._

_Jeff Tracy: I'll be right there._

While Virgil waited he toyed with the idea of giving Scott his promised call. Then he decided that he'd wait until after his father's visit. He didn't want Jeff walking in at a tricky moment.

He didn't have to wait for long, although the voices outside the door told him that there was something holding up his father's entrance.

Finally, Jeff Tracy walked in. "Your guard refused to grant me entry," he admitted.

"I thought he knew you."

"It's his replacement. I had to tell him that I'm the one paying his wages." Jeff took a seat. "Now, what surprises am I likely to get?"

"I don't think you'll get any, but, since you're a man in a position of wealth and standing, I thought I'd better warn you, so you're prepared."

Jeff had sat back with a wary look as he regarded his son. "This sounds ominous."

"I honestly don't think it will go any further, but if someone else got hold of it…"

"Got hold of what?"

"Remember that we've got it all sorted, misunderstandings straightened, and there aren't any recriminations necessary. Nothing happened."

"Virgil. What are you talking about?"

Virgil sighed. "I thought it was going to be a quiet day and it's been anything, but. Did Grandma tell you anything about what happened with Butch and Lisa after their fifth wedding anniversary party?"

"No. When your grandmother plays Cupid she prefers to keep things to herself."

"You know that the Skulz gate-crashed the party."

"And you were beaten up and arrested, along with Bruce and Butch."

"Yeah. I don't think I told you that Lisa had told Butch that if he had anything to do with the Skulz … Aside from the couple who attended the party, who we now know included Mr Crump... She told him that if there was any trouble she'd leave him."

Surprised, Jeff raised an eyebrow. "No, you didn't tell me that."

"Sunday morning after the fight I was trying to recover when Butch came to my door. He was heartbroken because Lisa had left him. I rang Grandma and got her to talk to him while I went to get some coffee from the shops. I'd only just parked the car when I could hear this kerfuffle. It was Lisa being escorted from a bar because she was drunk."

"Drunk?!" The eyebrow shot up with its partner. "What time of the day was it?"

Virgil shrugged. "She was missing Butch, but determined to stick to her guns and leave him. She'd made him a promise and she wasn't going to break it the way he'd broken his. I think that's why she, ah, she…" He faltered.

"She did what?"

Virgil looked at his father. "I wouldn't be telling you this if it couldn't potentially be damaging to the Tracy name. I don't want you to think any less of Lisa. It only happened the once."

"Virgil," Jeff sounded patient, but Virgil wasn't sure that he was. "What did Lisa do?"

"Propositioned me."

"What?!" Jeff's eyes widened. "You mean propositioned as in… 'Propositioned'?"

"Yes."

"With a capital P?"

"Yes."

"Did you accept?"

"Father!"

"Sorry. No, of course you didn't." Jeff looked ashamed at his assumption. "You said nothing happened."

"Nothing did happen. I told her nothing was going to happen, got her into the back seat of my car… To take her to Butch!" Virgil added quickly when he saw the eyebrow shoot upwards again. "We went back to my place; me with everything crossed that Butch was still there. I don't know what she would have thought, or I would have done if he hadn't been. Fortunately, he was still on the phone to Grandma. Lisa and Butch fell into each other's arms, so I left them to it. I would have tried to sleep in my car if Grandma hadn't suggested that I stay with the Mickelsons."

Jeff considered his son. "And you're concerned that if someone found out that that one of my sons had been 'Propositioned' by a married woman, they might embellish the story to get at me?"

"Yes. Especially since Lisa threw it at Butch during an argument a month ago, but didn't tell him that I didn't accept."

"And that's why he hasn't visited you? Because he thought Lisa had been unfaithful with you?"

"She told him the truth today after I'd visited them. It must have taken him a lot of courage to visit me. He thought his marriage was over and I was partly the reason."

"Is it that serious?"

"From what Butch was saying: yes. He said that Lisa said that they'd have to decide. Is the party going to be a celebration of ten years of happy married life or a last hurrah?"

"Is that what they want?"

"I don't think Butch wants to give up. I haven't spoken to Lisa for long enough to get her opinion. She snuck in here before visiting hours to give me a heads up, so I could prepare myself. As far as Butch is concerned I haven't seen her since I went AWOL." Virgil chuckled. "This morning I told Virginia that we'd both be in trouble because we'd both gone AWOL. She thought I said that we were 'a whale'."

Jeff smiled. Then he turned the smile upside-down. "Just to confirm that there's no chance of any surprises in the future, there's nothing else I need to know, is there?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You got a lot of mileage out of teasing your brothers that you'd had Lisa in your bed."

"You mean Grandma got a lot of mileage. I just went along for the ride." Virgil stared at his father in dismay and building anger. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course, I trust you."

"I told you this, so you'd know the facts if someone said something in the future, _not_ as an admission of guilt! If you'd been any 'normal' father I wouldn't have bothered!"

"Virgil, I believe you!"

"I suppose that I should be relieved that, since you can't take me at my word, if anyone were to accuse me of anything now, you've got a medical certificate to prove that it's not possible."

"Virgil…"

"And may never be possible!"

"I don't need proof, Virgil," Jeff said quietly. "I believe you. I've always believed you. You've never given me any reason not to."

Seriously angry with his father, Virgil glared at the ceiling.

All at once Jeff was sucked back to that horrible day seven months ago, when he'd barged into the operating theatre to stop the hospital from making a horrendous mistake. Then, as now, Virgil had been gazing blindly at the lights above his bed. But last time it was because he couldn't see, not because he was ignoring everything about him.

Jeff knew now that he was the one who'd been in the wrong; that he could have been the one responsible for Virgil's death - even though at the time he'd believed that he was acting with his son's best interests at heart.

Virgil saw his father's uncomfortable fidgeting and, assuming that it was their conversation that had upset him, offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry…" He pulled his pillow up under his shoulders, raising his head to make chatting easier. "It's been an unsettling day; I've been kicked out of my room; and this thing isn't that comfortable." He indicated the harness. "I guess I'm a little out of sorts."

Jeff didn't let on the real reason for his discomfort. "I know. Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I'd rather you stayed… Please?"

Jeff stayed.

_To be continued…_


	49. Chapter 49

It was a grey and miserable day when Bruce Sanders arrived at his new place of work.

Before he entered he looked at the tatty sign at the gate.

Kruse Applied Products.

It seemed odd to be signing in to somewhere other than ACE. Now he wasn't an established member of the team. Now he was the new boy.

His Production Manager, a lean, harassed-looking, red-faced man by the name of Wallace Cobb, had shown him to the locker room, assigned him a locker with a seriously dodgy lock, said he had to prepare for the new week, and had left him.

Bruce opened the locker and withdrew the overalls that were neatly folded in there, replacing them with his bag. Holding the overalls by the shoulder and allowing them to unfurl, he stared at them. Where was the familiar ACE logo? Where was his name on the chest? Where was the first aider badge on the sleeve?

Telling himself that he'd soon be as comfortable in these stiff new overalls as he had been in his well-used ones, he put them on. Then he reached back into his locker, unzipped his bag, and withdrew his old safety boots.

He sat on the seat in front of his locker and kicked off his shoes, ready to put the steel toecaps on.

He stopped.

The last time he'd worn these boots he'd been at ACE and his world had almost literally collapsed around him. The last time he'd put them on he'd had a home, a girlfriend, a job he enjoyed and where he was respected, and his friends were well and comfortable with their lives.

Things had changed. These boots were a symbol of how much.

"Hi. Are you the new boy?"

Bruce looked up. "Er, yeah." He stood. "My name's Bruce Sanders." He extended his hand in greeting to the stranger.

The other man, who looked unlike anyone at ACE, shook it. "Ellery Kingston. But, everyone calls me Ellz."

Bruce didn't admit that many of his old workmates had called him "Buzz".

"Where're you from?"

"These last seven months, over the road from Bearston General. Prior to that…"

The locker room was suddenly invaded by more men, many of whom were talking loudly to one another. Almost as one they stopped and stared at Bruce.

"This is the new guy," Ellz told them. "His name's Bruce…"

"Sanders," Bruce offered. "Bruce Sanders." He waved at the group. "Hi."

"I'm Felings." One of the men at the front of the group appraised him, looking him up and down. "I suppose you've got the experience?"

Bruce smiled. "I trained at Tampar Engineering College and I've worked for ACE… that is Aeronautical Component Engineering, for seven years."

"Seven years," another echoed. "Why'd you leave?"

"ACE has been closed for the last seven months. My boss… My old boss, had hoped to know when he was going to be reopen it by now, but it's all been caught up in red tape and bureaucracy… And for the first few months he's had more important things to worry about. I needed the money, so I quit when I got this job."

"ACE…" A fourth man mused. "I've never heard of it. Where is it? The other side of town?"

Bruce gave what he hoped was a friendly chuckle. "A bit further than that. It was damaged in last August's earthquake."

There was a general murmuring from the listening men.

"Earthquake!" Felings spat. "We're sick of hearing about the earthquake. That's all that's in the news. It's been six months…"

"Seven," Bruce offered and wished he hadn't.

Felings glared at him. "…since it happened. It's time you guys got over it."

Bruce wished it was that easy.

"Come on, get a move on." The Production Manager pushed his way through the crowd. "Come on, Bruce, I'll show you the ropes." He stared at Bruce's stockinged feet. "I hope you're going to put your boots on first."

"Uh. Yeah." Bruce sat down and pulled on his shoes.

The factory, he discovered as Wallace Cobb showed him around, was tiny compared to ACE's expansive floorplan. It was dark, grimy, the roof unlined and, Bruce realised as he and Wallace had to raise their voices to be heard over the heavy downpour that almost deafened them, leaked. Not only that, the equipment appeared to be several decades old. Bruce wasn't even sure he'd know how to operate them.

"Where's the first aid room?" he asked during a lull in the rain.

"Don't have a room," Wallace admitted. "But there's a first aid kit in the office."

"Oh… Who're the designated first aiders?"

"We don't have any. The idea is to not get injured."

"Fair enough. But I was one of ACE's first aiders, so I don't mind having that role here too. I had finished a refresher course a couple of months before the 'quake, so I've already got the qualifications and the company won't have to pay for me to gain them."

Wallace stared at Bruce with an expression that he couldn't quite interpret. "I suppose you'd expect to be paid an extra allowance for that?"

"I did get one at ACE, but I wouldn't expect one here. As I said, I've got the skills, and the company may as well use them the rare times they're needed. I could at least keep an eye on the first aid kit and make sure it's always fully stocked."

Wallace gave a non-committal grunt. "I'll have a word with the boss."

"If you want me to explain to him, I…"

"Nobody on the floor talks to the boss unless he sends for them. And if he sends for you, you'd better be prepared, because he's not going to be happy with you. He's administration and he stays in the office. You're production and you stay here."

"I understand." Bruce remembered the many times he'd see Hamish Mickelson or Jeff Tracy checking out how production was processing in ACE's factory, and the way he'd always felt able to share a respectful, but friendly word with them; and felt a little depressed.

He made it through to the morning tea break without incident.

Following the eager line of blue, he made his way to the staff canteen. This was a single room, with oil and paint stained tables and hard wooden chairs that looked as though they'd been made in-house. He was last to make his cup of coffee and he did so, remembering the cheeky exchange he'd always enjoyed with Beryl, ACE's tea lady. His mug full, he turned, wondering where he was going to sit.

He was beckoned over to several tables.

He chose the one closest. The one occupied by Ellz and a few others. "Hi."

"Hi." Ellz made the introductions to the rest of the group. "How's your day been so far?"

"Okay," Bruce told him. "Except that I've got to get used to where everything is. I reach up there for a wrench," he lifted his right hand, "and discover it's over here instead." He reached across with his left.

"A bit different to your old place?" one of the other guys, Martin, asked him.

"A bit." _A lot._

"You worked at Aeronautical Component Engineers, didn't you?" a man named Tam or Tab, Bruce hadn't worked out which, enquired.

"Aeronautical Component Engineering: that's right."

"Isn't that owned by Jeff Tracy?"

"Yes, it is."

"What's he like?"

There was something in the way that Tam/Tab asked the question that rang warning bells. _What are you fishing for? _Then Bruce chided himself for his lack of trust. "He's great to work for. He expects his employees to work hard, but he rewards us, erm, them for that work. If we did anything extra special he'd give us a bonus."

"So, the pay's good?"

_Better than here._ "Not bad."

"Then why'd you leave?"

"Because of the event that must not be named." Bruce managed a smile. "There was a lot of damage to the complex. The rebuild is taking a long time and I was running low on funds for day-to-day living expenses, so I applied for this job. I was fortunate I got it."

"I heard there've been some serious accidents there," Tam/Tab began. "They must be a bit lax with their safety measures."

"No. Just unlucky," Bruce corrected.

"Unlucky? Someone nearly falls into a furnace? Someone nearly gets killed by toxic fluid? Someone gets crushed by a concrete beam? That doesn't sound too safe."

"My understanding is that there were extenuating circumstances with all those events."

"So, you don't know any more?"

_Nothing that I'd tell you._ Bruce shook his head.

His colleagues, hopeful for some juicy gossip, seemed disappointed at his lack of information.

Keen to change the subject, Bruce asked what he thought was a reasonable question. "How often do you hold staff meetings?"

"Staff meetings?" Everyone looked at him blankly.

"For the management to make announcements, offer praise, warn of any issues, and to give the staff the opportunity to give feedback."

"Feedback? To the management?!" Ellz looked at Bruce as if he were mad.

"Yes. Say…" Bruce thought. "If you've seen a safety issue you want to bring to their attention, or something."

His companions looked at each other as if he was speaking Martian and they didn't understand what he was saying.

"So, aside from being 'great to work for', what's Jeff Tracy really like?" Martin asked.

Becoming even more wary, Bruce volleyed the question back. "In what way?"

Martin shrugged. "He was an astronaut, wasn't he?"

"That's right."

"Big headed? Arrogant?"

"No. Definitely not. Mr Tracy takes an interest in his employees. He knew all of us and could recognise most of our family members on sight."

"So, he's nosey?"

"No. He takes the time to talk with us all at social club events." Bruce saw a way to manoeuvre the conversation away from what had the potential to become very personal. "How strong's your social club?"

"Social club!" The men at his table laughed.

"We don't have a social club," Ellz explained.

"We see too much of each other at work," Tam/Tab added. "The last thing we want to do is spend our spare time together as well."

"They can be a lot of fun," Bruce insisted. "At ACE we have… we had concerts, and went to shows, and tried different activities and competitions – like paintball. We once flew to the racetrack to see Mr Tracy's son compete in the World Series." _And the plane nearly crashed on the way home._

Martin laughed. "We'd be lucky if the boss took us to see his kid's go kart race."

"The plane trip was out of the ordinary, I'll grant you. But having a social club is a way of building loyalty to the company and each other, and we also use it to raise money for worthy causes."

"Like earthquake victims?"

Bruce was beginning to not like Tam, or whatever his name was, much at all. "Yes. We raised money to give to the Red Cross to help those affected by the Japanese earthquake a couple of years ago."

"Should've kept the money for your own people," Martin told him. "Then maybe you wouldn't be running out now."

"I didn't know there was going to be an earthquake," Bruce insisted. "And what goes around comes around. We helped Japan two years ago. Others helped us last year."

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, when the other man at the table, an overweight individual who appeared to be known simply known as Cart, changed the subject. "What was it like being in the earthquake?"

"Not much fun," Bruce admitted.

"Did you get thrown around? Bounce off the walls?"

"Thrown around's a fairly good description. We'd had a lot of pre-shocks, but none of us were ready for the big one. I lost my footing and could barely crawl. Not that there was anywhere to crawl to."

"Anyone hurt?"

"You must have heard the death toll. As Felings said, it's been all over the news."

"But was anyone hurt at ACE?"

That was information that Bruce wasn't prepared to indulge. "Some injuries, but I wasn't hurt. I was lucky."

"Didn't International Rescue get called out to ACE?"

"Yeah…" Bruce said warily. "Yes, they did."

"What are they like?"

"Lifesavers."

"Did you meet any of them?"

"I didn't have time for a chat. It was into a Thunderbird, a bunny hop to Bearston, and then out again. I barely had time to wave goodbye."

Wide eyes stared at Bruce. "You flew in a Thunderbird?!"

"Yes."

His audience leant closer. "Which one?"

"Erm… Thunderbird One, I think. It all happened so quickly that it's a bit of a blur."

Martin leant closer. "What was that like? Flying in Thunderbird One?"

"I didn't really have the time to take it in. Like I said, the flight was so quick I barely had time to do up my safety harness." _Because there wasn't one. I'll keep my promise, Gordon._

"Did you see any of their other equipment?"

"I saw some kind of bulldozer-type thing, but I didn't have time to check it out."

"Bulldozer? What did they use that for?"

Bruce shrugged. "Bulldozing."

Martin looked at him in disgust. "Didn't you see anything?"

"No. They kept us well away from the action to keep us safe."

"Surely you got some photos? Video?"

"International Rescue don't allow that."

"So? Who are they to say what you can and can't video in a public space? I would have had my phone out recording every minute."

"Even if I was willing to betray them, which I wasn't after they'd saved my life, I didn't have my phone with me. It was in my locker."

"In your locker?" Ellz voiced the table's general confusion. "Why?"

"Company policy. No phone use during working hours."

This one statement caused some hilarity and Bruce knew why. During the morning he'd heard several personal phones ring and no one seemed to have any qualms about answering the calls; sometimes staying connected for quite long, private conversations. Lesson learnt after the earthquake, Bruce had kept his phone in his pocket, but it had been switched off and not once did he think about checking it before the tea break.

"Why didn't you go and get it?" Tam-or-whatever asked.

"I couldn't. The building was damaged and too dangerous to enter."

"I said that place was unsafe."

"Only because an out-of-control truck rammed into it. If Jeff Tracy hadn't built the factory as well as he did, there would have been more fatalities."

"More!" Cart sat up straight, his eyes alight with a greedy glow. "There were deaths at ACE?"

"The truck driver. And the preliminary report into his death seems to say that if he'd loaded his truck more evenly, he possibly wouldn't have gone out of control and may have survived."

Cart sneered. "So, you're saying it was his fault?"

Bruce shrugged. "It was the earthquake's fault."

"I thought I said there wasn't to be any discussion on the earthquake," a voice behind Bruce growled.

He turned and faced Felings. "I'd be happy to talk about something else, but these guys were asking questions," he responded, as the others at the table fidgeted nervously. "I was just answering them."

"Well it's time you shut up about it," Felings told him.

Bruce shrugged again. "Suits me."

Another man, pale, skinny, and with a haunted expression, entered the lunchroom. His overalls, which seemed too big for him, were stained and well patched. He slunk past the table closest to the door as if he was hoping to go unnoticed and stopped to make himself a drink; regarding the cracked mug that was the sole remaining drinking vessel sadly, before picking up the coffee canister.

"Y'know," Felings said loudly. "I think I'll need another coffee before I head back to work." He marched over to the servery, took the canister from the newcomer's hand, tipped the remains of its contents into his own pristine mug, and topped it up with hot water. "Ah…" He made a show of smacking his lips together. "That should keep me going till lunchtime."

Earlier in the day, Bruce had decided that he probably wasn't going to be a fan of Felings'. This obvious piece of bullying confirmed it.

The buzzer announcing the end of their break sounded.

"You'd better get back to work, Sooty," Felings taunted the coffeeless man. "Don't want to get into trouble, do we?"

"Sooty", looking even more depressed, turned and headed for the door. He was overtaken by many of his workmates, some of whom took obvious pleasure in jostling him as they went past.

Bruce wished he was back at ACE. Greg Harrison, Max Watts, Hamish Mickelson, and Jeff Tracy would never have tolerated such treatment of a co-worker. Sure, there'd been some teasing between workmates, but that was to raise a harmless laugh. Nothing was ever said nor done that was intended to denigrate or taunt the victim. The few times that Bruce had been aware that such a thing had happened, the perpetrator had experienced a very short career at Aeronautical Component Engineering.

Bruce made a vow that he'd never treat Sooty that way.

As it happened, the two of them were set to work on the same task after Bruce had finished his pre-morning tea job.

At first Bruce didn't take any notice of his co-worker. Wallace was observing his work and he was determined to show that he was up to the task. When the Production Manager was finally happy that his new employee was capable of working unattended, he hurried away to oversee some other part of the factory.

Bruce took a moment to have a breather. "Hi." He smiled at Sooty. "I'm Bruce."

Sooty appeared surprised that someone was prepared to talk civilly to him. "My name's Cole."

"What would you like me to call you?"

"What?" Sooty/Cole seemed even more surprised by the courtesy.

"Some of the guys here called you Sooty. What would you prefer?"

Cole's head went down, and his voice dropped just as low. "Don't like being called Sooty."

"Then I won't do that, Cole." Bruce went back to work.

"Ah… Thanks."

When he'd finished assembling the unit, Bruce decided to state an opinion. "Felings seems to think he rules this place."

"That's because he does."

"Why? Does he own shares or something?"

Cole, seeming to be perpetually surprised in Bruce's presence, cast a furtive look about them to ensure that they couldn't be overheard. "No. I don't think so."

"Then why's everyone frightened of him?"

"It's just the way it is."

"He's a bully."

Cole looked like he was going to nod his agreement and then thought the better of it. If he was going to say any more, the opportunity was lost as a nearby press started pumping out several hundred blanks in a staccato cacophony of noise.

"Doesn't KAP have a laser cutter?" Bruce asked when the press shut down for some adjustments and his ears stopped ringing. He'd have to ask for a pair of ear defenders with a higher class of hearing protection. "It would make a much cleaner and quieter cut."

"New equipment costs money."

"And money's scarce?"

"KAP has never made money."

Bruce wasn't surprised when he considered the quality of some of the work. "Who's the Quality Control officer?"

"We don't have one. Everyone's supposed to do a good job."

That was a reasonable assumption, Bruce thought. But as he watched a trolley of parts roll past that had weld spatter all over the flat surfaces, he had to wonder at its effectiveness.

Lunchtime he would have rather gone somewhere else and eaten alone, but he decided that he'd better try to get to know his colleagues and so he returned to the lunchroom and joined another group.

Once again Cole tried to sneak in late and once again Felings let him know that he wasn't welcome.

"What'cha got for lunch, Sooty?" Felings peered into the other man's lunchbox. "Looks tasty. What's that?" He pretended to listen as Cole stood there mute. "Help myself? Don't mind if I do." He took the sandwich out of the box and returned to his seat.

Cole looked depressed. He glanced at the table with its grimy urn and even grimier mugs, and left the room.

Bruce decided that he didn't like Felings at all.

He also didn't like the questions that he was continuously pressured with. What was it like being in an earthquake? Had anyone been injured? What was International Rescue like? What did the Thunderbirds look like? What was it like to fly in one? What other machines did he see? What was it like working at ACE? What was the pay like? Why had he left? How safe was the place? What was Jeff Tracy like? Was he a whip-cracking, down-trodding tyrant? Was ACE a sweat shop using slave labour? Was it a terrible place to work?

Considering the atmosphere at KAP, Bruce found the last question almost laughable.

After lunch he was partnered with Ellz to weld up the tubes that formed twenty generator frames. As always, Bruce approached this task with a degree of anticipation. He fancied himself as a pretty good welder, although not in the same league as Lisa Crump. Do well here and this would be a way to gain some respect in the company. Maybe even more importantly, this was a chance to while away the last few hours with something he actually enjoyed doing before he could escape this place.

He'd got through four frames to Ellz's two and a half when he stopped to take a break. Tipping back his welding helmet off his face, he wiped his brow on his sleeve and straightened his back. He needed a higher workbench. He wondered if the management would let him make one.

Seeing his associate stop, Ellz did the same. "You're quick."

Bruce shrugged. "I like welding. It's easy to do something well when you enjoy it, especially if you've got the temperature right. May I?" He made a minor adjustment to Ellz's MIG welder.

"I hate it," Ellz admitted ignoring the change to his equipment. "I'd rather be on the press, or guillotine. Or, during winter, I like to work with the furnace. It's the only place in this hole where you can get warm."

Bruce looked at him sharply, wondering if this was another attempt to undermine ACE and Jeff Tracy, or a comment about where he'd been trapped during the 'quake – a fact he'd made a point of not revealing, but Ellz appeared to be more interested in fiddling with the welding wire that fed through the machine's nozzle.

Cole walked past, a square of his overalls torn and hanging loose and a new stain on his shoulder seeping through to his t-shirt underneath.

Ellz smirked. "Felings got him again."

Bruce watched as Felings sauntered towards the large double doors that enabled large lengths of metal to be brought into the factory. Avoiding the machine that recorded the time on site, the bully kept going out to the road, turned right, and disappeared. "What's Felings got against Cole?"

"Who?"

"Cole." Bruce indicated the lonely figure bending over a lathe.

"Oh, him! Don't you know?" Ellz looked astonished. "He's one of those." He made a descriptive gesture.

Not believing what he'd just heard and seen, Bruce stared at him. "So?"

"So, you know… He's not man enough to work here."

Bruce couldn't imagine anyone saying that to Winston without a quick and pithy reply. And those who had attempted it in the past had quickly found the might of the entire ACE workforce bearing down on them. "That doesn't affect the quality of his work."

"Guess he's not bad at the fiddly stuff, but I wouldn't want to work too close to him… If you know what I mean."

Annoyed by the callous attitude, Bruce slammed his welding helmet back down over his face and returned to his job.

He was glad when he heard the final buzzer of the day. Rotating his back and shoulders to get rid of the kinks that had settled there, he returned to the locker room to get his bag.

He stopped.

His locker was closed, but the lock was undone. Flinging the door open he checked his bag. Someone had rifled through it, but nothing appeared to be missing. Pulling his overalls off and placing them into the locker, he picked up his bag, said goodbye to his associates with nothing more than a civil nod and walked out.

The rain had cleared during the day, but the sky was still grey and heavy – matching his mood.

"Bruce!"

Looking over to where his name had been called, Bruce felt the whole day brighten. "Hiya!"

Beaming happily, Lisa Crump slipped her arm through his. "How are you?"

"A little shell-shocked," Bruce admitted. "This place is nothing like ACE. Why are you here?"

"We couldn't wait to hear about your first day, so Butch and I thought we'd treat you to dinner, so we can talk. We've scouted about and found a decent place that's within the price bracket of two impoverished, unemployed workers. We're treating you."

"You shouldn't do that," Bruce protested. "I'm the one who's going to be paid."

Wolf whistles and catcalls could be heard. Butch glared at the perpetrators.

Lisa ignored them. "When's payday?"

"Tuesdays."

"Then Tuesday next week Butch and I will meet you here and you can shout us. If this place is any good."

Bruce laughed. "So long as you let me buy both of you at least one drink tonight, it's a deal."

"Come on." Keeping one arm threaded through Bruce's, Lisa slipped the other through Butch's. "Let's get out of here."

"Good idea," Bruce agreed as he released his guard sparrow. He hadn't considered why there weren't any women on KAP's payroll, apart from the clerical roles, but his co-workers' present behaviour, and their attitude towards Cole, gave him a strong indication of the reason. He thought Lisa probably could have handled the sexist treatment; and if she couldn't, Butch certainly would have been able to; but any other woman would need to have a thick skin to be able to deal with the boorish attitude of the men of KAP. "I need to stop at a hardware store before it closes. I need to buy a strong lock. Where's Ginny?"

"Mrs M's babysitting…"

It wasn't until he had the lock in his bag and they were all comfortably installed in a booth in the restaurant, Bruce facing his friends across the table, that any mention was made of his day's employment.

"Did'ya enjoy i'?" Butch asked.

"It's different to ACE," Bruce admitted.

"Ya said tha'. Ina good way ora bad way?"

"In not the best of ways." Bruce accepted the offer of some water from the waitress. "KAP makes ACE seem like a five-star hotel."

"Why?" Lisa looked concerned.

"In… They don't seem to care. At ACE you got the feeling that everyone was looking out for everyone else, and that extended to making sure that we had repeat business, because of the quality of our work. At KAP there's no QC. No one cleans up after themselves. Us minions are not allowed to approach the boss. I said good afternoon to him today and he looked straight past me as if he hadn't heard me. The equipment's ancient. The work surfaces are too low. They've only got class three ear defenders and I needed at least a class four, if not a five. The building's full of holes. The roof leaks water all over the electrical cables. There's no first aid room. There are no first aiders. Everyone's on the phone making private calls all the time or waltzing out the door whenever they feel like it – without clocking out. And the way they treat one another…" Thinking of Cole, Bruce shook his head sadly. "There's one guy there who everyone thinks is gay…"

"Is he?" Lisa asked.

"I don't know, and I don't care. I just know that they treat him like dirt. I hope he had a good breakfast because I don't think he's been allowed to have anything to eat or drink all day." Bruce took a sip of water and shivered as the icy fluid travelled down his throat. "There's another guy called Felings, who seems to be the ringleader. Whatever he says goes. And from what I can tell, he's not even that good an engineer. Cole's better."

"Cole?"

"The supposed gay guy. They call him Sooty. He hates it." Bruce stared at his glass. "I don't blame him."

"Poor Bruce." Reaching across the table, Lisa rubbed his hand. "Maybe today was just a bad day. First day nerves or something. Tomorrow will be better."

"I hope so." Bruce straightened. "Right, enough of me moaning. What have you two been up to?"

"We've been talking, and we've made a decision." Lisa took up Butch's hand and, her fingers threaded through his, held it between both of hers. "We're going to keep trying to stay together. It'll mean some sacrifices on both sides, but we're committed to our marriage. Right, Butch?"

"Yeah." The big man looked happy as his great mitt of a hand covered hers and his. "Mrs T rang up this mornin' outta th' blue." He flushed lightly. "We told her things ain't b'n great an' she talked t' us. She told us that we had t' think o' Ginny as well as each otha an' ourselfs. She said tha' she undastood tha' we' b'n through an up'eaval with th' earthquake an' all tha', but tha', if we don' wanna break up, we' gotta work at i'."

"She helped us realise that we still love each other and that neither of us want to break up," Lisa continued. "So, Ginny and I will stay living at the unit until ACE is ready for me to start work, the aftershocks have stopped, and there's a school nearby that Ginny can attend. Butch will return home three days a week and do what he can to get the house ready for our return." She giggled. "It'll mean that Ginny will have to put up with my cooking for those three days, poor kid, but as I said, we're all going to have to make sacrifices."

Delighted by their news, Bruce grinned. "So, the party's still on?"

"It' still on an' it'sa cellybrashun," Butch told him. "We're gonna last least 'nother ten years."

"That's what I want to hear!" Bruce cheered, and then ducked his head when the waitress, who'd seemed to appear out of nowhere, gave him a strange look.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

He wasn't so cheerful when he got off the bus and trudged up towards the worn Kruse Applied Products sign the following day.

He was even less happy to find Felings and his followers waiting for him. "Hiya, Sanders."

"Hi." Bruce opened his locker door, withdrew his overalls and boots, and set his bag down.

"We saw you leave last night."

"Did you?" Bruce felt in his bag's side pocket, pulled out the new lock, and pocketed it.

"Who was that gorgeous bunny you were with?"

"I wasn't with any rabbits." Bruce made a point of ensuring that his phone wasn't going to ring during working hours, put the phone into his pocket, and zipped up his bag.

Felings gave a false laugh. "Funny guy, huh?"

"So I've been told." Bruce pulled his hearing protectors and safety glasses out of the locker.

"She your girlfriend?"

"Is who my girlfriend?" Bruce slung his bag into the locker and slammed the door home.

"That bit of fluff you were with last night."

"I wasn't with a 'bit of fluff'."

Felings gave an irritated sigh. "All right, if you want to play games. Who was that girl you were with? Was she your girlfriend?"

"No." Bruce started pulling his overalls on over his clothes. "She was a workmate at ACE."

"I'll bet." Felings leered. "Bet Jeff Tracy likes to ask her to 'take dictation'."

Bruce pulled his overalls' sleeves on. "She's not administration."

"She's not? Is Cinderella the cleaning lady then? Shame to ruin those beautiful hands."

Bruce zipped up the front of his overalls. "She's not the cleaning lady."

Felings was starting to run out of ideas. "Tea lady?"

Bruce sat back down on the seat. "No."

"What else is there that she could do? Stores?"

Bruce slipped his right foot into his right safety boot. "No. Production."

"Production?"

The right boot was done up. "Yes. She works on the factory floor. Like I said, she was a workmate."

Felings' jaw had dropped. "On the factory floor?"

The left safety boot accepted Bruce's left foot like the comfortable old shoe that it was. "Yes. Welder."

More jaws dropped. "Welder!"

The left boot's laces were tied. "The best in the company, if not the State."

Then Felings laughed. "You're joking with us."

Bruce ran his finger around the inside of his boots' ankles to smooth out his socks. "No."

"But she's a girl!"

Bruce tightened his right boot's laces. "She's a highly intelligent, talented woman. She entered some welding competition about six or seven years ago and won. I'm sure there must be a record of it somewhere on the Internet."

Several phones were whipped out of pockets and their owners started searching.

"What's her name?" one of them asked.

"Lisa." Bruce stood and turned to his locker. "Lisa Crump." He reached through the slit in the overalls and into his pocket, feeling his fingers brush past the guard sparrow that he'd hidden in there. He considered leaving it in his bag and then decided against it. Like his phone, it was there in case of emergency. He pulled out his new lock.

"Li-sa Crump. Here it is. The Tristate Welding Competition was taken out by Lisa Crump of Aeronautical Component Engineering… The judges complimented Mrs Crump on the speed, cleanliness, and strength of her welding, which passed all the tests set by the judging panel."

Felings, who had been listening to the recitation in disbelief, turned back to Bruce. "_Mrs_ Crump?"

"Yes." Bruce slipped the lock's shackle through the locker's hasp and pushed it home. It snapped into place with a loud and satisfying click. "The man who was with her is her husband, Butch. He works for ACE too. They're both my friends." Bruce looked at his watch. "Nearly time to clock in. See you guys at the coalface." Feeling smug at the incredulous looks around him, he pushed through his co-workers and out into the factory. "Morning, Cole."

"Ah… Morning? Erm… Bruce?"

Bruce was quite happy to be given a task that meant that he was working alone that morning.

That was until the harassed Production Manager came up to him. "Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"The boss wants to see you."

"The boss?"

"The Managing Director. The owner of the company. The boss!"

"Oh." Remembering the earlier warning that a menial production worker only saw the boss if he was going to kiss goodbye to his job, Bruce wondered what he'd done wrong. "Why?"

"How should I know? He doesn't let me into his confidence. But you'd better not keep him waiting."

"Okay…" With some trepidation Bruce found his way to the office and then was directed towards a veneer-covered door with the words: Conrad Kruse, Managing Director, painted on a plaque. He knocked.

"Enter."

Bruce did as he was told. "Good morning, Mr Kruse."

Kruse was a cold looking man with a pencil moustache. "Take a seat, Sanders."

Bruce briefly considered asking "where to?" and then decided against it. He wouldn't have even said it to Hamish Mickelson or Jeff Tracy in this situation. "Thank you." He sat down.

Kruse wrote, and Bruce listened to the scratching of his pen.

A pen which was laid down a minute later. "Now… Sanders… You started here… When?"

"Yesterday."

"And prior to that?"

"Prior to that I was on the payroll of Aeronautical Component Engineering."

"Aeronautical Component Engineering," Kruse echoed. "That's Jeff Tracy's company?"

"One of them: yes."

"What's he like to work for?"

_So that was what this meeting is about. A little inside information._ "He's got so many companies that he's got a General Manager that he relies on to take care of the day to day running of ACE… I mean, Aeronautical Component Engineering. Mr Tracy keeps an eye on it, to ensure that everything's running smoothly, but otherwise trusts Mr Mickelson to keep things ticking over."

"So, you've never met Jeff Tracy."

_I've stayed at his home, on his tropical island, with his son, who's one of my best friends._ "He'd visit the company every month or so and take a walk around the factory floor to ensure that everyone's happy, so I've spoken to him then. I've found him to be approachable and willing to listen. I've also worked with him, on occasion, when organising social club events."

Kruse's eyebrows shot up. "Social club?"

"Yes, ACE, ah, Aeronautical Component Engineering has a strong social club. I was the president for a while."

After that there were more questions. Questions about Jeff Tracy: the man, and Aeronautical Component Engineering: the company. Bruce tried to answer them openly and honestly, but without giving away anything that might make his previous employer seem to be one step short of God, or saying anything that could be interpreted as disloyalty to ACE and its personnel.

"What's different between Aeronautical Component Engineering and Kruse Applied Products?"

_Staff. Buildings. Quality Control. Safety. Training. Respect. _"It's a bit hard to answer that after only one and a half days, Sir. I haven't worked here long enough to get a handle on anything."

"But you've made some observations? Formed an opinion?"

_Are you trying to become an ACE clone or something?_ "Yes... But I don't know that I'm in the position to comment on them. My observations may be wrong. I'm still getting used to everything."

"Speak freely," Kruse invited him, and Bruce wondered how freely would be too freely. "What differences have you noticed?"

"Oh-kay… There are some rules at ACE that are there to ensure the best quality output. From the little I've seen I get the impression that KAP doesn't have the same rules. I'm probably wrong."

"Such as?"

"Such as…" Bruce decided to take the bull by the horns. "Excessive phone use for private calls during working hours. At ACE we weren't allowed to carry phones with us. If I was still at ACE, and since the earthquake, I'd break that rule and have my phone with me at all times, but I would have it switched off."

"Why carry a phone that's not turned on?"

"For that one in a million chance that something unexpected happen – like a 'quake. Seven months ago, after the big one I would have loved to have been able to contact my family and friends, so we could reassure each other that we were okay."

"And Jeff Tracy's dead set against this?"

"I think he was. Now, because of the communication issues after the earthquake, I don't believe that either Mr Tracy or Mr Mickelson would object."

"How is that different from Kruse Applied Products?"

"People carry their phones and they use them for private phone calls during working time. Each phone call may only be for a few minutes, but adding it all together means KAP's losing a lot of productive hours. That's overtime you may need to pay when deadlines draw closer. And time that could be used on quality control."

Kruse gave a slow, non-committal nod. "I'll speak with Cobb about it."

Emboldened, Bruce continued. "Remembering that I haven't worked here two full days, that brings me to something else. I think Mr Cobb needs an assistant. He's forever rushing between one workstation to another, setting up and troubleshooting; but with no time to do his other tasks, like quality control."

Kruse stiffened. "You think I should hire an assistant manager?"

Once again on his guard, Bruce shook his head. "More like a Charge Hand, even if it's only for one department. There must be someone out there who's worked for Kruse Applied Products long enough to know the place like the back of his hand, and has the respect of his co-workers," he added, making sure that Kruse knew he wasn't feathering his own nest.

Kruse grunted.

"I don't know him at all, but to me Mr Cobb looks like he's heading for a heart attack. Taking some of the strain off him now, while not undermining his position of authority, will mean that you don't have to deal with him becoming ill suddenly at a later date and leaving a vacuum. You would have to pay the Charge Hand an allowance for the extra responsibility and make him understand that there will be a probation period to see if it all works out, but I think that you could ultimately save money through increased efficiencies and quality control."

Kruse looked thoughtful. "Anything else you'd suggest?"

Surprised that the owner of the business seemed to be actively considering what he was saying, Bruce sat forward. "I know that I'm stepping well beyond the boundaries of what someone in my position and experience at KAP should say, and I haven't been here long enough to be relied on for an accurate opinion, but I think there's one thing you could do that will help your business run smoother and more profitably."

"Is this one of Jeff Tracy's secrets?"

"I don't know that it's a secret, but it's something he's done for as long as I've worked for… I'd worked for ACE."

"What is it?"

"On each monthly visit to ACE he would take a walk around Production to see what was going on and what improvements could be made. You're clearly an intelligent man," _I don't know that, but it sounds good,_ "and you know your staff and processes better than I do." _I doubt it._ "You'd soon knock this place into shape."

"Are you saying that Cobb doesn't do his job properly? That _I_ don't do my job properly!?"

_So much for buttering him up. _"No," Bruce said quickly. "I'm sure you're as busy as Mr Tracy is, and Mr Cobb is too busy to deal with anything except for the most immediate problem of the moment, but I think you'd find that once you saw for yourself the environment and, erm, culture of the factory floor, you'd soon come up with low cost improvements that will improve the bottom line."

"That's an odd word. Culture."

"There's not the respect between workmates that I'm used to at ACE," Bruce admitted. "There we'd tease each other, but we'd have each other's backs when it came to working together and for the good of the company. If someone needed a hand and we could help, we'd help. Here, and please remember that I haven't been here long, I don't get the impression that there is same loyalty."

"You could be wrong."

"I probably am," Bruce lied.

He was dismissed from Kruse's presence not long afterwards and after some direct questions and woolly replies about International Rescue. Relieved, he practically ran for the door. He entered the factory just as the bell announcing the lunchbreak sounded.

Not willing to face the grilling that he was sure he'd get from his co-workers – he couldn't bring himself to call them workmates – he grabbed his lunch and headed outside, pleased to see that the sun was shining. He put a bag on the ground beneath a tree and sat on it, leaning against the rough bark.

Seconds later Cole snuck out of the factory. Bruce saw his face fall when he realised that he wasn't alone. "Oh."

"Come and join me," Bruce offered. "The tree's big enough for two."

"I'm not gay!"

Although surprised by the blurted-out announcement, Bruce remained nonchalant. "I don't care if you are or you aren't." He indicated the spot next to him. "Sit down and relax."

Cole hesitated. Then he sat down. "Thanks."

Bruce concentrated on enjoying his lunch.

"Are you escaping _them_ too?"

Bruce swallowed his mouthful. "Yeah. The boss called me into his office to grill me over what Jeff Tracy and ACE are like. I don't feel like repeating myself to that lot."

"So, you'd rather I didn't ask?"

"I wouldn't mind you asking, because I think it would be out of curiosity, not downright nosiness."

"There's a difference?"

"Around here there is."

Cole turned his attention to his sandwiches, which he bolted down at lightning speed.

"Whoa! Slow down!" Bruce exclaimed. "You'll get indigestion!"

"Better than going hungry."

"Probably. At least a well-timed smelly belch might scare Felings away."

Cole laughed.

Bruce waited until his companion had finished eating. "How long have you worked here?"

"Coupla years."

"Before that?"

"I was at another engineering firm. They went out of business."

"Oh. There aren't a lot of engineering jobs going in this part of the world."

"No. That's why I'm stuck here."

"Things might be better if you stuck up for yourself."

Cole turned to Bruce. "I don't know how to," he said with simple honesty.

"Oh."

They sat talking as the precious minutes of their lunchbreak ticked past. Finally, they heard the unwelcome sound calling them back to their labours.

"Did you say that you lived over the road from Bearston General?" Cole asked as he stood and brushed down his overalls.

"Yes."

"How did you get here today?"

"Bus. My car's trapped at ACE until the authorities fix the roads out of town."

"I'm not too far away from Bearston General. Would you like a ride home? I can collect you in the morning too."

Bruce smiled. "I'd appreciate that. So long as you let me pay you something towards your fuel costs."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do."

They entered the factory.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was later that day that Bruce directed Cole towards the tall gate sandwiched between the high walls. "Welcome to the refugee centre known as the Trace Base." He leant out the car window, released his guard sparrow, which buzzed away to recharge itself, and pressed his palm against the lock.

Wide-eyed, Cole watched as the small black ball flew from Bruce's hand. "Refugee centre?"

"Yes. Everyone here is a refugee from the earthquakes." Bruce indicated the opening gates. "Go in. It's not a prison."

Cole drove forward slowly, staring about him. "What is this place?"

"It was a combined motel/hostel. Some friends of mine own it and they're letting us stay in the units out the back until our homes are inhabitable again… Or not in my case. Keep going down the driveway."

Cole skirted the imposing former hostel and pulled up in the parking area behind.

Bruce got out of the car. "Hi, Lisa." He scooped up the little girl who ran towards him. "Hiya, Ginny."

"Hi, Uncle Bruce. Daddy's gone home."

"I know. He's going to make your house look all nice for you again."

Ginny pouted. "Miss Daddy."

"I know. And your mama misses your daddy too. And I know your daddy misses you both. But he'll be back in three days… How many's three?"

Ginny held up three fingers.

Bruce laughed. "Clever girl." He put her down and turned back to his associate. If he'd had any doubts about Cole's sexuality, he would have lost them all when he saw the way the latter's eyes were sticking out on stalks at the sight of Ginny's mother. "Lisa, this is Cole from work. Cole, this is Lisa Crump, ACE's top welder; and her daughter Ginny."

Lisa giggled. "You're a flatterer, Bruce."

"Just telling the truth."

The back door to the main house opened, and three people stepped out accompanied by the aroma of mouth-watering smells.

Bruce greeted the first woman who excited with an uncertain smile. "Hi, Olivia."

Olivia ignored him. Pointedly looking in the other direction, she stalked past them all to her unit.

Bruce watched her go, trying to hide his disappointment.

The sole man who'd exited the house, had observed the couples' lack of interaction with a sympathetic expression. Then, when Bruce turned back, he smiled. "Hi, Bruce. How's your new job?"

"Hi, Scott!" Bruce wasn't prepared to reveal anything while Cole was present, including the reason behind Olivia's behaviour. "Guess you're here to see the invalid?"

"Yep. I've got a couple of days leave, so I thought I'd stop him from getting too bored with his own company."

"I was going to pop over the road this evening, but since you're here could you let him know I'll visit on Saturday and tell him all about my first week of gainful employment."

"I don't want to stop you from seeing him. I'm sure he's keen to hear what you've been up to."

"I'm sure he can wait. He doesn't get to see you often enough. Where's your father?"

"He's gone home to make sure the place isn't falling to pieces. He'll be back by the weekend."

Bruce made the introductions. "Scott. This is Cole. He gave me a ride home from KAP. Cole, this is Scott, and this is Mrs M."

"Hello, Cole." Edna Mickelson smiled at the stranger.

"Hello, erm, Mrs M?"

She ignored the query in his voice. "Because it's Lisa and Ginny's first night without Butch, and Scott's staying for a few days, I'm making dinner for us all..."

Scott chuckled. "She doesn't seem to think that I'm capable of looking after myself."

"More accurately she knows I'm less than capable at cooking," Lisa interjected. "She's helping Ginny and me ease into living without Butch."

"So, I've made plenty," Edna continued. "Both you and Cole are welcome to join us, Bruce."

Already salivating at the enticing smells, Bruce beamed at the older woman. "I won't say no. How about you, Cole? Do you have to go?"

"I," Cole glanced at Bruce nervously, "erm, I don't want to cause any trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Edna reassured him. "Knowing Scott's appetite, I've made enough to feed an army."

"Hey!" Scott complained. "Air Force, please, Edna."

Edna laughed. "We're eating early because of Ginny's bedtime and visiting hours over at the hospital," she told their guest. "So, if it's not too early for you, Cole, you are welcome to stay."

Cole had the expression and physical appearance of a man who'd endured a famine and had been presented with the opportunity to enjoy a feast. "Thank you. I'd love it."

"That you will do," Scott promised. "Anything we can help you with, Edna?"

"You've already asked me that fifty times, Scott," she chided. "You can tell my husband that he's got ten minutes. You boys," she indicated Bruce and Cole, "can go and get washed up."

Cole suddenly realised that he wasn't dressed for socialising. "I'm still in my work clothes," he admitted.

"Now, don't let that worry you," Edna stated. "We're all used to being around working-class men. Isn't that right, girls?"

Lisa laughed as Ginny gave an emphatic head nod.

Ten minutes later, this group were joined by Hamish Mickelson for dinner. And for the first time in living memory, Cole found himself enjoying a meal with one of his KAP co-workers.

_To be continued…_


	50. Chapter 50

"I've been thinking," Bruce said, as he and Cole made their way to KAP that Friday. He could barely believe that he only had to endure eight more hours and then he'd be free for the weekend. "You've got to stand up to Felings."

His driver seemed to shrink into himself. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can, and I know how."

"I hope it's nothing physical."

Bruce rubbed his head. "Believe me, there are plenty who will testify that I'm not that good at physical confrontations. But with humour and practical jokes I've got some talent."

"I haven't."

"Doesn't matter. I've got the prop that will get Felings off your back once and for all." Bruce checked his watch. "We've got plenty of time, so pull over when you can, and I'll show you."

Cole cast a nervous glance at him. "Is this a trick?"

"Yes. And you're going to be the perpetrator."

"I'm not good at practical jokes either."

"This one's easy." Bruce reached into his bag and pulled out a large lunchbox.

"What's that?" Cole steered the car to the side of the road and stopped.

"It's an anti-Felings theft device." Bruce opened the box and gestured towards its interior. "Put your lunch in there."

"My lunch?"

"Don't worry. I'm not, and Felings' definitely not, going to eat it." Bruce watched as Cole obeyed his instructions. "Now, see those ridges on either side?"

"Yes."

"Press them."

Cole did as he was told and uttered a small exclamation of surprise when his sandwich rotated out of sight. "There's a hidden compartment?"

"Uh, huh. I bought this months ago, and I've never had the opportunity to use it on someone." Bruce reached into his bag. "I can't think of a better victim than Felings."

"Is he going to think I've given up on bringing lunch to work?"

"No. He's going to think that your lunches are so terrible he won't dream of touching them again." Bruce pulled out a flat, squarish parcel. "Believe me, this isn't one of Mrs M's specials."

"What's in it?"

Bruce touched the side of his nose. "A secret recipe, only known by government torture squads and certain illicit cartels." Bruce placed the joke sandwich into the apparently empty lunchbox. "Close the lid. Press the buttons. And…"

Following Bruce's instructions, Cole laughed, seeing his original meal appear like magic before him. "And Felings thinks he's eating my lunch!"

"And Felings eats a lunch that's so disgusting he'll be lucky if he'll be able to work for the rest of the afternoon. Not that he does much work anyway. Flip it back, so you don't wind up with the wrong sandwich. I've put a red F on the decoy for foul Friday, so you'll know which is yours. But whatever you do, don't let him see that you've got another sandwich hidden in there, otherwise he'll know it's a trick and start plotting revenge. Make him, and all his cronies, think that what he's just attempted to eat is your favourite and that the hideousness of the sandwich doesn't bother you. Do that and he won't be game enough to steal your lunch again."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. There's one thing that all bullies have in common. Deep down they're cowards."

Bruce hoped that he was right.

He had his fingers crossed when lunchtime rolled around, and he sat at a table, eating his own lunch.

Cole entered the lunchroom. Bruce was glad to see that he had the good sense to not acknowledge his co-conspirator. Instead he went over to the water urn, put down the lunchbox, and started making a coffee.

There was the scraping of chair legs on the floor.

Felings sauntered over to the drinks table. Trying not to make it obvious that he was doing so, Bruce watched him.

"Well, well, well," the bully taunted. He picked up the lunchbox. "What have we here? A bigger box? Have you packed enough for two, Sooty?"

Bruce was glad that, rather than agreeing with his tormentor as he fell for the bait, Cole was acting as he normally would have in that situation. He had paled and looked almost scared.

Felings opened the lid and took out the sandwich.

Bruce was relieved to see a flash of red ink.

Dropping the lunchbox back onto the table, Felings made an obvious show of removing the sandwich's paper. "Is this tasty, Sooty?"

His head down, Cole gave a half-hearted nod.

"Good. 'Cos I'm hungry." Felings took a big bite.

Cole looked like he was going to faint.

Felings chewed.

Bruce waited.

Felings stopped chewing.

Cole stared at him with frightened eyes.

Felings dropped the sandwich back into the box.

His cronies watched him with interest as he turned red. Sweat stood out on his forehead and beaded on his upper lip.

Then he turned green.

Clamping his hand across his mouth, he ran from the lunchroom.

Almost oblivious to the laughter that ran through the lunchroom, Cole watched him go. Then he did something that had Bruce wanting to give him a standing ovation. He picked up the dropped sandwich, sniffed it, gave a shrug as if he couldn't understand what the fuss was all about, shut the box's lid, and proceeded to make his coffee. He then claimed the only available seat left in the room (aside from that vacated by Felings), which happened to be next to Bruce, opened his lunchbox and, as almost everyone else watched on in astonishment, tore his sandwich in half and proceeded to enjoy eating it.

Felings wasn't seen again that afternoon.

"That won't have affected production at all," Bruce claimed as he and Cole swept around their machines prior to the final bell. "He hardly does any work anyway."

Cole didn't comment. Instead he gulped. "Bruce!" he hissed.

Bruce turned.

Standing there, at the point of a V made up from two of his henchmen, stood Felings. "You think you're funny, do you, Sooty?"

"I-I-I…" Cole gulped again. "I don't know what you're talking about," he squeaked.

"Your lunch. You did that to poison me."

"P-Poison you?"

Bruce prayed the Cole would hold his nerve and not give the trick away. "How'd he poison you?" he asked. "You took his sandwich."

"That wasn't a sandwich. That was poison."

"It didn't look poisonous," Bruce insisted. "Everyone in the lunchroom saw Cole eat it after you'd finished with it. Right, Guys?" he appealed to the two men standing at Felings' shoulder.

They didn't respond.

Sensing trouble, Bruce reached through the slit in his overalls' side and into his trouser pocket. His fingers closed around his guard sparrow and he pulled it clear, opening his hand to release it. It buzzed upwards until it was hovering just above his shoulder.

Felings frowned at it. "What's that?"

"Protection," Bruce told him. "_WINGS arm_." The guard sparrow beeped.

"What?!" Felings and his cronies burst out laughing.

"If you don't walk away now, you're going to be in a whole heap of trouble," Bruce bluffed. He'd never been able to see how something as small as the Wandering INtelligent Guardian System could have done much more than video him being beaten up, and hadn't really been taking in the finer points as they'd been explained to him.

"If you don't want to be in a whole heap of trouble, you'd better walk away now, Sanders." Felings took a menacing step forwards, his glare firmly fixed on Cole. "You and I have some unfinished business," he growled. "We can either finish it here," he flicked his head, "or out there. It's your choice."

Wondering what he was doing when he didn't have a Tracy or a Crump about to back him up, Bruce stepped in front of Cole. "Leave him alone."

"We can finish you too," Felings promised. "Or not, if you just walk away." He took another step closer.

The siren marking the end of the working week sounded and Felings made his call. "Now!" With his two cronies close behind, he lunged at Bruce and Cole, figuring that, as it was two skinny weaklings against three muscular bullies, the odds were in his favour.

Ever since Bruce had armed it, the little ball had been analysing its surroundings and sending video and audio back to its base.

Its owner was showing signs of stress. This meant the threat was real.

Its owner was close to and had his back to one individual. This meant this individual wasn't a threat.

Its owner was facing three individuals who were moving closer. Facial analysis of those three and its owner's eye movements between each one showed that these three individuals were the source of the threat. If any of the three individuals made a sudden, aggressive move, the threat would be negated.

Shooting forward, the guard sparrow sprayed Felings' face with a fine mist of blue dye. The bully yelled as the dye stung his eyes and nose, sending him staggering backwards into the first of his two henchmen. Both men fell into a heap as the third, also assaulted by the stinging blue mist, tried to escape, but, blinded, fell on top of them.

There was bedlam as people converged on the quintet to see what happening.

Wallace, his face red with fury and looking like a heart attack waiting to happen, pointed at Bruce…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"…And that," Bruce finished cheerily the following day, "is how I managed to emulate my hero and get a final warning on my first week at work."

Virgil, fully dressed in loose fitting clothing as he sat alongside his friend in one of the two comfortable chairs facing the window that looked out onto the garden, had listened without comment. But now he felt the need to speak up. "Your hero?"

"Yes. You."

"Me?"

"Virgil…" Bruce gave a mock sigh of exasperation. "You've saved my life at least twice, not to mention the lives of I don't know how many more. Of course you're my hero!"

"But I'm your friend."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive… Anyway," Bruce continued, ignoring the embarrassment he'd caused, "Wallace, the Production Manager, sacked me on the spot. That was until he received a phone call from the WINGS crowd saying that the pain the dye caused was temporary, although the colour will hang around for a while." He snickered. "I hope Felings had a hot date planned this weekend… They also said they had video showing that the 'attack' was an automatic response in self-defence. So, the four of us got final warnings and Cole got a written admonition."

"That wasn't fair. Not if he's the one who keeps on being persecuted."

"At least the management's aware of that persecution now. Felings only has to do it once more and he's out of the company. It should make him think twice about bullying anyone in the future."

Virgil hoped Bruce was right. "Apart from managing to almost get fired, how are you enjoying your new job?"

Bruce stared at Ginny's latest gift to her "Uncle Virgil". This too was a solar-powered flower with a bobbing head and leaves, but this one had been missing the cheery face of its predecessor. That was before, with the help of his tools and a little gentle persuasion, Virgil had replaced the bland head with the original. "Do you want to know the truth?"

"Of course, I do."

Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. "I think I've made a huge mistake, Virgil."

"What? Quitting ACE?"

"Yes. I didn't expect it to be the same, but it's been a huge shock. I knew KAP didn't have the all singing, all dancing equipment that I'm used to, but I wasn't expecting the equipment to be so ancient! They're still using MIG welders. And hydraulic presses. Every time one starts up I get a headache. And none of the staff like me. They only tolerate me because they want to know what the earthquake was like, what ACE is like, what Jeff Tracy's like. I daren't tell them that I know him personally as well as professionally."

"So, you'd rather you were visited by Virgil Tancy?"

"Huh?" It took Bruce a moment for the insinuation to penetrate. "It's not that I'm ashamed of you or your father," he protested. "It's just that...!"

"It's okay…" Virgil soothed. "I understand. I pretended not to be me for the same reason, remember?"

"It just… It all feels wrong. I can't even call Cole a friend. He's just someone I kinda get along with, who I think needs someone to look out for him in return for giving me a ride to work."

"I'm sure he appreciates knowing that you're on his side."

"I'm not," Bruce said gloomily. "He had an unblemished record until I put my oar in."

"He'll be happier at work from now on if he knows he's not going to be bullied." Virgil thought for a moment. "I remember starting a new job once. I was excited, because it was going to be different to what I was used to, and I knew I'd be learning new skills and meeting new people. And then I started this job and it was a huge shock. I was used to being around friends, and family, and people who knew and liked me, and I suddenly found myself amongst people who gave me the impression that they didn't trust me. I could see that they were closing ranks to keep me out. And then, to make things seem even worse, I got tricked into an initiation ceremony by four guys and wound up getting a final warning on my first day."

Bruce looked embarrassed.

"I wanted to quit then and there. Even after my first week I was ready to walk away… And I probably would have done if I hadn't spilled everything to Scott. He told me to stick to it and that it would get better. He reminded me that I'd only been there a week and that no one there knew who the real me was."

"Apart from a couple of the guys who got you into trouble with the boss?" Bruce guessed.

Virgil grinned. "And one of those guys became one of my best friends. I didn't know that was going to happen when I started at ACE. As far as I was concerned I was going to get a year's practical experience and then walk away. My workmates stopped me from doing that – once they got to know me and I got to know them."

"I know what you're saying makes sense," Bruce admitted. "But it isn't easy."

"I remember. You just need to save a few lives to get into everyone's good books." Virgil winked.

"You mean become a hero?"

"You already are a hero, Bruce."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You've saved a few lives yourself. Including mine. I guarantee that I wouldn't be sitting here now if it wasn't for you."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I would."

Bruce thought briefly. "So, we should both accept that we're both heroes?"

Virgil laughed. "Agreed."

Deciding that it was time to change the subject, Bruce sat back. "Now that you've heard about my week, what's your news?"

Smiling in delight, Virgil stretched out his slippered feet. "I had to cut my toenails today!"

It was Bruce's turn to laugh. "You're the only person I know who could say that and make it sound like a wonderful achievement. That's great, Virgil."

The door behind them opened. "Hello, Boys."

Virgil turned in his seat. "Hi, Father."

"Hello, Mr Tracy." Bruce stood. "Would you like my seat? I can go if you want."

"No, don't do that," Jeff insisted. "I'm sure you've got a lot you want to tell Virgil about your new job."

Bruce glanced at Virgil. "I think we've covered that." He stood. "Let me get you a chair."

"Thank you." Jeff accepted the offer. "The boys are on a job and I thought Virgil would like to listen in. You can too, if you want."

Thrilled at the prospect of seeing behind the scenes of one of International Rescue's rescues, without actually being the one that needed rescuing, Bruce sat down again. "Thanks!"

"You can start without me." Virgil dragged a tall walking frame closer. "I need to check on Thunderbird Ten."

Ignoring Bruce's puzzled frown, Jeff held his son's walker steady. "Do you need a hand?"

Virgil laughed. "I know it's been a while, but I think I remember how everything works." With a lot of rocking backwards and forward, he managed to stand upright, bracing himself against the metallic framework.

"I thought you were meant to stay off your legs when you didn't have support," Bruce commented, as he watched his friend's first shuffling movements. "Isn't that why they put your legs in the harness after Muzz's visit last weekend?"

"The medical staff were being cautious." Virgil negotiated the turn away from the window. "They've given me a bone scan since then and they're happy for me to take short walks... So long as they don't involve running from gang leaders." Taking slow, determined steps, he started pushing the walker towards the ensuite door.

Bruce chuckled. "You look like the Empire State Building moving to its new site with all that scaffolding around you." The recollection brought back memories of that fateful day and reminded him who he was with. "Any chance you can give me the backstory on that?"

"It's a long story, so I'll tell you later," Virgil replied; who had no intention of doing so.

His visitors watched him as he left the room.

Bruce turned back to Jeff. "Thunderbird Ten?"

Jeff chuckled. "It's a family euphemism."

"Ah."

Jeff sat down. "How's the new job going?"

Not really thinking about anything except the drama that International Rescue was about to be part of and that he was eager to learn about, Bruce didn't consider his reply. "I think ACE has spoilt me."

"Spoilt you? In what way."

Suddenly aware of who he was talking to, Bruce hesitated. "I shouldn't really say, Mr Tracy."

"What's this _Mr Tracy_ carry on? I'm Virgil's father, not your employer. I'm quite happy for you to call me Mr T."

Bruce responded with an embarrassed, "Thanks."

"I've heard some tales about Kruse Applied Products at engineering conferences and I'm curious if they are true or not. But if you feel you'd be betraying them or giving away company secrets, just tell me and I'll keep my curiosity to myself."

Emboldened by the change in their relationship and his own curiosity aroused, Bruce looked at Jeff. "What have you heard?"

"I've heard… That is, I _know_ that Conrad Kruse inherited the factory from his family. Word is that he's had no experience or interest in engineering. And the same goes for administration. Gossip says that he just turns up each day to show his face, but that he doesn't actually do anything practical for the company. He leaves the day-to-day running to his staff."

"I can't comment on that," Bruce admitted. "I've only spoken to him once. And that was when he called me into his office to interrogate me about International Rescue, ACE, and you."

Jeff had looked concerned when Bruce had mentioned International Rescue, but when his own name was mentioned, both eyebrows shot up. "Interrogate?"

"Don't worry, I haven't given anything away, even though I've heard the same questions over and over again from almost everyone at KAP. It's almost as if ACE is this mythical country that everyone's heard about, but no one believes exists. They can't believe that there's a profitable engineering company that has modern equipment and management that takes an interest in the running of the company and their staff. And of course, International Rescue, is just as mythical and even more fascinating. I would have been asking the same questions a year ago. I've tried to give answers as if I were just a menial employee and star-struck fan of the heroes who saved my life. Virgil's even offered to revert back to his old alias if he visits me at work."

Jeff gave a thoughtful nod. "Is it a good place to work for?"

"Based on one week's experience: no. Aside from the antiquated equipment and the fact that I simply don't know where anything is, the culture's all wrong."

"Culture?"

Bruce chuckled. "That's probably the one thing that you and Mr Kruse have in common. He didn't get what I meant either. The difference is that your employees respect each other, and you and Mr Mickelson respect your employees. And because of that we have no issues obeying the rules that you've laid down." He chuckled again. "Although you might have a fight when it comes to not keeping phones in pockets from now on. Everyone's going to want to keep theirs close in case of emergencies."

"The cellular network wasn't working after the earthquake," Jeff reminded him.

"Wasn't it?" Bruce was genuinely surprised. "I didn't realise." He grinned. "I didn't have mine with me to test it. It probably would have melted anyway."

"So, doesn't Kruse respect his employees?"

"He doesn't know them. He stays in his ivory tower and we never see him – unless we receive a royal summons like I did. The only management we see is the Production Manager who's run off his feet and heading for a breakdown. He barely has the time to keep the factory running, let alone deal with disciplinary issues. I suggested to Mr Kruse that he promote one of his long-standing, respected employees to be a charge hand – although I've got no idea if anyone qualifies. I offered to be one of the company first aiders, making it clear that I didn't expect additional remuneration, and was told that the company doesn't even have a first aid room. And QC's non-existent. It's every man; and I mean that in every sense of the word; for himself." Suddenly feeling sorry for himself, Bruce sagged. "I hadn't realised how good ACE was to work for, Mr Tra… T."

"I'm sorry to hear that you're not happy."

Bruce shrugged. "It's only one week and I'm sure it'll get better. Virgil tells me he was ready to walk away from ACE after his first week, but he's glad he stuck it out."

"Except you don't have to deal with a father who stuck his nose in where it didn't belong." It was Jeff's turn to look embarrassed.

Bruce chuckled. "Lou and I visited him that evening, and boy! Was he was steaming mad at you! Of course, at that time we didn't know who his father was. We would have treated him a lot differently if we had done."

"Which is precisely why we didn't want anyone at ACE to know." Jeff glanced at the tablet in his hands. There was still nothing reported from the danger zone. "You know that I don't have anything to do with employing production staff…"

Amused, Bruce glanced at the door off to the side of the room. "With one exception."

Jeff responded with a genial smile. "But if you decide that you want to come back to ACE, I'll be happy to put a good word in for you. Not that I think you'd need it."

"Thank you." Bruce decided that there were more important and interesting things afoot. "Don't you want to check up on the 'job'?"

"Nothing can happen until Two arrives. And then we'll have to wait for John to send a report through."

"How long with that be?"

"Five? Ten minutes? Virgil would be able to give you the ETA down to the half second." Jeff turned in his seat to check the still closed door. "He's taking a long time."

As if he'd been summonsed, the door opened, and Virgil shuffled out.

Jeff could see that his son wasn't quite as upbeat as he had been earlier. "Are you all right?"

"I think I must have been sitting on a regenerating nerve," Virgil admitted. "I've got popcorn legs. Sorry, but I think I'll sit on my bed for a while." He pushed the top bedclothes clear and swung himself onto the exposed sheet.

Frowning in concern, Jeff approached the bed. "Are you sure? Bruce and I can leave if you'd rather have a rest."

"No. I'd rather have the company."

"Okay." Jeff slotted his phone into Virgil's computer so that they could all see the screen. "Let's call John to see if Scott's reported in yet…"

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy had returned home to Tracy Island the day before. He'd been sorry to leave Bearston. Virgil had been up, moving about, and in good spirits, and it seemed almost ridiculous to leave him behind in that sterile building.

But at least he wasn't being left alone.

"_There's nothing to report, Scott,"_ Jeff had told him, when he'd arrived at the family's home-away-from-home. _"Alan and Gordon are doing some maintenance, John's keeping an eye on the cyclone season, and the rest of the world's been quiet. "How's Virgil?"_

"_Desperate to get home."_

"_I know. It won't be long before he's back on the right side of the world…"_

Scott wasn't even sure which part of the world he was in when the rescue alarm blared, snapping him out of his slumbers. He sat up and looked at his wristwatch. "John?"

"Sorry to wake you, but there are a couple of spelunkers trapped in a deep cave system in South America."

"And they can't get out?" Stupid question, Scott told himself. Why else would someone have contacted International Rescue?

"If they had the time they could, but a storm's dumping metres of water into the catchments that feed into the aquifers of the area and filling the entire subterranean system. The water's rising faster than they can climb."

"Okay. This sounds like a job for the Mole. I'll head out and you tell Alan and Gordon to saddle up."

"F-A-B."

That had been a little under half an hour ago, and now Scott watched as the great green plane that was known as Thunderbird Two flew low and disappeared behind a hill. There was nowhere near Mission Control big enough for the transporter and he'd had to make the reluctant decision to operate this rescue remotely.

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control. We've touched down," Gordon's voice told him.

Scott lifted his microphone to his lips. "Understood, Thunderbird Two. Thunderbird Five is sending you the drilling coordinates now."

"Received. Will report back when we're in the Mole."

"F-A-B."

It was a little under thirty seconds before Scott received the next report. "In Mole. Proceeding to drill location… Drilling."

"Good. The Mole will stop next to a cavern. You'll still be 176 metres from the cavers and about twenty metres above them, but it's the closest point that the Mole can reach that will have a direct, traversable path to where they are now."

"Is the cavern a big one?"

"Big enough that the Mole wouldn't have any traction. You'll have to continue on foot."

"Understood. Mole out."

Scott smiled at the worried coordinator of the local rescue services. "It won't be long now." Mobile Control translated his words into Portuguese.

The translation came back to him. "Many thanks."

Inside the Mole, Alan sat at the life support console, allowing Gordon to control the drilling machine. "Are we going to need breathing apparatus?"

"At the rate of flow, I'd say yes," John's video link told him. "At least you'd better take it with you."

"Okay, I'll get it together." Alan left the console and, leaning against the machine's incline, walked up to one of the lockers. "I guess we'll need wetsuits too."

"That water's going to be freezing," Gordon reminded him. "Make them dry suits."

Obeying the directive, Alan opened another locker. "How cold do you think it will be?"

"Less than nine degrees Celsius," John told him.

Alan shivered. "Cold enough."

"Slowing down," Gordon announced. "We're nearly there."

Alan placed Gordon's dry suit on a seat and struggled into his own, pulling his head through the neck aperture with an almost audible pop. Blond hair askew, he reached for the suit's hood. "Want me to take over?"

"Thanks." Gordon exited the piloting seat and donned his own dry suit as Alan allowed the Mole to come to a stop at its precisely calculated destination.

Both brothers took up their torches, six slimline oxygen tanks, and other rescue gear.

"See you soon, John," Gordon promised with a broad grin as he attached a light to his forehead.

"Keep in contact."

"F-A-B."

Alan slid the Mole's hatch aside.

They were presented with a wall of darkness.

Switching his torch on, Alan looked around him, seeing precisely nothing in the gloom. "This place is massive! My light's not even touching the walls!" He adjusted the angle of his torch, concentrating the beam so it focused on a smaller area. Now he could just make out a dim glow from the light reflecting off the cavern's walls and other structures.

Holding a sonar scanner outstretched, its reading showing a 3D map of the cave system before them, Gordon checked the readout, pleased to see four red hotspots. "Are you reading me, John?"

"Strength three."

"Can you contact the cavers? Ask them to start climbing from where they are. They should come across a tube, which'll bring them closer to us."

"F-A-B."

"Come on, Alan." Keeping his torch's light focussed in a tight, but far-reaching beam, Gordon stepped off to his right; Alan following close behind; an articulated hover-sled following them both like an obedient dog. On the hover-sled sat the oxygen cylinders and other equipment they thought they might need to get the cavers to safety. And, as an additional aid, the sled left a trail of florescent dye as it dodged the stalagmites and columns, levitated over obstacles, and ducked low hanging stalactites. A couple of floods and the dye would wash harmlessly away, but in the meantime, it was a means of finding the path back to the Mole should they lose their lighting and their way.

Despite appearances that they were in the middle of a black hole, the brothers soon confirmed that they were in a cavern that shrunk down to a tube – a smooth sided, elliptical passage that had been formed by aeons of rushing water. Soon this tube would be filled with freezing liquid again. It was over to them to make sure that everyone was clear of the area before that happened.

At least it made crawling relatively easy, with nothing to snag their clothing nor equipment.

That was until they came to the sinkhole. Its diameter wasn't so wide that it was insurmountable, but, as Gordon discovered when he directed his torch's beam down into it, it was deep.

Metres down his light just highlighted the cold, rushing water that was rising up it.

Trying not to put their weight on its edges, the Tracys and the hover-sled slithered past.

"Thunderbird Five to Gordon."

"Go ahead, John."

"The cavers are reporting that they can't find the tube. Can you give them a bearing?"

Stopping his crawl, Gordon switched on the scanner. "Tell them they're getting closer. Maybe another couple of metres higher?"

"F-A-B." In the background the younger Tracys heard John say something in Portuguese. Then his voice became clearer as he reverted back to English. "They've found it. They're climbing."

"Thanks John. I think we've got another couple of caverns to negotiate before we meet up with them. Gordon out."

"How's your Portuguese?" Alan asked, as they set off again.

"Non-existent. Yours?"

"I can manage some Spanish. I think there are similarities between the two."

"We need an automatic translator built into our suits."

"Last I heard, John's working on one, but he's having problems miniaturising it so it's not too cumbersome."

"Watch it. The tube drops away here."

"Maybe we should put in an anchor bolt?"

"Wouldn't hurt."

Unclipping an anchor bolt from his belt, Alan loaded it into a gun and fired it into the tube wall at a downwards angle, ensuring that gravity couldn't work it free. Affixing a belay rope, he allowed its end to snake down the tube. "We should be able to get back up now."

"Always an advantage."

Alan chuckled. "Yep."

Gordon inched forward again. "Careful. It doesn't feel too solid."

"Another sinkhole?"

"In the making. Try not to put too much weight on it." But despite his own warning Gordon felt the ground give way beneath him. With nothing to grab hold of and no way to save himself, he pitched forward.

He fell, desperately trying to find purchase on the tube's slick walls…

"Gordon!" Alan lunged for his brother. He felt his fingertips slide down an ankle, before that disappeared out of reach. "Gordon!"

But Gordon was little more than a beam of light spinning away into the darkness.

"Gordon!"

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control."

Relieved to be finally getting some feedback, Scott sat on Mobile Control's seat and triggered the microphone. "Mobile Control. Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"The cavers are climbing. They're hoping to meet up with our team once they've climbed through a tube, although Gordon and Alan have a way to go before they get there."

"How are the victims?"

"In good spirits."

"And Alan and Gordon?"

"Making steady progress."

"Any comments from D?"

"I haven't let him know yet."

"You'd better do it soon. He'll have your hide if you don't keep him posted."

"I don't want him stressing any longer than he needs to. He's happier operating from back at base."

"Don't I know it," Scott grunted. "It'll be better when the team's back together again."

"In more ways than one," John agreed. "In more ways than one…"

-F-A-B-

Gordon's momentum was sending him on an unstoppable plunge down the ever-steepening tube as the light and shadows from his headlight swung around crazily, preventing him from focusing on anything that might offer salvation. He felt something hard beneath him and managed to snare the belay line. But his dry suit, designed to swim through water with the least resistance, ensured that it just slipped through his hands. Doing his best to cling on, he rolled his body, wrapping the rope around himself.

He plunged out of the tube and dropped into nothingness. He fell, spinning like a top about the rope until it caught on his oxygen cylinder; stopping his descent with a snap that reverberated like the cracking of a whip in an echo chamber. There was another jolt and he dropped some more, before something slammed against his back and fell clear.

Gasping, Gordon opened his eyes to discover that his nose was only centimetres away from the hard, unyielding limestone. Closing his eyes again he continued to fight for breath against the tightly wound rope constricting his ribcage. Desperate to relieve the pressure, he pushed against the ground, but his arms appeared to have no strength…

"_It's okay, Gordon, I've got you."_

Something took the strain and the rope was pulled free. Gordon collapsed onto the ground, dragging in great lungfuls of air.

"_Put your mask on. Let's get some oxygen into you…"_

Gordon felt something touch his back and then his mask was slipped over his face. His first breath of cool, refreshing oxygen felt like an elixir. The second eased the burning of his lungs. The third was enough to bring him back to his senses. The fourth allowed his brain to comprehend what had happened. And the fifth told him that he was using up a resource that he could need later. Concerned that he'd run out of the precious gas, he switched off the oxygen flow and breathed the little that was circulating within his mask.

Taking his time as his bruised ribs complained, he sat up. "Thanks, Alan."

"Are you okay?"

Gordon removed his mask. "A little sore, but I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Apart from never being able to look at a yoyo the same way again, I'm okay. You?"

"I managed to slow down before I fell out of the tube, so I didn't slam into you as hard as I might've." Alan regarded his brother, noting the stiffness of his movements. "I can carry on alone. Do you want to stay here?" He reached up to encourage the hover-sled out of the tube. "We'll have to come back this way anyway."

"Nope." Gordon got to his feet. "I'm fine. Let's get moving."

"Thunderbird Five to Rescue Team."

Gordon responded promptly. "Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"Haven't heard from you guys for a while. I was just checking in."

"We're fine." Gordon ignored Alan's warning look. "Just a minor holdup when the hover-sled caught on something. We're continuing on now." He started walking.

"Okay. Make sure you keep in contact."

Gordon stopped at the entrance to the next tube. "We've got to start climbing for a little bit, John. We'll sign out now and give you a progress report soon."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy loathed being this far away from the action. It wasn't so bad when he was within sight of another Thunderbird, even if he was hovering in Thunderbird One, beside Thunderbird Two, above a submerged Thunderbird Four. But to be miles away…

"Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control."

"Report from the team. They've had a minor holdup."

"Minor holdup? What do they call a minor holdup?"

"Gordon said that the hover-sled caught on something…" John hesitated. "But he didn't sound right."

"What do you mean _didn't sound right_?"

"Just a little off, as if he was keeping something from me. But he said _we_ were carrying on, so I guess they're both okay."

"You should have told them to keep their mics on."

"I will do if they need to wear their masks. They're in their dry suits at present…"

-F-A-B-

Alan ducked down so he could see up the tube that they were going to climb. "It's steep and there's not much to hold on to." He straightened and turned back to his brother, seeing a little pool of luminescence in the distance that marked the site of their last drama. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine."

"Scott's going to have your hide for not telling him what happened. You know that."

Gordon shrugged. "I'm okay and there's nothing he needs to worry about. Now…" He peered up the tube. "Let's get moving." He unhooked a spear gun-type device. Pointing it up the tube, he fired. A projectile snaked out and embedded itself into the wall. After testing that it would hold his weight, he clipped the rope to his harness, making sure that should he slip this time, the rope would hold him firm.

"Right." He looked up the tube. "Onwards and upwards."

"After you."

"Thank you."

With nothing for their dry suits to grip onto, the climb was difficult, but not impossible. They emerged into yet another chamber. The hover-sled, having hooked itself onto the rope, slithered out of the tube.

"Wow!" Tightening his torch into its narrowest, most concentrated beam, Alan gazed upwards. "Is it me or is this one even higher?"

"It's you." Gordon started negotiating his way around the stalagmites towards where his sensor was telling him was another tube leading down to the four cavers. "John?"

"Yes?"

"Weren't those guys climbing the tube to meet up with us?"

"They were supposed to be," John admitted. "Hang on. I'll check up on them…" His voice became fainter. "_Está tudo bem?_"

Gordon and Alan heard the distant reply before John translated. "They think they took a wrong turn."

"Is that storm still raging?" Alan checked.

"Like Niagara Falls."

"Thanks."

"And so you know…"

"Yes?"

"I've just told Dad that International Rescue's been called out."

"You've _just_ told him?!" Gordon stared at the microphone. "You're a brave man, Johnny."

"I'm also several thousand Ks away from him. The less time he has to stress, the happier we'll all be. He said that as it's visiting time he was going to head over to Virgil's, so they could both listen in. You're going to have an audience."

"We'd better put on a good show then. Talk to you soon, John."

Alan was already at the mouth of the final tube. He locked an anchor bolt into the ground and fastened a rope. "Down we go."

Down they went.

-F-A-B-

"They've nearly reached the rendezvous point," John announced.

Scott relaxed a micron. "Good."

And just so you know, Scott…"

"Yes…?"

"D. has gone over to spend some time with V. He said they're both going to be listening in, so I've got to keep them updated."

"Just so long as you update me first."

"Will do. Not that there's much to say at the moment…"

-F-A-B-

They slithered the last metre and out of the tube and onto the next cavern's floor. Getting to their feet, they looked about them.

No signs of any cavers.

While Gordon checked the scanner, Alan got onto the radio. "John? Where are they?" He watched as the 3D map showed four hotspots… And a wall between them. "Weren't they climbing up the tube?"

He didn't get an immediate response from John.

With a worried glance at Gordon, Alan tried again. "Come in, Thunderbird Five."

This time there was a response. "Sorry. I've been checking up on them. Apparently, the tube they were ascending was more of a chimney and it's a climb to reach it. You're going to have to go through another tube, across another cavern, and then climb down to them."

"Right." Gordon rotated his shoulders. "Then we'd better carry on…"

Keeping a wary eye on each other's progress, and that of the hover-sled, the brothers traversed what they hope would be the final cavern before they reached their target.

They found the chimney.

It was an almost vertical tube that dropped down into a cavern below. Unlike that other tubes that they'd slid through before they got to this point, this one's sides were rough and jagged.

"Looks like fun." Gordon rammed an anchor bolt into the ground. "Alan, you stay here and pull them up. I'll go down and help clip them onto the belay rope."

"Be careful."

Gordon treated his brother to a cocky grin. "Aren't I always?"

"Don't ask me to answer that."

"Good. Catch you soon…"

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control."

"The team will have to descend a chimney to get to the cavers before they can help them out."

"Are the cavers okay?"

"They report that they're fine, although a little concerned because they can't reach the final chimney."

"Can't reach it?" Even more on his guard at the news, Scott frowned. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"Only if we can't get them out before the water reaches them. Gordon's climbing down to help them."

"I hope he's careful."

"He will be. You know Gordon."

"That's the problem. I do…"

-F-A-B-

This wasn't the smooth, slick tube that Gordon had encountered so far in this caving system. This one had rough sides with uneven edges that required him to contort his body to get around the obstacles. There were a couple of points when he wondered if he shouldn't have sent Alan in his place. Although his brother wasn't a beanpole, he didn't have the muscular upper body physique of a swimmer to contend with.

The only positive was that this obstacle was quite short.

Finally, he felt his legs dangle down into empty space. He was relieved to feel someone grab his feet and guide them down onto something solid.

Solid, but submerged.

Gordon smiled at the men before him. "Hola."

The men before him responded with a half-hearted wave and an "Olá."

"Right, we've got to…" Gordon realised that he had a problem. He spoke into his radio. "Thunderbird Five. Can you ask them to remove their gear? We're not going to have time to take more than we need."

"Okay." And Gordon listened, not for first time, in admiration at the way that his elder brother could communicate so freely in another language.

There was a collective nodding of heads, sounds of reluctant agreement, and the removal of excess gear.

"Right!" Gordon pointed at the smallest of the men. "Up you go." He changed his finger's angle, so it was indicating skywards.

A finger pointing towards a route to safety is a universal symbol and the man understood. He allowed Gordon to affix the rope to his harness. He shared a few words to his associates, who bent down to assist him to the mouth of the chimney, and then began climbing.

Gordon spoke into his microphone. "Be careful, Alan. There are plenty of snags up there."

"Understood."

But despite Gordon's concerns, the first climber was experienced enough to make the trip with few hassles.

Gordon waited until he received word from Alan that the man had escaped the chimney. "You're next," he pointed.

The second climber didn't need a translation. With assistance from two of his associates, he began clambering upwards.

"Just like Father Christmas," Gordon joked.

His companions looked confused.

Once number two had exited the chimney, climber number three was able to rely on number four and Gordon for assistance.

That left number four and Gordon.

The water was creeping ever higher.

Crouching low, so that his head was just above the waterline, Gordon linked his hands together for the last caver to step on.

The man hesitated.

Gordon grinned. "Don't worry. You're not leaving me behind."

As if he understood, the caver stepped onto Gordon's interlocked fingers and was hefted towards the chimney.

Gordon spoke into his microphone. "Send down the rope as soon as you can, Alan. If you can't, I'll float to the chimney's mouth."

"Is it rising that quickly?"

Gordon bobbed in the water. "Quicker." A rope fell from the hole above his head and he grabbed hold, clipping it to his harness. "Belay affixed."

"Taking up the strain."

Gordon felt his bruised ribs complain as the harness took his body weight from the water's support. Then he grabbed at the chimney's walls, pulling himself up until he could brace his back against one wall and his feet against the other. Pushing himself upwards, he climbed.

Moments later hands were grabbing at him and pulling him free.

-F-A-B-

Bruce Sanders brought two of the three chairs looking out onto the garden closer to the bed and placed one on each side. "There y'go, Mr T."

"Thank you, Bruce."

"What's the emer… erm. What's the job your sons are on?"

Rather than risking being overheard, Jeff swivelled Virgil's computer around, so Bruce could see the screen.

_4 spelunkers 900 m in a system in S. Am. T1S, 2AG, M_

Bruce looked across the bed to Jeff. "And that means?"

"Scott, Alan and Gordon have the Mole with them."

"Erm…" Bruce pointed at _S. Am_.

"South America."

"And…?" Bruce pointed at what had to be a spelling mistake.

Jeff read the correctly spelt _spelunkers_. "Cavers."

Bruce shivered. "That's a hobby that's about as appealing as rappelling off a gantry over a furnace of red hot metal." He sat and stared at the computer screen for a moment. "How much longer will it take them to get there?"

He'd looked at Virgil when he'd asked the question, but it was Jeff who'd answered. "It must be well underway by now," he admitted, looking at his watch. "I suppose John's been too busy to send us a report."

-F-A-B-

Those underground had safely traversed the cavern and reached the first tube they were going to have to climb on their return journey.

"You can go first this time, Gordon," Alan suggested.

"Thanks." Gordon stepped up, grasped the rope that they'd left earlier, and started climbing, his feet slipping on the tube's smooth surface. Aware of the water almost literally lapping at their heels, the rest of the group followed suit.

They emerged into the third cavern on their return journey and Gordon started leading the way along the florescent trail.

Alan held back, waiting for the hover-sled to crest the tube and follow them. When they'd first seen it rise up and follow them, the cavers had reacted as if it were an ancient relic of the caves that had come to life in their presence. But now they accepted it as if it were another standard piece of equipment.

Once again dodging all the obstacles that nature had thrown up at them, the six men hurried across the amphitheatric space, their collective beams lighting up the yellowish world around them and casting eerie shadows just out of their reach.

They became aware that they were paddling through low lying water.

Gordon stopped walking and started unstrapping the hover-sled. He flicked a switch and spoke into the microphone in his hand. "How do you say put the breathing gear on, John?"

"Put me on speaker, Gordon."

"F-A-B."

"Este é Thunderbird Cinco," John told the startled men. "Eu posso traduzir para você."

Pleased that someone was prepared to translate for them the men smiled. "Obrigado."

Gordon and Alan listened as John told the cavers to don the oxygen cylinders.

Nodding their agreement, the cavers crowded around the hover-sled while the Tracys handed out the apparatus. What followed was a quick lesson, via practical demonstrations and simple signs, on how to operate International Rescue's equipment.

And all the time the water was rising at a rapid pace and increasing force.

So rapidly and forcefully that it became difficult to stand as it crept up their calves. Nearby they could hear a newly formed cataract falling back into the bowels of the Earth.

Alan shone his torch in the direction of the sound. "Where's it going?"

"Guess it must be a separate chamber." More interested in following the submerged glowing trail, Gordon pressed on; fighting against the rising water. "Link arms, everyone."

"Perdão?" one of the men said.

"John! Can you tell these guys to link arms?"

John didn't stop to ask why the command was necessary, and Gordon figured that that was because he was astute enough to guess. All six heard the words and the cavers immediately started to obey. They shuffled closer to each other, turning so they could thread their arms through one another.

"AAEEeeee!"

The scream reverberated around the cavern as the water reached the knees of the shortest of the cavers, sweeping him off his feet. He grabbed at a stalagmite in the hope that it would stop him from being thrown over the waterfall that dropped away into the darkness, but the limestone was slippery, and his fingers slid off. With another yell, he was dragged away towards the unseen, but increasingly loud menace.

Before his colleagues had a chance to react, Gordon had unclipped a gun from his belt and had braced himself against the force of the water. Holding the gun at an angle away from the remaining men, he fired. The projectile shot out of the firearm and sped away, curving around the cavers as it trailed a net behind it. It took a detour around a sturdy column and then returned to its starting position, latching on to its own tail. It tightened gently around the men, holding them secure and upright as the rushing water threatened to send them after their friend.

Alan was already chasing after the endangered victim. Using columns and stalagmites to maintain his balance, he was able to control his progress, but was too slow. He pulled his own gun from his belt, took aim, and fired.

Unlike Gordon's, this net wasn't designed to fly free and it didn't attempt to ensnare the victim in the same way as the other had done. Instead it fell across the man who was alert enough to what was happening to reach out for it. The caver felt his fingers catch on the stiff threads and cut into his soaked skin…

Alan felt the jolt as the net tightened and braced himself. As had happened to the stricken caver, the limestone floor and associated structures were too slick to cling to, and he found himself dragged face first through the cold, frothing waters. With no other option available to save the man or himself, he let go.

Not that it did him any good. The water had Alan in its grasp and was dragging him closer and closer towards the crashing chasm.

Unaware of his brother's predicament, Gordon pulled his breathing mask down over his face and leapt onto the hover-sled. Lying on it and using it like a surfboard, he sped closer to the action, subtle changes to the angle of his body enabling him to skirt obstacles. As he drew closer, he sat up, kneeling on the board with one leg forward to brace himself, attached another net to his gun, and fired.

He watched as his net sailed past the flailing caver, executed the same circular manoeuvre as his earlier projectile, and curved back on itself. Grabbing the flying end, he rolled right, the hover-sled flipping free as its rider's momentum sent him falling around a column. The column acted as a brace, stopping both Gordon and the caver from their murderous plunge.

But not Alan. His head briefly above water, the youngest member of International Rescue saw Gordon's net and attempted to swim towards it. Pushing off the walls, as the cavern narrowed, he inched closer until he could grasp the woven, strong material.

Glad of a moment's relative stability after all that turbulence, he managed to pull his mask over his head and took a couple of replenishing breaths of oxygen. Then he spoke into his mask's microphone. "Gordon?"

"Alan?"

"How are we going to pull this guy out of here?"

Gordon had been wondering the same thing. All he could do was maintain equilibrium, not effect a rescue. He'd been leaning back against the net, the force of the rushing water helping to counterbalance the force exerted by that same water and the weight of the caver. But he knew that he couldn't hold on much longer as the water rose and the pressure against him increased. "Where's the hover-sled?"

"I see it! Hold on!" Alan clawed his way along the net to where the hover-sled bobbed calmly above the turbulent waters. Reaching it, he pulled himself on board. "I'll go get him."

"Quick."

Turning the hover-sled, Alan edged closer to the victim and the waterfall, wary of getting too close. Now he could see that it was only Gordon's net that had stopped the caver from plummeting down that indeterminate drop.

There was nothing for it. He was going to have to take the chance and hope that the hover-sled's lift was enough to keep him airborne. "No se asuste!" he called. "Estamos aquí."

Thunderbird Five heard Gordon's voice. "What did Alan say, John?"

"Don't panic. We're here to help you."

Alan had no idea if his request was understood, but he thought he saw the look of panic in the caver's eyes lessen.

He was International Rescue. He could perform miracles.

Alan hoped so.

Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that Brains _was _a miracle worker, Alan edged out over the crest of the waterfall. Below him, barely within range of his torch, a river roared.

The hover-sled remained stable.

Alan reached out. "Take my hand!"

Now there was a lack of comprehension in the other's eyes, along with a return of terror.

Remembering his Spanish, Alan tried again. "Toma mi mano."

The man responded with something in Portuguese.

"John! I need your help! Tell him to take my hand!"

John tried, shouting to get his voice heard above the roar of the water.

The man repeated what he'd said.

John translated. "He said the oxygen cylinder is caught in the net."

"Huh?" Forgetting his concerns about the stability of the hover-sled, Alan circled behind the man. Through the mist and heavier droplets that reflected off his lights, he could see that the net was twisted around the cylinder. Under normal, dry, fall-free circumstances, he could have unravelled it easily. But these circumstances were nothing like that.

Dropping lower, Alan brought the hover-sled in closer until it was under the man's feet. Encouraging the machine upwards, he let it take the caver's weight. "Tell him that whatever he does, he's not to let go," he instructed John, miming grabbing the sides of the sled and hanging on.

"F-A-B."

The man gave a nervous grin and nodded his understanding as he grabbed the sides of the hover-sled. Reaching around him, Alan undid the arm straps that held the breathing apparatus in place.

Then he pulled a laser out of his pocket. "Can you hear me, Gordon?"

"I can't do much else."

"Brace yourself. I'm going to cut the net."

"Okay, Alan. Go for it."

The laser sliced through the net and the breathing apparatus that had trapped the man fell free. It disappeared into the darkness of the roaring river metres below.

Clinging to the hover-sled, the caver offered a silent prayer of thanks for the men of International Rescue who had granted him freedom.

But freedom for one meant disaster for another. With the water now above the level of Gordon's hips, he had no chance of remaining upright. As he struggled to avoid slamming into obstacles, he was swept towards the cataract in a tumultuous race that even a swimmer of his strength and assurance had no chance of winning.

Alan, knowing that this was going to be the outcome of his actions, was already on the way to the rescue. Nudging the hover-sled upwards he turned it towards the figure fighting the surging waves, steering towards his flailing brother. "Give me your hand!"

This time there was no need for translation and, with the caver's assistance, Gordon was pulled on board.

"Hold on!" As Gordon had done earlier, Alan adjusted his body's angle, steering the hover-sled towards where his scanner told him the exit and relative safety was waiting for them. He was more than a little relieved to discover that next to that tube was an uneven platform that was high and dry. "You rest," he told his brother as the pair of them assisted the caver to temporary safety. "I'll go get the others."

Gordon crawled onto the platform and slumped against the wall. "F-A-B."

Four to a hover-sled was a squeeze, but after some cautious manoeuvring Alan reunited the group.

"I've given John a heads up," Gordon told him, as the water lapped their ankles.

"Good."

"And we've got a problem."

"What's new?"

"I've been doing a bit of scouting while we've been waiting for you. The mouth of the next tube is under water. That's the one we have to climb."

"And we've only got five sets of breathing apparatus amongst the six of us. I had to cut the other one free to rescue my guy."

"Your guy can use this." Gordon started removing his breathing apparatus and handed his gear to the shortest caver, who looked perplexed. "You go on ahead with all of them and let me know if the swim's short enough for me to do holding my breath. If not, you'll have to bring breathing gear back for me."

"What about the next tube?"

"Worry about that when we get there." Gordon gave Alan a gentle push. "Get going. I want to get away from the waterfall ASAP."

"Okay… John! Tell the cavers to stick close to me."

"F-A-B."

Keeping his misgivings to himself, Alan submerged, found the mouth of the tube and started swimming. Three of the cavers following him like a family of ducklings.

Gordon turned to caver number four; the one whose life they'd saved. "Follow them." He pointed the way that Alan had gone.

But caver number four didn't move. He seemed to understand the men from International Rescue's plan and was not going to leave Gordon alone. Standing his ground, he shook his head.

Gordon appreciated the gesture, but didn't have time for arguments. "You've got to go!"

The caver shook his head again.

Gordon raised his arm. "Calling Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five."

"We've only got five breathing apparatuses between us, so we're having to move on in a relay. I'm waiting until Alan tells me if the swim's short enough that I can complete it holding my breath. If not, he's going to come back for me."

"I'll let Scott know."

"Good. But one of the cavers refuses to follow the others. Can you tell him I'm okay and he's got to go on?"

Gordon heard John say something in Portuguese, and saw his companion hesitate and then open his mouth to reply.

But it was Alan's voice that everyone heard. "The tube's only half full, Gordon. You'll be able to do it no sweat."

"On our way." Gordon started swimming towards the exit. He glanced at caver number four. "You first."

But caver number was determined that Gordon was going to go before him. He indicated that the man from International Rescue should lead.

"Okay." Gordon took several deep breaths and dove down to the mouth of the tube. Turbulence behind him told him that he was being followed.

It was only seconds before he was emerging into breathable air. He climbed the last few metres and crested the top. "Man, that water's cold!" He turned to check on the last caver; relieved to see that Alan was already helping the man out of the tube.

Both Tracys were surprised when the soaking wet hover-sled popped out of the hole and, apparently unconcerned its dunking, hovered next to them.

"Gotta love Brains and his wonderful brain," Gordon admitted.

The younger Tracy straightened, water lapping at his ankles. "Onwards?"

"We don't have much of a choice." Gordon started wading in that direction. "Didn't we climb the next tube to get to this cavern?"

"Yes."

"That will mean that we're going to have to descend. I'm not sure that even I would be able to hold my breath long enough to get through that tube and then surface."

"And we'll probably be exiting into a flooded cavern. What if it isn't high enough to sustain an air pocket?" Alan pushed through the deepening water. "We only have one option, don't we?"

"Do we?"

Still walking, Alan handed Gordon his oxygen mask and started removing his harness. "I'll stay here."

"Alan…"

"You're the stronger swimmer and I can tread water for ages, especially with the hover-sled's help. It would be better if you took these guys back to the Mole, grabbed replacement cylinders for each of us, and then came back for me. You'll be faster than I would."

Unhappy at his kid brother's suggestion, Gordon nevertheless had to admit that what Alan said made sense. "We'd better let John know our plans."

"John and the rest of the eavesdroppers."

"Yeah… Gordon to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five."

"Slight problem, John. The water's above the mouth of our next tube, and this one descends."

John instantly understood the problem. "And you're one oxygen cylinder short."

"Affirmative. Alan's going to remain in this cavern until I bring a cylinder back to him."

"How long's that going to take?"

"Don't worry, I'll be so fast that I could outswim Flipper."

John didn't smile at Gordon's joke. He knew his siblings well and he could hear the concern behind his brother's flippant remark. "I'll let Scott and Dad know."

"Good. Keep an eye on Alan for me, will you?"

"That's the Guardian Angel's job."

"Hey!" Alan protested, but both Gordon and John could hear that there was no anger in his complaint.

The bewildered cavers looked on as Alan assisted Gordon into his breathing gear. "O que está errado?" one of them asked.

"No se asusten," Alan reassured them, recognising the caver's body language enough to realise that it had been a query about what he was doing.

He announcement was close enough to Portuguese for the men to relax. "Obrigado, Internacional Salvar."

"That's one disadvantage to your plan," Gordon admitted as he checked his own breathing kit. "You've at least got a chance of them understanding you."

"You've got a direct link to John now," Alan reminded him.

"True... John, how do I say follow me?"

"Me siga."

"Me siga," Gordon parroted.

"Certo!" one of the men replied.

"Right!" Gordon said, in a transcontinental echo. "Keep safe, Alan."

"F-A-B."

With one last look at his brother, Gordon dove headfirst down the tube.

Left alone, Alan shivered. The water was already up to his waist and he could feel how cold it was on his face. He looked around him; his light bouncing off the limestone structures and disappearing into the distance above him.

The water was up to his chest now. He climbed onto the hover-sled and waited…

-F-A-B-

"...That's their plan," John concluded.

"And there were no other options?" Scott checked.

"Not safe ones."

"Understood. I want you to patch through all communications to Mobile Control. Audio, GPS, the lot."

"F-A-B. Do I send it through to D. too?"

"He's with V., isn't he?"

"That's right."

"I don't want to worry V. unnecessarily. Just give them the bare facts."

"He's a lot stronger than he used to be."

"I know. Call me a mother hen if you like, but I don't want to stress either of them."

"Okay. I'll stick to text messages when I have the time. I've got to be a live translator."

"You'd better hurry up and finish designing your translation gizmo." Scott watched as five dots separated from the sixth. "Lucky the Mole's got such a strong transceiver."

"Agreed. Patching through audio."

"_I've reached the cavern, Thunderbird Five. Waiting on the rest."_

"Is the water shallow enough for Alan to follow you?"

"_Negative. Even I wouldn't want to attempt it. And from what I can see the air pocket's negligible."_

"Maybe you could get them to the next cavern and then take his gear back to him?"

"_I'm already on reduced O__2__ after the last rescue and what happened earlier. Doubling back will waste more. I may need all I've got spare if something goes wrong."_

"Understood. Thunderbird Five out."

"_What happened earlier..._" Scott echoed. "What did happen earlier?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "Must have been during that _minor holdup_."

"If he's run into trouble and hasn't let me know," Scott growled, "then that's grounds for disciplinary action. I'll have his hide."

John made no comment. He knew that Gordon must have thought that the cause of his oxygen loss wasn't anything worth worrying his family about. He also knew that Scott had a valid point in insisting that every hiccup was reported back in full. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he concentrated on typing a message to Bearston.

-F-A-B-

_Reached cavers. All good. Returning to M._

Jeff and Bruce read the message with little sense of satisfaction. It told them next to nothing.

"Are all, erm, jobs as, for want of a better word, boring as this?" Bruce asked.

"Can be," Jeff admitted. "When all the action's happening half a world away and no one has the time to feed through reports, it's both stressful and boring. Mind you, at home we'd be getting audio too. And I'd be able to tap into the information that John's receiving." He looked at his son. "You're quiet. Are you okay?"

Virgil fidgeted. "I've got so much popcorn exploding in my legs that it feels like it's opening time at the movies." He folded his arms across his lower torso.

Jeff saw the gesture. "Only your legs?"

Virgil shrugged.

"Do you want something for it?"

Virgil shook his head.

-F-A-B-

Gordon swam underwater at full speed, following the luminescent trail that he and Alan had left earlier. He was trusting that his charges were strong enough swimmers to follow behind. If they ran into trouble, John would have to let him know and then he would need to waste precious time doubling back to help.

"_Please don't need my help."_

He came to a large glowing blob on the limestone floor and swam upwards…

-F-A-B-

With nothing of interest seeming to be happening in either North or South America, Bruce was telling Jeff about his first week at KAP, keeping well away from anything that sounded like gossip.

That was until Virgil grabbed his father's arm. Staring at Jeff with an expression that was as painful as his grasp, he managed only two words.

"Something's wrong!"

_To be continued..._


	51. Chapter 51

Before Gordon swam into the tube that climbed closer to the Mole, he glanced behind him.

The cavers were following him. All four, recognising his need to get back to Alan in the previous cavern, were egging each other on and leaving him to race on ahead.

Sending them a silent vote of thanks, Gordon pushed himself into the tube and swam upwards; passing over the sinkhole with barely a thought for its existence. He breached the surface of the water somewhere in the middle of the tube and attempted to crawl the rest of the way. But his dry suit, wet and slippery against the limestone, had no grip and several times he found himself sliding back in the same direction as his original, almost catastrophic, fall.

Grabbing the rope that Alan had installed what seemed to be aeons ago, Gordon pulled himself upwards towards the final cavern and the Mole. He came to the first anchor bolt, released his hold on the rope, and continued crawling.

Practically exploding out of the tube, he sprinted towards the faint glow in the distance, dodging obstacles like a footballer dodging the opposition.

He was splashing through water by the time he reached the Mole.

Bounding inside he tore off his oxygen cylinder and dumped it on the floor; slamming his hand against the button that opened the locker with the spare tanks. He pulled two out but didn't put either of them on. Instead, as he heard splashing outside, he activated another control panel, dialling up the gauge to the maximum.

There was a voice at the Mole's door.

"Get in," he ordered as the four men climbed inside, and pointed at the seats that lined the sides of the craft. "Sit down."

Water lapped over the Mole's threshold.

The urgency in the man from International Rescue's voice was unmistakable, as was the directive of his hand, and all four cavers obeyed; claiming a seat, where they sat dripping.

They were surprised when, instead of heading back out into the cave's system to get his colleague, their rescuer slammed the vehicle's door shut and threw himself into the control seat. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. You've made it?"

Gordon ignited the Mole's engines. "The cavers and I have made it. Alan's still in there and the water's climbing at a rate of knots."

John's scanners picked up the signals coming from the drilling machine. "You're going to get him?"

"In a moment. The water's climbing too fast. If I try to get to him with the Mole now, I'll flood the intakes. If I stay where we are, the cabin will be flooded. I'm going to try and reverse to a position where the hatch will remain above the waterline for as long as it takes to get Alan out of there. You'd better let everyone know the situation."

"F-A-B." John heard and understood the voices from within the Mole's cabin, as the cavers felt the craft vibrate and begin to move. "_We won't_ _leave him,_" he told the concerned men. "_We're making sure you're safe._"

Gordon shut the Mole down and affixed one of the oxygen cylinders to his back. Then he picked the second up. "Be prepared to give them instructions on how to seal the Mole if I don't make it back before the water reaches them." He opened the door and felt cold air rush into the warm cabin.

"Will do. Be careful, Gordon."

_Be careful?_ Hugging the spare tank close to his chest, Gordon looked down to the inky black water metres below him. How deep was it? Was it deep enough to cushion him, rather than wipe him out on the cavern floor? Was he going to endure a painful landing onto a stalagmite?

Was Alan all right?

A red cross was projected onto the water, in front of him and to his right. If his scanners were right, that was the closest bit of survivable water within jumping range. Taking a deep breath and holding his mask down by the chin handles so it wouldn't be pushed off his face by the impact of his landing, Gordon stepped out of the Mole and into nothing.

-F-A-B-

Mobile Control beeped an alert.

Scott almost pounced on the button. "Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"Gordon's got all four cavers inside the Mole."

"Good. And Alan?"

"He's going back to get him."

"Any word from him?"

There was a pause. "No, Scott. Nothing. But he hasn't got his mask and his watch is under his dry suit, remember?"

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"I'm reading his watch's stats."

"What are the readings?"

"He's still alive."

"Good."

"But…"

"But?"

"But… His temperature's dropping, Scott."

That was when Scott felt that they were losing control.

-F-A-B-

"Wrong?" Jeff Tracy stared at his son. "What's wrong?"

Virgil didn't release his ferocious grip on Jeff's arm. "Scott's outta control," he gabbled. "Gone wrong."

Bruce saw his former boss's face pale. He was about to open his mouth to ask what was happening when Jeff made a gesture that he interpreted as a command to remain silent. He obeyed, bemused that his friend's father seemed to comprehend Virgil's babbling when he couldn't make any sense out of it.

"Virgil…" Jeff placed his hand on the one that was squeezing all feeling out of his arm. "Has something happened to Scott?" He gently prised his son's fingers free but didn't release Virgil's hand.

"No. Others. Happened to others."

Turning to the computer, Jeff opened the link to Thunderbird Five. "Something's gone wrong, John. What's happened?"

At first John appeared surprised by his father's pronouncement. Then he saw his brother and Bruce watched as comprehension crossed his face. "Gordon's got the cavers safely to the Mole…"

Jeff didn't relax.

"They lost one of the oxygen cylinders on the return journey. The water's rising at such a rate that it's filling the caverns and flooding the tubes that are their only access. Alan stayed in one of the caverns while Gordon took the cavers to the Mole. Gordon's heading back with another cylinder now."

Jeff felt Virgil relax and pull his hand free. "How is Alan?"

"He was fine when Gordon left him…" John hesitated. "But I haven't had any contact since. But he hasn't got his mask with him, so he hasn't got that microphone. They travelled light and they haven't got any other forms of communication."

"What about his watch?"

"It's beneath his dry suit."

"What are your scanners reading?"

"Erm… His watch is transmitting his physical status."

"And that is?"

"His temperature's dropping… and his pulse is rising."

Jeff told himself to remain calm and in control. "How's Scott?"

Bruce frowned at the question. Scott had remained warm and dry above ground. Hadn't he?

John managed a wry grin. "You know Scott. He's fully focussed on what's going on. He's lucky that he can compartmentalise his concerns elsewhere." His eyes flicked across to Virgil.

Bruce glanced at his friend's face and saw a frown appear.

"Is, erm," John appeared unsure of himself. "Is everything okay down there?"

Jeff gave Virgil a moment to respond before he answered the question. "We're all okay, John. Just keep us fully informed as to what's happening. Keep this link open."

"What if someone comes in?"

"Let us worry about that."

"F-A-B. I'd better go and check on Gordon's progress."

-F-A-B-

Gordon slammed into the water with a force that would have knocked his mask off his face if he hadn't been hanging onto it. As it was, the oxygen cylinder he was holding popped out of his arms and started floating away towards the hole created and vacated by the Mole.

With two powerful strokes Gordon swam after and snared it.

After the briefest of checks to ensure that his plunge hadn't damaged the apparatus, he started swimming; following the florescent trail that the hover-sled had left earlier.

"Thunderbird Five to Gordon."

_Not now!_ Gordon cursed. _I need to conserve my breath. _"Gordon."

"All okay?"

"Yes."

"FYI, I'm keeping this channel open. It's transmitting to Mobile Control and Bearston."

"Right."

"Good luck, Gordon."

-F-A-B-

Left alone in the inky blackness of the cavern, with only his solitary torch and the hover-sled's hazard lights to break the gloom, Alan did all that he could do. He sat, and he waited.

With nothing else to occupy him, he played his torch about him, trying to pick out features in his surroundings. But, aside from a few columns that stood partly submerged in the rising water, his torch's beam could see nothing.

He shivered. He hadn't realised that it was this cold. Up till now he'd been moving and had other things to concentrate on. Now he was sitting on a hover-sled with his feet hanging over the side and only the darkness to keep him company, and he was freezing…

Especially his feet dangling in the water. He pulled them up and hugged his legs. His toes felt numb and he wondered if this was a similar sensation to what Virgil had endured for months. Desperate not to experience what his brother had, he gave his feet a brisk rub in a useless attempt to regain some warmth.

Giving that up as a bad job, he lay down on the hover-sled; curling up to try and preserve as much body heat as he could. But the hover-sled was too narrow and no matter what angle he lay on it, a large proportion of his torso seemed to overhang the platform and absorb the cold air above the even colder waters.

He needed to get warm.

Deciding that the quickest and easiest way to achieve his goal was to get some exercise, he carefully stood up.

The hover-sled held firm as Alan started jogging on the spot.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Jogging on one spot, in the darkness, on a tiny surface, was boring and tiring, Alan decided. Mind-numbingly boring and bone-achingly tiring.

He sat down again. This time cross-legged so that he was in a small, compact, warm(ish) space. For a short time, he amused himself by observing the way that his torch reflected off and refracted through the water.

Then he directed the beam overhead.

This shiver wasn't due to the cold. It was the close proximity of the previously unseen ceiling that gave him the chills.

"Gordon will be here soon."

A morbid curiosity had him wondering how close the ceiling was. Casting the light from his torch about, he tried to judge the distance, but the shadows from the columns and reflections off the water and pale limestone played havoc with his depth perception.

He was cold. His dry suit offered some insulation, but his bare face gave him a clue as to the air's real temperature. He didn't want to think about how much colder the water would be.

Needing to revitalise his body with some much-needed warmth, he stood and tried jogging again; his breath curling around his head in a white fog that obscured his vision.

For a bit of variety, he tried some star jumps, but didn't like the way that the hover-sled wobbled underfoot and decided to attempt something that didn't involve destabilising his platform. Standing on the hover-sled with his feet apart and legs straight, he attempted to touch his left foot with his right hand.

He hadn't realised that he'd been drifting so close to the column.

His bottom struck the hard surface with some force and he was pushed off balance. For a moment he thought he'd saved himself from a dunking, but then the hover-sled caught on the column and flipped.

Man and torch hit the water with twin splashes. One floated. The other sank.

Gasping, as the coldness of the liquid took his breath away, at first Alan didn't realise the calamity of the loss of his only source of light. But then, when he realised that the world around him was dark and pressing in, he looked down. Spiralling away from him, getting fainter and fainter, was a dim white glow.

There was no way that he could retrieve it.

Looking around him he saw the reassuring blink of the hover-sled's hazard lights. A couple of strokes brought him alongside the craft and with a lot of effort and a little swearing he hauled himself on board.

If he thought he was cold before, it was nothing compared to how frozen he was now. Either that or the lack of warm reassuring light was chilling him mentally, just as the air and water were cooling him physically.

"Come on, Gordon…"

-F-A-B-

Scott, sitting at Mobile Control, watched his kid brother's vital signs as the pulse reader showed a couple of short bursts of an increase in tempo accompanied by a temperature increase. Then the pulse's tempo would slow, and the temperature reading would just as slowly drop.

Then there was a spike in heartrate closely followed by an almost as severe drop in temperature.

Scott grabbed his microphone. "Are you reading this, John?"

"Yes. Do you think he fell into the water?"

Scott thought it was the most logical supposition, but couldn't give a definitive answer. "How's Gordon's progress?"

"Not as fast as any of us would like."

Including Gordon. He dove out of a tube and down towards the floor of the cavern, hunting out the glowing trail.

He found a large puddle of florescence.

Pushing off the wall, he sped along the trail, sometimes swimming over stalagmites instead of around them. There was one hairy moment when his oxygen tank snagged on a stalactite and brought him to an abrupt standstill. But, taking a moment to calm down and evaluate the situation, he dropped down a few centimetres before returning to his quest.

He was putting so much effort into moving forward that he was sure that if he had been in an Olympic final he would have beaten his personal best at least three times over; but still he seemed to be no closer to the finish.

This was the race of his career. It was water versus Gordon…

And the prize was Alan's life.

-F-A-B-

Alan huddled low on the hover-sled, bent double to try to shield his chest from the freezing air while warming it against his thighs, and tried not to think about how cold his back was.

Cold and hard.

Hard?

Alan attempted to sit up and banged his head against the cavern's ceiling. Rolling onto his back, he tried to look around him to find a higher section with a larger air pocket, but he could see little beyond his outstretched hands.

And so, he started feeling his way around; grabbing the slippery limestone as best he could and dragging the hover-sled with him.

"Hurry up, Gordon… Please…"

-F-A-B-

Gordon had reached the last tube before Alan's cavern. One final swim upwards through this long narrow opening and he'd be able to help his brother.

Before entering, he shone his torch up the tube. It appeared clear.

Assured of an uninterrupted swim, Gordon dove into the tube…

-F-A-B-

"Gordon's reached the final tube," John announced to a world of unseen listeners. "He'll be able to help Alan soon."

Tracys and Bruce listened to his words of reassurance, but were unable to relax.

All they could do was hope… listen… and wait…

-F-A-B-

"NO!" Gordon felt the tube press down on him, jamming him in the passage like a cork in the bottle.

He tried to swim forward but could feel that he was wedging himself even tighter in the tube.

He tried to back up but was just as trapped in reverse. "I'm stuck, John!"

He heard his brother's reassuring tones. "It's okay, Gordon, we can work this out. How are you stuck?"

"My oxygen cylinder's trapped on the ceiling of the tube."

"Were you wearing a cylinder last time you swam through there?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so it's not that the tube's too narrow. You can get out of there."

Then Gordon heard the even more reassuring voice of his eldest brother. "Are you holding Alan's cylinder, Gordon?"

"Yes. I didn't want to risk losing it."

"Can you slide it out from under you?"

Gordon chided himself for not thinking of that first. "Maybe… If I wriggle." He squirmed within his harness.

"There's no one I know who's had more experience at wriggling out of sticky situations."

As he'd known it would, Scott's light-hearted remark brought a moment of levity to the stressful situation and helped to centre Gordon. "I've been in training."

He didn't hear his father, a continent away, sit back in his seat. "I thought he was just trying to give me more grey hairs."

Bruce chuckled. Then, realising that Virgil wasn't enjoying the same feeling of levity, felt embarrassed.

While miles away, Gordon wriggled.

-F-A-B-

Alan lay on the hover-sled, his nose pressed against the cold, slimy limestone and felt the cold water lap against the sides of his head. Any moment he'd have to abandon his life raft to stop it from jamming him against the ceiling.

That was if it didn't abandon him first.

Which it did. Sliding out slowly, as if an invisible hand had pulled it out from under him.

Now Alan was treading water and shivering violently.

"Where _are_ you, Gordon?"

-F-A-B-

"Heartrate's accelerated again," John commented.

The only one to hear his brother's words on the single-access channel, Scott stared at Mobile Control's screen, all thoughts of levity gone. "And maintaining the accelerated rate…"

"Temperature's dropping… It's lower than it's been."

"So's his pulse. He's treading water, isn't he?"

"For how long? Hypothermia's setting in…"

"Come on, Gordon…"

-F-A-B-

Choking on the freezing liquid that was filling his nose and mouth, Alan struggled to keep his face in the tiniest of air pockets. As he moved from mild to moderate hypothermia his movements became less coordinated and he found it harder to tread water.

He also began to lose focus on what he was trying to do and why.

Every move felt like his limbs were on fire. Desperate to free himself of the cloth that was burning him, he pushed his hood off his head. But the release appeared to offer him no relief.

He had to get rid of the rest of this skin-burning material that pained him. Managing to snare the neck of his dry suit, he tried to loosen the constricting collar; his chilling brain failing to understand that he was letting deadly water in next to his skin.

As the last pocket of air disappeared and he slipped beneath the water his final coherent thought bubbled free…

_We er'u, G'd'n?_

-F-A-B-

Gordon wriggled and felt the cylinder that he'd been clutching nudge forward a millimetre. Another wriggle and the movement was a centimetre. Pushing against the floor of the tube with his legs he jammed his body against the cylinder that was feeding him oxygen and felt the one beneath him pop free. "Made it!" Pushing Alan's cylinder ahead of him, he started swimming again.

"That's good, Gordon," John told him, sounding as calm and relaxed as if his brother had announced that he'd finished his last lap of the pool and was about to get out. "You'll reach Alan soon."

"I'm in the cavern… I can't see him."

"He must be floating above you."

"I can see the light from his flashlight." Gordon started swimming upwards in the general direction of the torch. "He must have dropped it."

"That's a good place to start looking then. He'll be somewhere above that."

Gordon scanned the area above him. "I can't see him, John," he repeated, wondering at how he was managing to stay so calm in what felt like a nightmare. "I'm not picking up his heat signature either."

_Because he's too cold?_ "I've still got a pulse, Gordon. We haven't lost him yet."

"He was going to sit on the hover-sled. Can you get a bearing on that?"

"It's…" There was a pause as John checked his readings. "…to your right."

"I can see it!" Gordon accelerated towards the lights blinking dimly near the surface. "But I can't see him."

"He'll be there."

Reaching out, Gordon's hand closed about the lightweight hover-sled. He dragged it towards him, as if hoping that Alan had left a helpful arrow drawn on it.

Finding nothing, he shone his torch about him.

The beam touched on something grey floating below the waterline.

"Found him!" If Gordon thought he'd been swimming fast before, it was nothing compared to the speed that he got out of his legs now. "It's okay, Alan. I'm here."

His brother showed no sign of recognition… Nor life.

Acting at speed, but with deliberate, careful movements, Gordon pulled the spare oxygen mask over the blue and puffy face and purged the water out from within it. Then he pumped warm oxygen in.

Blue eyes flickered.

"He's conscious!"

"Good to hear." John's casual comment hid the fact that he'd just punched the air in jubilation.

"_Just_ conscious," Gordon amended. "He's tried to remove his hood."

"Paradoxical undressing?"

"At a guess. I can't pull it back on." Gordon gave up his fight with the neoprene-like material. "I've got to get him back to the Mole and get him warmed up." A light blinking at the edge of his peripheral vision gave him an idea. "I'm going to strap him to the hover-sled, John. D'ya think you could direct it back to the Mole? I'll follow behind."

"We can tow you." John was already entering the instructions to transfer command of the sled to Thunderbird Five. "Let me know when you're ready."

"I'm not sure that that's a good idea. The hover-sled's not designed to work under water. My weight might be too much for it." Fighting against the resistance of the cold water, Gordon strapped his barely conscious brother to the hover-sled. "Okay, John, send 'er back. Maximum speed."

"F-A-B." Churning up the water around them, the hover-sled turned and then dove; Gordon following as closely as he could.

The makeshift life raft entered the tube a full five seconds before Gordon.

It was ten seconds ahead by the time it reached the second tube. It started climbing…

Up in Thunderbird Five, John's screens were telling him that there were some changes. "I'm losing power."

Scott was immediately on the radio. "What's happening?"

"It's okay, John, I've got it." It was Gordon's turn to sound calm and unflustered. "I can push."

"I'll give you what assistance I can. I don't want to burn out the motor."

"Thanks." Taking a good grip of the tail end of the hover-sled, Gordon kicked with all his might. "When this is over," he puffed, "remind me to tell Brains that I owe him one."

"I think the family's going to owe him several hundred."

It seemed like an eternity for all concerned, but finally the hover-sled popped out of the tube and onto the submerged cavern floor.

Gordon swam past, grabbed the craft's leading edge, and started pulling. "We're on the final stretch. Send down the Anteater Tongue."

"F-A-B." As John obeyed the instructions, he reached out to a dial. "I'm applying more power, Gordon. Hang on."

"Hanging on." Gordon clung to the hover-sled's framework.

"Full power."

Being dragged along underneath a hover-sled would have been a thrilling way to end Gordon's day, if he hadn't been afraid of the way that that day might end.

They reached the air pocket.

"Cut power! We've surfaced!" Gordon steered the hover-sled across to a long length of stiff white material that descended from the Mole's entrance.

This time he heard Scott's voice. "How close is the water level to the hatch?"

"Coupla metres. We don't have much time." Gordon pulled on the end of the "Anteater Tongue", trailing it underneath the hover-sled until it stretched its length. Then he raised the sticky material and it adhered to the underside of the makeshift stretcher. Lying next to his brother so the adhesive held him firm too, he gave the command: "Retract!"

"Retracting."

The Anteater Tongue was sucked back into the Mole's underbelly, and both Tracys and their equipment were lifted clear of the water.

It was a trip of little more than half a metre.

They reached the hatch and four pairs of hands reached out to pull them on board. Grateful for the assistance, Gordon got to his feet and staggered on weary legs up the incline to a casket-sized cabinet. Leaning on a button opened the lid of the cabinet as the front retracted down. A blast of hot air nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Put him," Gordon pointed at his unmoving brother, "into there." He pointed at the cabinet and then started to undo the harness that held his cylinder to his back.

The cavers nodded their understanding and began to unstrap Alan from the hover-sled.

Hoping that his belief that they had understood wasn't misplaced and knowing that none of them were out of danger yet, Gordon attempted to return to the front of the cabin.

He failed on his first step as his legs, exhausted from the strain of his lifesaving swim, gave out on him and he fell to the floor. Sliding the length of the Mole, both he and his cylinder slammed against the bulkhead. Not worrying about the gaining of bruises and the loss of dignity, he crawled over to the control panel, splashing through more water than he and Alan had deposited on the floor.

Practically climbing into the control seat, he activated the command to close the hatch.

An eddy washed into the cabin as the door slammed home.

"Mole returning to surface," he announced, and pulled the lever that sent the mighty machine lurching into reverse.

"Good work," John congratulated him. "How's Alan?"

"I'm about to find out." Satisfied that they were on the return trip to safety, Gordon attempted to stand again, but lost the battle with the steep incline and fell to his knees.

Seeing his predicament and understanding his need to check on his companion, two of the cavers came to his aid. Gordon permitted them to support him as they climbed back up to where Alan was lying inside the cabinet.

More grateful than they could ever know, Gordon closed the cabinet doors, trapping the heat around his brother. Reaching through self-sealing slots in the cabinet's sides, he put a mask supplying warmed air over Alan's nose and mouth and wrapped heat packs around the sodden head. "Mole to Thunderbird Five." He applied a monitor to the only piece of exposed skin – Alan's forehead.

Those on board the Mole heard John's response, but only Gordon understood it. "Thunderbird Five. I've got a reading. His temperature's rising… Pulse is steady… He's not in immediate danger."

Gordon started cutting his brother's dry suit away from his body. "Can you get the local authorities to pick up these guys from Thunderbird Two's location? Once we're topside I'll offload them and load the Mole into Thunderbird Two. I can give Alan further treatment once we're airborne."

"Okay, Mole," Scott agreed. "I'll tell the locals to scramble. John, can you tell the cavers what we're doing?"

As John proceeded to speak in Portuguese and the cavers responded with what could only be words of thanks and good wishes, Gordon peeled Alan's sleeves back and applied heat packs to his throat and armpits. Retrieving an IV bag from a heated cupboard, he prepared the now bare arm to receive a cannula.

It took several attempts to find a vein, but at last Gordon was assured that warmed fluids were circulating around Alan's body. It was only then that he got an electronic stethoscope and attached it to the chilled chest. "I'm checking his breathing."

"Are you hearing anything?"

"I think so…" Gordon listened to the left side of Alan's chest and then his right. He straightened. "There's some wheezing from his left lung."

"So, he could have breathed in some water."

"It's probable. We'll have to keep an eye on him." Gordon wrapped a survival blanket around his brother's exposed torso.

There was a beep telling all that the Mole had reached the surface and was mounting its trolley. Those on board felt the vehicle level out.

Ignoring what was going on outside, Gordon activated a motor that raised a small padded platform vertically out of the bed. Having strapped Alan to the platform, he rotated the patient until he was lying on his side.

Reasonably confident that nothing could block Alan's airway, Gordon, his legs shaky, but not feeling like they were about to collapse, returned to the hatch and slid it open.

He could see two dots away in the distance, up in the sky. One of them was growing closer at a speed at least ten times faster than the other.

He extended the steps down to the ground and stepped back to allow the cavers to exit. "Thank you for your help and understanding." He heard John echo his words in Portuguese as the original victims of the drama hurried towards the door.

"Obrigado, Internacional Salvar," each of them said as they passed by and out into the dry, warming sun.

Sunlight glinted off Thunderbird One as Gordon retracted the stairs and closed the hatch again. After telling autopilot to return the Mole to Thunderbird Two, he retraced his steps to Alan's side. "How is he, John?"

"Warming up. His pulse is getting stronger too."

Gordon started to cut the rest of Alan's dry suit free. "Strong enough for the trip home?"

"Are you sure that's wise?" This was Scott's voice. "Wouldn't it be better if you were to drop him off at the local hospital?"

The dry suit fell free of Alan's right leg. "By the time the hospital's scrambled to deal with him we could be back home."

"What will you do? Fly Thunderbird Two on autopilot?"

Alan's left foot was exposed, and his dry suit stripped away from his body. "Most of the way. Do you think he can stand the trip, John?" After applying more heat packs, Gordon wrapped a second survival blanket around his brother's lower extremities.

"I think so," the Space Monitor replied. "But it's ultimately your decision."

"We'll head for home."

Scott didn't comment. "I'll wait here with these guys until their helijet arrives. We'll catch up with you soon, Thunderbird Two."

"F-A-B. I'll let everyone know when we're airborne. Keep an eye on Alan for me, would you, John? I'm heading up to the flight deck."

"Will do… And well done, Gordon…"

-F-A-B-

Miles away in Bearston, Virgil grabbed his father's arm again. "You've got to go home!"

Jeff, who'd been wondering if he could make that suggestion himself, was glad he didn't have to. "Will you be all right here?"

"I'll be fine. I don't need you with me all the time. But Alan needs you, and both you and I need to know that he's okay. I can't be there, but you can."

"Thank you, Virgil…" Jeff turned back to the computer. "Do you have a moment for a word, John?"

"Huh!?" His attention on his monitoring of his youngest brother's health, John redirected the camera over to where he was keeping a close watch on Alan's stats. "Sure, Dad? What can I do for you?"

"I'm flying out now. Get Scott to pick me up from Barduq."

"Roger that. How long before the rendezvous?"

"Twenty minutes? Half an hour?" Jeff would have asked Virgil for a more accurate ETA, but neither of them were in a mood for jokes.

"I'll tell him to stand by."

"Thanks." Jeff pulled his tablet out of the computer. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Virgil."

"No rush. Just make sure that Alan's okay."

Bruce let out an obvious breath. "Are all, erm, jobs this stressful?"

"Yes and no," Jeff admitted. "Stressful in that someone's life is always in the balance, that's why we're called in. But the team usually manage to keep themselves safe, which keeps the stress levels manageable."

"I think I'd be a nervous wreck," Bruce admitted. "Hey, Virgil, how'd you know that something had gone wrong? We weren't even talking to Thund…"

He was astonished to see his friend's face change to an expression he couldn't identify.

He was even more alarmed when Virgil grabbed the blankets, pulled them over his head and, curling up into a ball, hid beneath them…

_To be continued…_


	52. Chapter 52

Gordon didn't know what Virgil would think about his decision to allow Thunderbird Two to fly herself home, and right now he didn't care. He needed all his focus to be on the invalid in the sick bay. "Alan… Can you hear me, Alan?"

There was a groan from within the warming chamber.

"Alan?"

Alan's eyes flickered open before, frowning, he shut them against the light.

Gordon shifted so his body was casting a shadow over his brother's face. "You can open your eyes now."

"C'nI ge' sec'nd 'pin'n?"

Gordon grinned. "Wait till we get home, then Brains can give you one."

But Alan appeared to be asleep.

Gordon reached beneath the heat packs at his brother's throat and was reassured to feel a steady pulse.

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two. Hi, John."

"How is he?"

"In good shape considering. He may be able to go to the party."

"I know someone who'll be pleased if he does. Scott's going to pick up Dad from Barduq. They'll get home a short time after you arrive."

Gordon glanced up at the video screen. "Virgil let him free?"

"I doubt that he would have had much say in the matter."

"True… Has Brains got everything ready?"

"He's double-checking everything as we speak."

"Good. The sooner Alan gets proper medical attention, the happier I'll be."

"Won't we all…"

-F-A-B-

"Virgil?" Jeff reached out and placed his hand on the shoulder hidden beneath the sheet.

There was no response.

"What…" Bruce's question was cut short when Jeff raised a hand for silence.

"I've got to go, Virgil," he said. "Do you want Bruce to stay?"

No answer.

Bruce heard and saw a note of sadness in Jeff's next statement. "Okay. We'll both leave you alone. Bruce can come back this afternoon and I'll return as soon as I know that Alan's okay."

No sound. No movement.

"I'll ask Alan to call you as soon as he's feeling well enough."

No response.

Jeff stood. "I'll tell the nurses to leave you alone until after visiting time. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

Virgil didn't acknowledge his father, and after a gesture to Bruce that was an instruction to move towards the exit, the elder Tracy left the side of the bed.

"I don't understand," Bruce began as the door closed behind them. "What…"

Jeff raised his hand for silence. Then he approached the nurses' station. "Bruce and I are leaving now," he admitted, "and I think Virgil would like to spend the rest of visiting time alone."

"Of course," the nurse agreed. "I can put a sign up, so he's assured of some privacy. Is there anything wrong?"

"He and I had a bit of a disagreement," Jeff told her, as Bruce tried not to look astonished at the admission. "He needs time to cool off. I've got to go home, but Bruce will be back this evening."

The nurse was surprised. In the months that she'd known this father and son she'd never seen anything but even-tempered affection, and even friendship, between them.

"He's trapped in that hospital room and he's frustrated, and I didn't acknowledge his frustration," Jeff expanded. "You can tell him that I'll call him later."

The nurse smiled at him. "Of course, Mr Tracy."

As the pair of them walked down the path from Bearston General, Bruce thought that it was finally safe to speak. "Mr T… Why…?"

He nearly snapped when, yet again, that hand was raised to silence him. With an effort, he kept his cool and held his tongue.

That was until they got back to the house.

Hamish Mickelson greeted them with a small frown. "Visiting time's not over, is it?"

"I've been called home," Jeff explained. "I don't know when I'll be back, so I've got a few things to go over with Bruce before I leave." He turned to the younger man. "Shall we talk in Virgil's room?"

The pair of them left Hamish looking bemused.

Bruce entered the decorated, soundproofed, but as yet unused room. As soon as the door closed behind him he turned on Jeff Tracy. "What's going on?!" he demanded. "Why all the lies? You and Virgil didn't quarrel. He just…" He stopped feeling just as bemused as Hamish had looked. "I don't know what he did."

"That's what I want to explain to you." Jeff checked his watch. "I don't have much time, so this will have to be the condensed version. Virgil probably won't be happy that I'm telling you this, but I do think that you deserve an explanation… If only to make both of you feel less embarrassed about his behaviour." He bit his lip in thought.

Bruce waited. "Well?"

"There's no easy nor believable way of explaining this. Virgil and Scott have a kind of telepathic link called empathetic clairvoyance."

_Telepathic…?_ If it had been anyone else offering this explanation, Bruce would have treated it as a joke and laughed.

"It only happens when Virgil's fearful or Scott's feeling out of control… At least that's the hypothesis. We've never tried testing it under controlled conditions. We haven't even talked about it. I don't think Scott would mind, but Virgil refuses to and so Scott doesn't out of respect for him. I blame myself."

Bruce surreptitiously pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"The first time that we were aware they had this… I don't know if they'd call it a 'gift', was when Scott was in the Air Force and his plane was shot down… Did Virgil tell you about that?"

"He did. But he never said anything about telepathy."

Jeff gave a mirthless smile. "I'm sure he didn't. Virgil could feel that Scott was out of control when the plane was crashing. He was concerned that the Air Force didn't know that the plane was down and rang me to tell me to contact my associates, so they could start a search." And Bruce saw genuine sorrow and regret. "I as good as called him a liar and said that I was ashamed of him. He didn't know and understand what was happening to him, and his father tells him that he doesn't believe him. That had a huge impact on him."

If this had been any other topic, Bruce might have said that he understood.

But he didn't.

"The first time that their roles were reversed was six years ago, when Virgil was hanging above the furnace at ACE. Having been through it with Virgil, we knew what was happening when Scott started telling us that Virgil was in trouble. We were more willing to accept that what he was telling us was true."

"Is that why..." Bruce hesitated. "Is that why none of you were worried about Scott's 'heart attack'?"

"Yes."

"Because he wasn't having one? Virgil was?"

"Not exactly." Jeff looked at his watch again. "I've got to get going, Bruce. I don't ask you to believe me. And I don't ask that you understand it, because none of us do. All I ask is that you don't let this change your relationship with him. I know he values your friendship and your support."

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"Everyone in the family, of course. And Hamish. John had to explain Scott's behaviour after Virgil was trapped at ACE."

"So, I can ask him about it?"

"He doesn't know much, but if it'll help you to make sense of it, then yes." Jeff started walking towards the door. "I'm sorry, Bruce, but I've got to go. If you want to ask more questions later, we can talk then."

"Right…" Bruce said absentmindedly. He had a lot to take in. Then he remembered why Jeff was in a hurry. "Give Alan my best."

"I will. See you soon." And Jeff was gone.

Bruce remained in the room with its ocean blue, surf white, and sun yellow paintwork and the mural of Tracy Island that covered one wall. His mind was whirling.

_Telepathy?_

"Bruce?" Hamish Mickelson stood there. "Jeff said you might want to talk to me." He shut the door and claimed a seat.

Bruce decided to stick to the provable facts to start with. Choosing one of the other comfortable chairs he started with: "Did he tell you why he's been called home?"

"No. But by the look on his face it's something serious."

"Not as serious as what happened with Virgil," Bruce reassured him, "but it could have been. I was listening as it happened." He gave a blow by blow account of all that he could remember.

"Alan's going to be all right?"

"I'm assuming so. If they had concerns I'm sure Gordon would have flown him straight to the nearest hospital."

"Good." Hamish relaxed back in his seat.

"But…"

Hamish sat forward again. "But?"

Bruce took a deep breath. "Something happened that I don't understand. Mr Tracy just tried to explain it to me and I still don't understand it. Mr T said that you were the only person outside of the family who knows anything."

Hamish frowned. "And that is?"

"He said that Virgil and Scott had, what did he call it? Something clairvoyance."

"Empathetic clairvoyance."

"I think that was it."

"I only know what I saw, Bruce. Scott knew that Virgil was hurt and how he was hurt, before you contacted us. He was stressing until John started asking him what had happened to Virgil. Then he calmed down… Why did Jeff tell you this?"

"Because I think something similar happened just now and I witnessed it."

"Really?" Hamish Mickelson was suddenly curious. "What?"

"It wasn't anything much…" Bruce detailed Virgil's initial reaction, his actions that caused the pair of them to leave the hospital early, and what Jeff Tracy had told him upon returning to the house. "It's not real, is it? It's a joke, isn't it?"

"I don't think that Virgil's health and state of mind would be something that Jeff Tracy would joke about…" Hamish stated, and Bruce had to agree. "I only know what I've seen," the elder man continued. "And _having_ seen it myself I'm willing to believe it. It's over to you if you're willing to make the same leap."

"Have you told Mrs M?"

Hamish snorted a laugh. "She doesn't even know that the Tracys are International Rescue, remember? There's no way I could talk to her about this. Not that I'd want to. It seems too personal to the family to go gossiping to others… Even Edna."

"Mr T said I could talk to you."

"Because he didn't have the time to answer your questions himself."

"But it seems so unbelievable."

"I'm the 'corroborating evidence'."

"I guess so." Deciding that all the questions that were racing through his mind had no chance of being answered, Bruce considered something else. "When's your operation?"

"Monday, and maybe I'll finally be able to get rid of this." Hamish adjusted his ever-present sling. "Edna insists that I wear it, but I feel like a fraud. It's a load of fuss over nothing."

"It probably was nothing until you went tearing into a pack of Skulz throwing a fire extinguisher about." Bruce looked at the man who, over the last few months, had become more than just a boss. "Will you still be able to go to the party?"

Hamish smiled. "I hope so. I've told them that I don't want Delazole, or anything from its family, anywhere near me. Aside from the fact that my reaction to it isn't much fun for me or anyone else, I don't want to take the chance that I'll say something that no one else should be hearing. They've got my allergy recorded so many times in my notes that it should be burned into their computer." He stood. "Any other questions, Bruce?"

"Tons." Bruce admitted. "But I don't think you have the answers. And it sounds like I'm not going to get them from Virgil…"

-F-A-B-

Scott looked at the on-board chronometer and tried to cool his impatience.

Alan was okay: he knew that.

He had nothing to worry about: he knew that.

His father was holding him up: …

"Jeff Tracy calling Thunderbird One."

Scott grabbed the microphone with more haste than was necessary. "Thunderbird One."

"Approaching Barduq. I'll see you in ten minutes."

"I'll be ready."

Exiting Thunderbird One, Scott ran across the tarmac through the pelting rain, and into the standard hangar that any person might own – if you owned your own private aeroplane on your own private island.

Opening the doors, he told a robot towing a flatbed trailer to drive out onto the runway. The robot got into position, locked itself and its trailer down, and waited.

Five minutes later, Scott could see a blip on the radar. He watched as the Odonata drew closer, descended, and landed on the flatbed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy ran into his home.

To give his father a head start, Scott had landed close to the Tracy Villa, before lifting off again and returning the rocket plane to her hangar.

Jeff was panting slightly when he reached the infirmary. "How is he, Brains?" He nodded at Tin-Tin, who vacated the seat next to the bed.

"I-In relatively, ah, good shape, Mr Tracy."

"You have made it here in good time, Mr Tracy," Tin-Tin added.

"I took the express service." Jeff pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat down. He looked at his still son. "Is he asleep?"

"Only asleep," Brains reassured him. "A-After a few days' rest he will be fine."

"Good. Where's Gordon?"

"Cleaning the Mole and preparing Thunderbird Two."

"Right."

Tin-Tin had an equally important question. "How is Virgil?"

Not knowing the answer, Jeff glanced across at her. "He knew that something was wrong before John told us."

Only Tin-Tin saw Brains' eyes light up with scientific curiosity. He was desperate to learn more about this empathic clairvoyance phenomenon, but knew better than to ask anyone for permission to set up a scientific study. "W-What… erm… Who… ah… How…?"

"You'll have to ask Scott…" Jeff began.

"You'll have to ask Scott what?" Scott asked. The door slid shut behind him. "How is he, Brains?"

"Sleeping. He-He will be all right."

"Good." Scott moved closer to the head of the bed, so he could read his kid brother's stats on the chart above his head. He gave a grunt of satisfaction. Then he folded his arms and stared across at Brains. "Ask me what?"

"You told Virgil that something was wrong," Jeff informed him.

"I did what?! When? I didn't say any…" Scott bit his lip. "Oh…"

Brains tried not to look too eager. "You know?"

"I don't _know_. But I do know that at one point… We didn't have contact with Alan and John said his temperature was dropping. That was a heart-skipped-a-beat moment, but only for a second. Virgil knew?"

"He was not happy," Jeff remembered, and left it at that.

Scott frowned. "I wish we could regulate this clairvoyance thing somehow."

"You do to a certain extent. Once John said that Gordon had taken an oxygen cylinder and was heading back to rescue Alan, Virgil relaxed. The problem was…" Jeff looked down at the figure in the bed when Alan twitched, but his son still slept. "The problem was that Bruce was there at the time. He started asking questions."

"Questions that Virgil didn't want to answer?" Scott guessed.

His father looked back at him. "Have you two ever discussed it?"

Standing by his youngest brother's bed, Scott shook his head. "He's made it clear that it's not a topic for discussion."

"I've told Bruce that too, and I think he'll honour Virgil's wishes, but I wish your brother would talk to someone. If only to try to get a better understanding of what happens between the pair of you."

"It's not the easiest topic to hold a conversation about in a hospital ward," Scott reminded him. "But I'll try again when he's back home." He started moving towards the door. "I'll get changed, grab a bite to eat…"

"In that order?" Jeff queried.

Scott grinned. "Maybe. Then I'll come back and check up on Alan… Thanks, Brains." He left the room.

"Alan doesn't need me to care for him now," Brains stated, "but there is still a chance of, ah, secondary drowning."

"Don't worry," Jeff smiled across at Tin-Tin. "There are plenty who'll keep an eye on him."

"Good. I'll be in the next room, if you need me."

"Thank you, Brains."

"I shall get some things together, so I will have something to do while I sit with Alan," Tin-Tin offered casually.

Jeff and Alan were left alone in the room.

The younger man stirred.

"Alan?"

Alan nuzzled deeper into his pillow. Then his eyes opened a crack. "Dad?"

"How are you feeling, Son?"

"'Kay." Alan's voice sounded hoarse.

"That's good. Brains said you're going to be okay."

Alan blinked as if he was having a hard time staying awake. "Did Gord'n get the c'vers…?"

"They're all safe. Gordon's safe too. You did a good job today, Alan."

There was a shrug beneath the sheets. "Jus' did what 'ad to be done." Then Alan frowned. "Why you 'ere?"

"Virgil's not the only one of you boys who I worry about." Jeff forestalled the next question he knew was coming. "He told me to come home, so I could check up on you and let him know how you were."

Alan hefted his arm to his face and rubbed his eyes. "I'm 'kay. You didn' need to come home." He let his arm fall beside his head.

"I wanted to. And Virgil wanted me to."

But Alan was asleep again.

Taking the sheet that had slipped down his youngest's chest, Jeff tucked it under Alan's chin. His hand brushed his son's and the young man's fingers closed about his.

They still hadn't moved when Grandma Tracy entered the room ten minutes later. "How is he, Jeff?"

"He's going to be fine. He's just dozing now. He woke up a short time ago."

"Good. There's freshly brewed coffee available when you want it. And Kyrano's been baking. Scott's just finished his share and now he's gone to get out of his uniform."

Jeff chuckled. "I don't think I'm going to be allowed to leave any time soon."

Sliding her arm about his shoulders, Grandma smiled down on the slumbering figure, seeing the way that her son's and grandson's hands were interlocked. "It doesn't matter how old a child gets, they still need the security of knowing their folks are there." She kissed Jeff on the head. "I'll bring you something."

"Thanks, Mother."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Bruce approached the hospital room with a degree of unfamiliar trepidation. He knocked before sliding open the door.

Virgil was sitting in his bed staring at his hands. These were clenched together tightly in his lap.

"Hi, Virgil."

Virgil didn't look up. "Hi."

"Have you heard how Alan is?"

"Gonna be okay."

"Good." Bruce pulled up a chair and sat down, but still Virgil didn't look at him. "How are you?"

"Okay."

"I'm still shaking. If that's an example of what you guys deal with, I'm glad I'm not a member of In…"

Virgil's knuckles whitened.

"…Your organisation. Your dad flew out straight after we left. Scott's going to meet him at Barduq."

Not looking up from his hands, Virgil gave a slow nod.

"Urm… Don't be mad at him, but he explained to me about why you… About what happened." As the knuckles whitened again, Bruce forced a chuckle that sounded false to both of them. "If it had been anyone other than Jeff Tracy telling me I wouldn't have believed them. But since he's the one who told me, and Mr M confirmed it, I'll have to accept that it's true."

Virgil watched his fingers as if the change in colouring fascinated him.

"As you can imagine, I've got a million questions I want to ask, but I won't, because your dad… erm… Your dad said that you don't like talking about it."

Bruce fancied that he almost saw a nod. The fingers relaxed a little. The knuckles darkened a shade.

"Your dad blames himself for the way you want to hide from this empathetic clairvoyance thing." Bruce saw Virgil flinch at the words. "He feels bad about the way that he treated you when it first happened. He thinks that's why you don't want to talk about it now. He thinks Scott would be happy to, but that he won't out of respect for you. Is that right?"

Virgil didn't offer a response.

Bruce decided to bite the bullet. "Do you know what I think?"

Virgil shook his head. A tiny gesture that could have gone unnoticed.

"I think that your legs might not be up to running yet, but you are running away. I thought you don't hide from anything, but today you hid from yourself. Literally!"

Virgil's knuckles turned white again.

"Look at you! After months of being trapped in here you should be up and dressed and ready to face the world. But you're in bed, ready to hide if you're confronted with something that you're not willing to face. That's not the attitude of the Virgil Tracy who I knew and respected. That's not the attitude of my hero. I thought you were fearless. I thought you were someone who'll face up to any adversity without a flicker. Biker gang… Crashing plane… Probable death… You didn't back away from any of that. But you are now!"

The knuckles were so white, they seemed almost translucent.

"I don't know who you are anymore! And that scares me, Virgil. It's scarier than being trapped in a sealed, overheated, earthquake-ruined building with no idea if anyone's coming to the rescue. I don't like being scared, and I've been scared more times than I care to remember since I met you." Seeing the white knuckles Bruce gritted his teeth.

Virgil hands were feeling numb. But he said nothing.

The continuing silence finally got to Bruce. "For Pete's sake! Will you say something!?" When there was no response he flipped his hands in disgust. "Fine! If you don't want to talk to me, I'll leave! I've had a terrible week and I don't need to end it with you giving me the silent treatment!" He stormed towards the door.

"Don't you want to be my friend anymore?"

The whisper pulled Bruce up short. Turning back to the bed, he returned to his seat. "Of course, I want to be your friend," he said, lowering his voice to a less angry level as he sat down. "Why wouldn't I?"

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut. "Because I'm a freak."

"What?!" Bruce couldn't believe his ears. "A freak? Because, rarely, under special circumstances, you do something that no one else can?"

Virgil, his eyes still closed, nodded.

"Virgil, I hate to break this to you, but if there had ever been anything freaky about you that would have freaked me out, it would have been when half of you was made from some kind of spiderweb plastic, like something out of a sci-fi movie. What I've learned today hasn't changed anything between us…" He looked at his friend's closed eyes. "I hope. But talk to me, Virgil. This silent treatment's scaring me."

Virgil's lips moved.

Bruce leant closer. "Pardon?"

"I'm scared too," Virgil whispered.

"That's nothing to hide from. You've had a lot to be scared about. What's happened to you. What nearly happened to Alan. This telepathic thing… Being scared is nothing to be ashamed of."

Virgil opened his eyes. He stared at his whitened knuckles. "Isn't it?"

"If it was I'd never have shown my face in public after the social club trip and the Crumps fifth wedding anniversary. Or I'd have retreated into my unit at the Trace Base and never come out again. It's the way that you behave when you're scared that sorts the men from the boys."

"But, when you were scared," Virgil told his hands, "you always had a good reason to be scared, and you managed to override your fears. You were willing to help me take on that biker gang. You tried to keep everyone calm when the plane was crashing. You offered stay with me, even though we both knew that I was dying and that if you stayed too long you would too."

"The only reason why I was able to _override my fears _was out of loyalty to you and a fear of being a failure. And if there's one thing I know about you, Virgil, it's that you're not a failure. I'm sure you've been scared hundreds of times and you've never let that stop you. And that's partly because of who you are and partly because of the link you've got with Scott. What happens between you two is out of the ordinary, and I don't know exactly what it is, but I'm sure that you can find peace with your… erm…" Bruce tried to think of the appropriate phrase. "…your talent. You just need to talk to someone… Not to me, and obviously not someone outside the inner circle, but I'm sure that all you need is to talk to someone in your family to feel better about your situation. Talk to Scott or… or someone."

All through this Virgil hadn't looked up from his clenched hands. But now he unclenched them. "It's not only that that scares me," he said quietly. He folded his arms across his body, hugging himself.

Bruce sat forward. "What else then?"

His eyes on his blankets, Virgil told him.

Stunned, Bruce stared at him. Then he asked his friend to repeat himself.

A picture of misery, Virgil did so.

Bruce sat back in shock. "I didn't see that coming. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Have you told your dad?"

"No."

"Anyone?"

Virgil shook his head.

"You've got to."

"I know. But they're so excited about the future, and… And I'm not sure what my future is."

"They'll understand. They'll help."

"Will they?"

"You know they will." Bruce reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "And I will too. You only need to tell me how and when." He let out a breath. "Okay. Let's tackle this one thing at a time. Is there someone you can talk to about… you and Scott?"

Virgil gave a reluctant nod.

"Will you call them?"

Another nod.

"Now? You've still got a couple of hours of visiting time left. Get it over and done with."

After a pause, Virgil nodded again.

"Do you want me to stay as support? Or would you rather I left?"

There was another hesitation before a quiet: "Left." Then, concerned that the dismissal would be taken the wrong way, Virgil felt compelled to add. "It's not that I don't appreciate your sup…"

"I know and it's not a problem. I can make sure that you have some privacy. Butch and Lisa wanted to visit, but I asked if I could see you alone first. I told them that you and your dad had a falling out…"

"What?!" For the first time this meeting, Virgil looked at his friend.

More than a little relieved by the eye contact, Bruce continued. "It's what he told the nurses to explain why we left early and why you wanted to be left alone, and I thought it was better if I stuck to the same story. And I thought I should see you first to check if you wanted to see anyone this afternoon. I told them I'd tell them if it was safe to come over."

Virgil resumed his study of his hands.

"Shall I tell them that you're not in the mood for seeing visitors? All they want to do is tell you about the preparations for their party on Saturday, and I'm sure you'd rather find out what happened after the event rather than hear how many forks they've hired."

Virgil nodded yet again. Then he looked at his friend. "Bruce…" He hesitated. "Are we good?"

"Good?" Bruce held Virgil's gaze. "We're solid. You've never let me down and I'm never gonna let you down. You've trusted me with your biggest secrets and I'm not going to spill them to anyone. Not even the Crumps." He opened out his arms. "Man-hug to seal the deal?"

With a quiet chuckle, Virgil agreed.

They broke apart.

Bruce grinned. "Feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Just make sure that you talk to someone in your family. That'll make you feel better still."

"I will."

"And if you want to talk about anything else, or just want company, call me."

"I know… Thanks for being a good friend."

"Just repaying the favour. Now, before I go, tell me…" Bruce raised a humorous eyebrow "…are there any other secrets I should know about?"

Suddenly, astonishingly, Virgil's face lit up. "Yes."

Confused by the almost literal about face, Bruce frowned. "Yes?" He listened as Virgil told him something that lifted his spirits. "That's fantastic! They'll be thrilled."

"I hope so."

"I know so. That's brilliant, Virgil."

"So long as nothing goes wrong."

"What can go wrong? I can't wait to see their faces."

"Me neither."

"And I promise I won't breathe a word." Bruce stood. "I'll head off and I'll see you tomorrow."

Virgil smiled. "See you."

"Don't forget to call if you want to talk."

"I won't."

"Bye."

"Bye…" And Virgil was alone.

He didn't immediately make the promised call. Instead he sat there, massaging the feeling back into his hands, and thinking.

Then he pulled his computer closer. Taking a deep breath, he opened the link. "Virgil calling John."

There was a short delay before his call was answered; John had removed his tell-tale sash. "Hiya, Virg." He smiled. "How's the weather down there?"

"Clear," Virgil responded. His code to let his brother know that they could talk without being overheard.

"What can I do for you?"

"Are you busy?"

"No. We won't be holding the debriefing until Alan's feeling up to it, and that won't be till tomorrow at the earliest."

"Then you've got time to talk?"

"All the time in the universe. What do you want to talk about?"

Virgil hesitated. Then he decided that it was time to face his fears.

He began to talk…

_To be continued…_


	53. Chapter 53

It was one week later.

Tucking his guard sparrow into his pocket, Bruce Sanders, wearing a suit and a subdued tie that he'd bought with his first KAP pay cheque, approached the hall. The last time he'd attended an event like this he'd wound up with concussion and had next to no memory of the following few days.

He was hopeful that, this time, things would be less traumatic.

A little figure ran out of the door. "Uncle Bruce!"

"Hiya, Ginny." Smiling, Bruce scooped her up into his arms. "That's a pretty dress you're wearing."

Ginny ran the pink organza through her fingers. "It' my new party dress."

"It's a pretty party dress." Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Bruce grinned. "And so's your mama's." Still carrying Ginny, he approached the lady in question.

Ginny nodded her approval. "Mama looks like a princess."

"She does," Bruce agreed, to a slightly embarrassed Lisa, who was wearing a more sophisticated version of Ginny's attire. "Just like you do. Does your daddy look like a prince?"

Ginny gave an emphatic head nod. "He's hansome."

'_Hansome'_ was never a word that Bruce had associated with Butch, but he didn't contradict the little girl. "I'm sure your mama thinks so… Congratulations," he said, giving Lisa an affectionate and friendly kiss on the cheek. "Ten years. You made it."

"There were a couple of times that we nearly didn't, thanks to this party," Lisa admitted. "Sometimes it seemed like we couldn't agree on anything."

"I heard."

"Oh." Lisa blushed lightly. "Sorry."

"Just so long as it doesn't end up like last time." Bruce chuckled. "Where's Butch?"

"Inside, terrorising the caterers."

Bruce looked at Ginny. "Shall we go and see him?"

She nodded.

With Lisa leading the way and Bruce still carrying Ginny, the little group entered the hall. The room was decked out in gaily coloured streamers and balloons. Across one end, cut out of tin by Butch and welded to its support by Lisa, and with a picture of the family drawn by Ginny forming the full stop, were the words _Ten Years._

"There's Daddy." Ginny pointed to the man who, with a bemused expression, was standing in the middle of the hall holding the ends of bunches of streamers as if he was about to become a maypole and wasn't sure how to take it. "He's hansome, isn't he, Uncle Bruce?"

"He's certainly scrubbed up well," Bruce grinned, as Butch blushed and pulled at his bowtie-constrained collar. "Congratulations on making ten years, Butch." He held out his hand as Lisa took her daughter from him. "And I hope the pair of you last more than ten more."

Butch gave a goofy grin. "Ta."

"What did the caterers say?" Lisa asked.

Butch blushed again. "T' mind m' own busyness."

Bruce offered a silent congratulation to the caterer who was brave enough to tell the big man to get lost. "Don't worry. Mrs T and Mrs M will set them straight."

"We want it t' be perfekt."

"We're all here, and we're all alive and in one piece. That's perfect enough for me." Lisa kissed her husband on the cheek.

Bruce indicated the streamers. "What are you doing?"

Butch looked at the coloured strands that appeared to be stings of ribbon in his big hands. "Tryin' t' decide what t' do with this."

"Well, I arrived early so I could help you, so…" Bruce removed his jacket, draped it over the back of a chair, and rubbed his hands together. "C'mon." He took the other ends of the streamers. "Let me help you."

Together the two men taped the last of the decorations to the walls.

"Did you see Virgil today?" Lisa asked, when Bruce finally stepped down off the ladder.

"Yeah."

"How is he?"

"He sends his best. He wishes that he could be here tonight."

"He's been quiet this past week. We commented on that, didn't we, Butch?"

"Yeah. An' he'd bin doin' great."

"I think that's why he's disappointed," Bruce said, resolving again not to reveal anything that Virgil didn't want released into the public domain. "He has been making real progress, but knowing that he can't be here for your dinner has made him realise that he's not healing as fast as he'd like… That and the fact that he promised to play your song tonight. He doesn't like the idea that he's breaking his promise."

"He isn't," Lisa admitted. "… In a manner of speaking. He made a recording of _Love Overcomes All_. The Tracys are going to bring it."

Bruce grinned. "Great. I'm glad that he's going to be here in spirit. What's tonight's programme?"

"Nibbles, drinks, and dancing while the caterers get the meal ready," Lisa explained. "After the food, there'll be a couple of speeches and more dancing."

"I hope you're not expecting me to partner any unauthorised visitors." Bruce rubbed his head.

"Th' only Skulz welc'me 'ere are ex-Skulz," Butch stated.

"You and your dad?"

"Yup."

"Good."

There was loud knocking from the direction of the front door of the hall.

Leaving Butch and Lisa to see who it was, Bruce crouched down next to Ginny. "Who made that?" he asked, pointing at the homemade sign.

"Me, an' Mama, an' Daddy."

"What's it made of?"

Ginny screwed her face up as she tried to remember the exact metal. "Tin."

"Why tin?"

"Cos, it means you' been married ten years."

"How many's ten?"

Ginny held out both hands, fingers spread.

"Good girl. Did you cut out all the frilly bits in the tin?"

"No." Ginny giggled. "Daddy did."

"Did you weld it to its base?"

"No." More giggles. "Mama did."

"What did you do?" Bruce heard Lisa say, "_you didn't need to knock"._

Ginny pointed to the full stop. "I drawded that."

"That's a very good drawing."

Ginny gave an emphatic head nod. "Yes, it tis!"

Laughing, Bruce watched as, with a "_Grandpop!_", Ginny sped towards the front door and her grandfather. "Hi, Wrench."

Sweeping his granddaughter up into his arms, Butch's father smiled, his bleached tattoo crinkling. He was a lot more confident around his family's friends and workmates than he had been a few months ago. "'Lo, Bruce." He grinned at Ginny. "'Ow's my liddle princess?"

"See my new dress?"

"I do. It'sa purdy dress."

"Aunty Lisa?" A teenager wandered out of an adjacent room. "Where can I set up my tripod?"

"The speeches will be over there, so wherever you think best…" Lisa caught the young man by the arm and led him closer to her friend. "Do you remember my nephew Jacob, Bruce?"

"Jacob?!" Bruce pretended to stare open mouthed. "Little Jacob? You've grown! You're nearly as tall as me."

Jacob looked embarrassed. "It's been five years since you last saw me."

"I guess so."

"We'll leave you boys to it," Lisa said, before she and Butch hurried away to greet some newcomers.

"Are you going to video tonight's festivities, Jacob?" Bruce asked.

The younger man's face lit up. "Yeah! I just hope no one takes my film this time."

Bruce chuckled. "I'm glad they did last time. I already had one headache. I didn't need another trying to remember what happened in the witness stand."

"I'm hoping this film will be better anyway," Jacob admitted. "I'm doing media studies at school and I've learned heaps. I'm going to be a professional videographer."

"Good on you."

"Thanks to you."

"Me?" This time Bruce's disbelief was genuine. "Why?"

"You encouraged me to ask Uncle Butch to take me for a ride in the Red Arrow Sportster, so I could do some videoing." Jacob suddenly became animated. "Afterwards we made lots of other films together. He and Aunty Lisa helped me make lots of miniature sets, so I could film my own movies. Some of their miniatures were awesome!" The teenager saddened. "They were all destroyed in the earthquake."

"You'll be able to make better ones now."

"Yeah. Anyway, it's thanks to you encouraging me to talk to Uncle Butch that made me realise what I want to do as a career." The teenager appeared embarrassed by the admission. "I'd better go and get my gear set up." He wandered away in search of the perfect spot to put his tripod.

People were arriving en masse now. There were lots of "you look lovely tonight", and "thank you for coming", and "you shouldn't have. We said we didn't need any gifts", from the front of the hall as those who'd already been welcomed floated towards the rear and helped themselves to drinks and nibbles.

Bruce found himself next to the Mickelsons. "How's the shoulder?" he asked.

Hamish rotated the strapped and sling-bound limb gingerly. "Better than it was yesterday."

"So, you're on the mend."

"The quacks seem pleased."

"Hamish!" Edna punched her husband lightly on his good arm. "Don't be rude. The surgeons and doctors are all very nice people and appear to be most proficient in their work." She turned back to Bruce. "They say that the only thing that's likely to hold up his recovery is him, if he tries to rush everything." She slipped her hand through her husband's arm. "That's why I'm keeping him on a tight rein."

"So, you're taking a break from getting ACE operational again?" Bruce asked, and grinned when Edna gave an indelicate snort.

"ACE is still at the stage where the only heavy lifting I have to do is pieces of paper," Hamish admitted. "And I can manage that… How's work?"

"Last week was better than my first. Felings' been too scared to come near me without Wallace being nearby to protect him against my guard sparrow. His face is still blue from last Friday's attack. He's giving Cole a wide berth too. This week was the first time I'd actually seen the poor guy enjoy the idea of going to work."

"And are you enjoying work, Bruce?" Edna asked.

Bruce screwed up his face. "It's not ACE, Mrs M, but I'm getting used to it."

Someone approached the group. It was Olivia and she was holding two glasses. "There you are, Mr M." She handed over one glass, making sure that she retained her grip of it until she knew he had hold of it. "Mrs M."

"Thank you, Olivia." Edna accepted her glass. "We gave Olivia a ride here, Bruce."

"Did you?" Bruce squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Um. Good."

"I, erm…" Olivia appeared unsure what to do next. "I'll go get my drink. Uh… Do you want, um, something, ah, Bruce?"

"Uh… I'm fine…" Bruce, belatedly, held up his own glass. "Thank you."

Olivia sped back towards the bar.

Bruce watched her depart.

At the entrance to the hall, Lisa let out a little squeal of delight at the arrival of one group. "You made it! We're so glad!"

Jeff gave Lisa a hug, followed by an apologetic smile as he shook Butch's hand. "Scott sends his apologies. He would have loved to have come, but someone had to hold the fort."

"We understand. We just feel privileged that the rest of you felt that you were able make the effort, Don't we, Butch?" Lisa gushed. "Especially after what happened last weekend."

Butch, having accepted a hug of greeting from Mrs Tracy, was almost shaking Alan's hand off. "Yeah. Real priv'leged. How is ya, Alan?"

Alan grinned. "Primo, Butch."

"It's a mermaid!" Gordon scooped Ginny up into his arms. "A pretty pink mermaid!"

She burst into a paroxysm of giggles. "Not a mermad. Daddy an' Grandpop says I'm a princess."

"Princess Virgiggler." Gordon tried. "They're right, aren't they, John?"

John nodded. "Maybe a mermaid princess? Ruler of both land and sea?" With a sweep of his hand, he bowed low. "Greetings, your royal highness."

Ginny giggled.

Jeff held a recording out to Lisa. "As promised, there it is. Virgil wishes he could play it in person, but…"

"We know. We're just glad that he's well enough to be able to play this, so he can rest easy that he's kept his promise." Lisa held up the recording. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and give it to the DJ. I don't want to risk losing or damaging it."

Jeff smiled as Lisa hurried away and Butch went to greet some other guests. "Mother…" He said out of the corner of his mouth. "You do have it, don't you?"

She patted her handbag. "Of course, I do, Jeff. Just in case…"

-F-A-B-

The party was great fun and Bruce was enjoying himself. But there was one cloud on his horizon.

Olivia.

For a short few months after the earthquake he'd envisaged being at this party with her. Monopolising her for every dance; making her laugh with his jokes and banter; escorting her home afterwards; kissing her at the door…

And here he was, sitting alone, watching as she danced with the Tracy sons who seemed intent on monopolising her themselves. Even if Bruce had felt that she would have accepted his invitation, Olivia wasn't left alone for long enough for him to make the approach.

_Let her go, Bruce,_ he told himself and turned to one of the occupants of the next table. "How about a dance, Mavis?"

"I'd love to." As she accepted his hand, she stood. "I'm _so_ glad that someone's _finally_ asked me," she responded with a pointed glance at her husband.

"I've got two left feet," Greg protested. "You know that."

"I'm not much better," Bruce admitted. "But I can step side to side."

Mavis Harrison allowed Bruce to escort her past dancers Winston and Rex, Ashley and Max, and Jeff Tracy and his mother.

Lisa and Butch were thrilled that their evening was going so well. Thrilled and surprised when, as Butch spun his wife about the floor, they realised that Lisa's mother had accepted an invitation to dance from Butch's father, and actually seemed to be enjoying herself.

As the DJ put on a slower song to allow everyone the opportunity to get ready for the main meal of the evening, Bruce escorted Mavis back to her chair and then reclaimed his seat at the table he was sharing with Winston and Rex.

He was shocked when someone slid into the vacant spot next to him.

"Hello Winston, Rex…" Olivia gave him an uncertain smile. "Bruce."

"Hello, Livvy." Winston looked between her and his workmate. "You know, I think I might visit the little boys' room before we start eating. Do you want to do the same, Rexy?"

His fiancé missed his cue. "I'm fine, Winnie."

Winston persisted. "Judging by those smells it's going to be quite a feast and we don't want anything to interrupt it. Are you sure?"

"I'm fine," Rex repeated.

"Rex…" Winston gave up all pretence. "I think we should leave this delightful couple alone to talk!"

"Winston…" Bruce protested, as Olivia blushed.

Rex looked confused. Then he coloured scarlet. "Of course! I'm so sorry. Do excuse us."

Both men hurried away.

With an apologetic, "sorry about that," Bruce concentrated on his serviette. He decided that whoever had folded it into a peacock was an artistic genius… And must have had plenty of time on their hands in order to create an entire flock for the evening. "You look like you're having fun."

"Yes. The Tracys are nice people."

Trying to subdue a burst of jealousy, Bruce flicked at his peacock's beak. "I know."

Olivia traced her finger around the edge of the unclaimed peacock's tail. "They're all great dancers."

Bruce ran his peacock's tail through his fingers. "I could see that."

"But they seemed to have an agenda."

Suddenly concerned, Bruce started. His serviette collapsed into a mess of multi-coloured cloth. "Agenda!? What agenda?"

"They only wanted to talk about one thing."

"They did…?" Bruce looked across at the three men, who appeared to be interested in anything but the couple at this table. "What was that?"

"You."

Bruce sat up straight and finally stared straight at his ex-girlfriend. "Me?! What did they say?"

"How much they appreciate all you've done to support Virgil. How you tried to help Scott, when we thought he was having a heart attack. How you've got a great sense of humour. How you're willing to stand up for people, even if the odds are against you. How you always put others first, even when that means walking into a situation that you have no experience in. How, if it wasn't for you, Lisa would have died and we wouldn't be having tonight's party… I think they were trying to convince me what a great guy you are… Not that I need anyone to tell me that."

"Oh…" Bruce couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound lame. "That's nice of them."

"They didn't say as much, but I think they were telling me what a mistake I've made… They're right."

A faint light of hope filtered into Bruce's bemused and confused brain. "They are?"

"I understand why you had to leave ACE. And…" Picking up her serviette, Olivia studied the peacock. "And I admire you for being brave enough to do it. It would have been so much easier for you to stay and accept the Tracys' charity…" She bowed her head. "Like I've done."

"You haven't done that. You're helping Mr M and Mr T with the rebuild."

"It's only a token amount of work at the moment; not worth the amount they're paying me. If I was as strong and honourable as you I would have looked for other employment too. At least part time."

"You've made the right decision. ACE is a great place to work for. I knew that, but I'm only realising exactly how good now that I'm no longer employed by them. I wish I'd listened to you."

"And I should have listened and talked to you, instead of getting mad with you and ignoring you." Olivia's serviette slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She bent over to pick it up.

"Let me..." Bruce bent over to pick it up.

They bumped heads.

There was a light-hearted, "Ow!"

"Bruce! I'm so sorry!"

"It's not your fault. It's a Crump anniversary party and it seems to be a prerequisite that I leave with concussion." Bruce chuckled. "Are you okay?"

"I'm all right. Are you?" Olivia reached out to the reddening spot on his forehead. "You're getting a bruise."

Bruce reached out to the reddening spot on her forehead. "You're getting a bruise."

Suddenly realising what they were doing and who they were doing it to, they allowed their hands to drop. Their fingers met on the way down.

Their bumps and the serviette were forgotten.

They sat there; their fingers still touching awkwardly.

Bruce looked down at their meshed-together fingers. Then he adjusted his grasp, so he was holding Olivia's hand.

She let him.

Bruce grinned.

He wasn't the only one grinning.

Gordon winked at his brothers. "Operation Sannan is underway and awaiting splashdown."

"All communications are open," John agreed with a mock-solemn nod. "And being received at strength five."

Glancing over at the couple, Alan smirked. "Docking procedure commencing in five... four…"

Unaware that they were the subject of a Tracy master plan, Olivia smiled. "Should I, erm, kiss it better?"

"…_three…"_

Bruce smiled back. "I'm sure it would help."

"…_two…"_

Olivia leant forward…

The Tracys groaned.

A throat was cleared and, surprised, Bruce and Olivia looked up at the man who was standing in attendance. "Would you like the chicken or the beef?" he asked.

"Oh…!" Olivia blushed. "But I…" She looked across at her original table, then back at the placing before her. "Chicken, please."

"Chicken…" The waiter placed a plate before her before he noticed that part of the setting was missing. "I'll get you another napkin."

"Thank you."

The meal was enjoyed by all, although Butch had a not-so-quiet grumble to Lisa that if the caterers had followed his instructions, the sauce wouldn't have been as lumpy as it was. Lisa had shut him up by kissing him on the lips.

As the last of the dishes began to be cleared away, the Master of Ceremonies announced that it was time for the more formal part of the evening.

Accompanied by a round of applause, Butch and Lisa were called up to the front of the room, so they were both standing beneath their _Ten Years_ sign. Jacob followed their progress with his video camera.

Grandma leant closer to her son. "It will be all right, won't it?"

"Yes." Jeff checked his watch. "Everything's fine."

"Every couple that's truly in love," the Master of Ceremonies began, when the last of the applause had faded, "has a song that's special to them. This song may remind them of the moment they first met; the moment they first kissed; or perhaps the moment that they decided that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Lisa and Butch have such a song. It is a song that speaks of how neither of them expected to fall in love with the other; how the world dismissed and even discouraged their love; and how they managed to overcome these challenges and more for ten years. They'll both admit that it hasn't always been easy, life can be as rocky as the earthquake of eight months ago, but they've hung in there; supporting each other, loving each other, and creating the light of their life: Virginia."

Ginny, sitting on her maternal grandmother's lap, squirmed. She was gently instructed that this was Mama and Daddy's time and that she was to be a good girl and sit still.

"They," the MC continued, "had hoped that tonight a friend would fulfil a promise made five years ago and play their song for them now, but, as he's unavoidably detained…"

"Sounds like Virg is in jail," Gordon whispered to Alan, who snickered.

"… he has sent a recording. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Lisa and Butch's song: _Love Overcomes All_; played by Virgil Tracy." The Master of Ceremonies nodded at the DJ who pushed a button.

Silence filled the room. After ten seconds, a single note was heard followed by static.

The DJ frowned at the player.

Another strangled note squawked out of the speakers.

"Sorry," the DJ apologised. "I'll try again." He pressed stop, withdrew the recording and examined it for flaws, and then returned it to the player. He pressed play.

Silence filled the room. After ten seconds, a single note was heard followed by static…

The DJ stopped the player, checked the recording again, and shrugged. "Sorry. I guess there's something wrong with it."

A murmur filled the room. People expressing disappointment and offering comments about the poor standard of modern technology.

"Poor Butch and Lisa." Olivia leant closer to Bruce. "They look so disappointed, and so do the Tracys. And Virgil will be devastated!"

Bruce glanced over at the family, seeing their heads together as if they were discussing the disaster. "Don't worry about it," he advised, threading his fingers through hers. "Knowing them, they'll have something up their sleeve."

Butch cleared the disappointment out of his throat. "I ain't much f'r talkin'," he admitted, and the MC moved the microphone closer. "I ain't as educated as some and I don' know all th' words." He turned to his wife and took both of her hands in his. "But jus' cos I can' tell ya I do, tha' don't stop me lovin' ya, Lisa. I loved ya th' first time ya tore strips off us all f'r wastin' ya time, an' I've neva stopped lovin' ya since. I wanted t' say heaps now, but I can' think of th' words t' use. But some people do know th' righ' words, so I'm gonna ask them f'r help." He nodded at the DJ, who, with crossed fingers, pressed a button.

Everyone was relieved to hear music fill the room.

And Butch began to sing. His rich baritone enveloped the hall as he told his audience, and especially his wife, of _The Power of Love_.

Lisa listened to his heartfelt message whilst trying, and failing, to stop tears from rolling down her cheeks. Everyone in the room could see the love in her eyes for the man who was serenading her.

Ginny, captivated by her father's singing and aware that something special was happening, stopped squirming and listened.

The guests caught up in the magic of the moment, smiled at the emotions evoked by the song and the singer, and forgot about their disappointment before.

Jacob, with a teenagers' indifference to adult declarations of love, zoomed in on the soloist and the focus of his song before panning around the room.

And Bruce, feeling that life couldn't get any better, held Olivia's hand.

As the last notes melted away into the air, Butch kissed Lisa's hand. "I love ya, Liesl."

Lisa returned the kiss. "I love you too, Butch."

The room erupted into applause. Applause and a standing ovation that took a full two minutes to quieten down. Butch, once he'd escaped Lisa's kiss, looked embarrassed at the reception. With a soppy grin, he shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked at the ground.

The Master of Ceremonies, took the microphone again. "I know that's a hard act to follow, but would anyone else care to speak?"

There was a moment's silence and then Hamish Mickelson got to his feet. "I would."

He accepted the microphone, juggling it from his injured to uninjured arms. "As you said," he began, "that's an almost impossible act to follow, and if I tried to, I think this party would be winding up much earlier than anticipated."

Edna nodded. "True."

Jeff chuckled.

"Mr and Mrs Crump…" Hamish smiled. "Lisa and Butch… Firstly I would like to thank you for inviting Edna and myself to share this special celebration of your lives.

"I remember, years ago, Aeronautical Component Engineering's Production Manager, Max Watts, telling me that he'd just employed a new welder. I didn't think anything of it. I trusted Max to employ the best people to work at ACE and I had no reason to think that he'd ever do anything else. That was until I was leaving that evening and this woman, who at the time I could only, and somewhat crudely, describe as a knockout…" Lisa blushed lightly and giggled. "…vacated the factory and got into a car. In my ignorance, I assumed that she was the girlfriend of one of our staff members, who'd broken company rules and entered the factory without permission. I resolved to mention it to Max the following morning and ask him to remind all staff that there were restrictions on family and friends entering the factory. And the following morning I did. Max, I have to say, that you were somewhat smug when you told me that the young woman I'd seen wasn't a visitor, but the new welder."

Max Watts looked embarrassed at the revelation that he'd been less than respectful of his superior's seniority.

"I'm sorry, Lisa – but when I saw ACE's newest recruit, my first thought was that my Production Manager been overdosing on the industrial gases and had taken leave of his senses."

Laughter ran through the room.

"But, as I said, I'd always trusted Max to make the right call and so I told myself to trust his judgement this time. And I'm happy to say, Lisa, that you've never let ACE down. In fact, you've done us proud, both with your day-to-day workmanship, and by putting ACE's name on the interstate welding map…" Hamish grinned. "While wiping some egotistical smirks off a few male faces."

As the audience laughed again, Lisa smiled. "Thank you, Mr Mickelson."

"That day," Hamish continued, "you taught me that you can never judge a book by its cover… Something," he added wryly, "that I struggled to remind myself when I met this tattooed husband of yours... Butch, I have to say that I wondered if Max had a secret crush on Lisa, when he agreed to let you apply for a job."

"Didn't we all?" Bruce called out.

Hamish waited for the laughter to die down. "It took me a while to get to know you, Butch, and I suppose it's fair to say that I didn't give myself the opportunity know the _real_ you until much later. It took the traumatic events of the earthquake for me to find out that you are one of the most genuine, down to earth, caring men that I've met. As well as being someone that ACE is proud and honoured to call a member of the team."

Butch looked like he was about to cry.

"I know that today is a day to celebrate the present but, over the past five years, there were times when we could have lost either or both of you. If that had happened, not only would we have never had the opportunity to be introduced to Virginia, we would we have lost valued friends and teammates, and the world would have been a much poorer place."

There were murmurings of agreement.

"It's been a privilege to work alongside you both, and I hope," Hamish finished, "that in these last few months, I've become your friend as well as your boss."

Her emotions not allowing her to express the words that needed to be said, Lisa showed him that his assumption was correct, by giving him a huge hug. Butch let rip with a sniff that set his bowtie quivering and then wrapped the older man up in an embrace that pulled at the newly installed stitches.

Hamish endured the crushing hug without complaint. "Would anyone else like to say anything?"

"I would." Pulling his shirt and tuxedo jacket sleeves down as he strode across the hall, Jeff Tracy claimed the microphone.

"Lisa… Butch… I would like to endorse each and every word Hamish said – except that he did warn me not to be surprised when I met my newest employees, so it wasn't quite the same shock that he experienced!" There were chuckles all round. "Since Hamish has said it so well, I won't go over the same territory, but I will offer you both a huge thank you. The earthquake of last August affected many people, and not only those caught up in it on the day. You probably all know," he looked out at his audience, "that one of my sons was one of the most seriously hurt at ACE. What you won't know is how much Lisa and Butch's care and friendship over the intervening months has meant to the family; especially Virgil. In the first few days, when none of us knew if he was going to make it, Butch and Lisa's quiet support, and Virginia's infectious giggle…"

"Nana? What's invexshus?"

"Infectious, Ginny," Jeff clarified. "It means that something is catching. That means that when you giggle, you make us want to giggle too. And it's impossible to giggle without feeling happier. And when we were around you, and your mama, and your daddy, we couldn't help but feel happy, even when we were feeling sad. That's what infectious means." He pulled a face at the little girl.

Ginny giggled.

Everyone chuckled along with her.

"See!" Jeff grinned. He turned back to Ginny's parents. "I thank you two for sharing Ginny with us, thereby letting some light into what was a very dark point in our lives. And thank you for finding us a place where the family could stay that offered us peace, privacy, stability, and sanity when our world was going crazy. But what I am most grateful for, is the support you've given Virgil over the last eight months. There have been times when the family couldn't be there for him and the knowledge that his friends were there to support him, and to keep him upbeat when he must have felt that the only option was to give up, means more to me than you could imagine.

"I know that Virgil wanted to be here tonight to show you how much your friendship means to him, to say thank you too, and…" Jeff heard a sound at the door. "Ah." He smiled. "Perfect timing."

With a broad smile, and Scott in attendance, Virgil Tracy wheeled himself into the hall on his hoverchair.

With a little cry of delight, and Butch lumbering along close behind, Lisa ran over to their friend.

Ginny had slid off Nana's knee before her grandmother had the chance to react, and was also running towards the unexpected visitor. "Uncle Virgil!"

Olivia turned to a grinning Bruce, hitting him on the arm. "You knew!"

"Yep! He told me last week that he was hopeful that he'd be able to escape."

Virgil had submitted to the Crumps exuberant greetings. Butch, winding up for one of his usual bruise-inducing affectionate punches on the arm, had recognised his friend's weakened condition and eased off at the last moment.

Scott was less fortunate. "We can't stay for long," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "I'm under strict instructions got to get Cinderella here back to the hospital within an hour."

"Before Scott turns into a pumpkin," Virgil finished. "I believe I have a tune to play?"

Butch suddenly looked disappointed. "Bu' we don' have a piana. We didn' think we was gonna need one."

"We can't let a trivial fact like that spoil things," Jeff told him, as Gordon and John carried a full-sized electronic keyboard in from the direction of the car park, placing it in front of their brother. Then everyone melted back into the shadows, leaving Lisa, Butch, and Ginny in each other's arms; and Virgil holding centre stage.

He hit a button on the keyboard and his audience heard static, followed by a strangled note that squawked out of the speakers. "Sorry," he grinned. "Wrong recording." Changing the setting he played one set of scales to ensure that the instrument was tuned to sound like a full-blooded concert grand. Then he began to play.

The notes of _Love Overcomes All_ floated around the silent hall.

Hearing a quiet sound to his right, and without missing a note, Virgil looked over to see Butch crooning the words softly into Lisa's ear. He nodded, seamlessly looping the song back to the introduction, and Butch accepted the invitation, raising his voice's volume, so that all could hear and enjoy the words that meant so much to his wife and him.

No one else said a word. No one moved. Even Ginny didn't fidget.

Scott stood in his darkened corner, watching and listening to his brother play; the tune evoking memories of what had been lost and joy at what had been retained.

A tissue was held out to him. "Your mother loved this song," Edna whispered, when he, after a moment's macho hesitation, accepted it. She took another tissue out of her bag. "She would be so happy now." She dabbed at her eyes.

Scott wiped his own eyes. "We all are." He blew his nose on the tissue.

Later, people were to comment that it was a breath-taking, magical moment that seemed to envelope them all in its spell. But magic can't last forever and, as the last notes dissolved into the evening air, the spell was broken.

Promise honoured, Virgil backed away from the keyboard, allowing his brothers could carry it away. "Was that okay?" he asked, massaging his left hand.

"Pal…" Butch, his eyes bright, gave a huge sniff. "Tha' was primo."

"So perfect…" Lisa wiped tears of joy off her face, before giving a shaky laugh. "I'm sure my makeup must be a mess."

The DJ, realising that the concert was over, put on a dance track.

"C'mon…" Bruce grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her towards the dancefloor. But, instead of leading her in a spirited jig, he skirted the crowd and joined his friends. "That was brilliant!" He held out his fist.

Virgil fist-bumped him, and then noticed, firstly, Olivia's proximity, and then the way Bruce had his arm about her waist. "Looks like it's been a brilliant evening."

Bruce looked equally embarrassed and triumphant. "Yeah… Thanks to your brothers."

"My brothers?" Virgil saw the triplicate grins of a plan gone well. "You'll both have to tell me all about it later."

Bruce gave Olivia a squeeze. "We will."

"Uncle Virgil! Dance with me!"

"All right then!" With a laugh, Virgil took both of Ginny's hands in his and pulled her up onto the hoverchair's seat next to him. Then, holding one arm about her back so she wouldn't fall and the other out in the accepted fashion, and a slight lean to the left, he waltzed them, Ginny giggling the entire time, into the middle of the other dancing couples.

Grandma selected a seat at a neighbouring table and smiled at the table's sole occupant. "You're Mrs Riley? Lisa's mother?"

The lady in question returned the smile. "That's right. And you're… Mrs T?"

Grandma gave a short laugh. "My reputation has proceeded me."

"Lisa's always talking about you."

"I like to think that we're friends." Grandma's eyes twinkled. "Did she tell you about the circumstances around when we first met?"

"No."

Grandma chuckled. "I had first-hand experience of how much Butch loves Lisa. And he got first-hand experience of how hard my handbag was."

Puzzled, Mrs Riley frowned.

"It was a situation that was blown out of all proportion and totally innocent… But perhaps I should leave it to Lisa to tell you what happened."

Realising that she would have to be satisfied with this unsatisfactory explanation, Mrs Riley accepted that she'd have to wait to learn more. "Lisa's told me about the way you've helped her." She reached out and touched the older lady on the hand. "Thank you for that." She visibly saddened. "I'm afraid I've pushed her so far away, that she doesn't feel she can come to me for help anymore."

"Nonsense!" Grandma scoffed. "Every girl needs her mother."

"Lisa doesn't."

"Of course, she does! Especially now that she's got Ginny. But sometimes pride makes it easier to talk to a relative stranger than to confess that maybe your mother knows what she's talking about."

"But I didn't know what I was talking about." Mrs Riley looked across to where her daughter was leaning into her son-in-law's arms and smiling at their daughter's laughter. "I was wrong."

"I am sure that whatever you said, was said out of love."

"I didn't want to see her hurt. Instead I hurt us both." Mrs Riley turned back to Mrs Tracy. "Did you know that we refused to go to their wedding? I told her that if she was going to let a 'thug' share her life, then her father and I would be leaving it. And we did. For five years I refused to even admit that I had a daughter." Tears, so different to the happy ones that had been shed earlier, welled up.

Grandma held out a tissue.

"Thank you…" Mrs Riley dabbed her eyes. "What kind of mother does that? And then I nearly lost her forever…" She swallowed, trying to hold back even more tears. "If it wasn't for your grandson…"

"Virgil?" Grandma nodded sagely. "Although he says that he was just helping Bruce. And I know that Lisa, and Butch, have both repaid Virgil in kind. He wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for Butch."

Mrs Riley looked across at the man in the hoverchair 'dancing' with her granddaughter. "Both Lisa and Butch are forever talking about him, but I've only met him once, briefly, at Lisa's fifth wedding anniversary. But by then I'd lost Lisa's trust."

"I don't believe that. You've been entrusted to look after the most important thing in their lives." Mrs Tracy looked down at the large bag at their feet, filled with things to keep a four-year-old amused. "Because of that, can I entrust you with this?" Reaching into her bag, Grandma pulled out a disc. "This is the proper recording that Virgil made, in case he couldn't make it tonight. I know that he wants Lisa and Butch to have it, but they've got so much else to worry about, that there's a chance that they could lose it. Would you be willing to look after it and give it to them later?"

"Of course!"

"And will you do something else for me?"

Mrs Riley nodded.

"Go over there and give your son-in-law a big hug. You'll make Lisa's evening… And yours."

Grandma waited as Mr Riley considered the request. She was a good judge of character and of reading situations, but had she misread…?

Mrs Riley gave an emphatic nod that could have been her granddaughter's. "I will! Will you excuse me?"

"Of course." Grandma watched as the other woman approached the couple of the moment. There was a moment's quiet conversation, before the older woman held her arms open. Butch looked as if he'd been poleaxed, before he pulled his mother-in-law into what was a tender embrace.

Her smile as big as the room, Lisa wrapped her arms about the pair of them.

Satisfied, Grandma slipped the recording into the oversized bag and was about to return to her table, when she was intercepted by Winston and escorted onto the dancefloor.

Seated at his table, Jeff was watching the dancers' antics; especially those of one particular couple. Feeling a hand on his shoulder he glanced up.

Hamish claimed the seat to his right. "It's been quite an evening."

Jeff nodded, his attention back on the dancers. "It has indeed."

On his left, Edna watched as Virgil spun Ginny around the dancefloor. Both were laughing their heads off. "What a wonderful sight."

"It's more than that," Jeff sighed. "It's a miracle." He tore his eyes away from the frivolities. "Would you mind if I were to come around for a cup of coffee tomorrow?" he asked Edna. "I have something I want to discuss with the both of you."

"This sounds serious," she admitted.

"I suppose it is."

"Of course, you can visit, Jeff. You know you're welcome at any time."

"Good. Thanks…" Then Jeff grinned. "Come on, Edna." He stood. "Since your husband's out of action, let's show these youngsters how it's done."

She giggled as she allowed him to assist her to her feet. "Just so as you remember that neither of us are as young as we once were, Jeff Tracy."

"We may not be young in age, but we're both young in spirit."

They reached the floor just as the first tune finished and the DJ merged it into a second. They joined the group in a spirited jive.

At the neighbouring table, Alan yawned and stretched. "I'm going to bail," he announced as he got to his feet.

That one simple statement had his brothers on high alert. "Are you feeling all right?" John queried.

"I'm feeling fine. Just a little tired that's all. A good night's sleep and I'll be okay."

"But you slept this afternoon," Gordon reminded him.

"I know." Alan had arrived in Bearston with his family in the Odonata. Still recovering after his near drowning a week earlier, he'd gone over to the hospital to say hello to Virgil and then retired to his room at the house, where he'd slept until it was time to get ready for the evening. "I'm feeling awake now, but I don't think I'll last the distance. I don't want you guys to have to carry me out of here. Everyone will think I've been on the turps…" He downed the last of his drink. "Instead of O.J."

Gordon grinned. "Good luck with convincing Scott that there's nothing wrong with you."

"I've got birdseed in my pocket for when he starts clucking… Tell Dad and Grandma, will you? I don't need them to create a scene fussing over me."

"Okay, Alan," John agreed. "We'll see you later."

Alan pushed through the crowd on the dancefloor and tapped Scott on the shoulder. "Can I cut in?"

"Any time." Laughing, Scott held his arms open as if he was going to lead his kid brother in a spin about the floor.

"Then can I hitch a ride?"

He wasn't surprised when the laughter stopped, and a worried frown creased his eldest brother's forehead. "Of course, you can. But why do you…"

"Don't ruffle your feathers, Scott," Alan sighed. "I'm tired. Nothing more. I want to make sure that, if we need to make a dash to the Odonata, I'm in a fit state to do it."

Scott gave a sage nod at his brother's intelligent behaviour and Alan saw the light of an idea brighten his eyes. "Actually, this could work in our favour. Virgil might be willing to leave if he thinks he's helping you." Scott slapped his brother on the back. "You'd better say your farewells to your fan club."

As Alan made his apologies, and endured a prolonged handshake of gratitude from Butch, Virgil and Ginny continued dancing.

Lisa watched them indulgently. "I think someone's trying to pretend that it's not past their bedtime."

"Yes." Scott chucked. "I think he is." The tune finished, and he strode out onto the dancefloor. "Are you trying to get me into trouble with the nurses? I made a promise too, remember?"

"Okay," Virgil said reluctantly. This was the most fun, and the closest to freedom, that he'd experienced in a long time and he didn't want it to end.

"Alan's coming with us. He's ready to hit the sack."

"Alan?!" Virgil looked over at his youngest brother in concern. "Is he…"

"He assures me that there's nothing wrong with him, except that he's tired. And I want to make sure that that's the only thing wrong with him."

"Okay," Virgil agreed. "I guess we'd better go then." He gave a cramped little bow. "Thank you for the dance, Virginia."

Ginny threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you, Uncle Virgil."

"Come on, Ginny." Lisa picked her daughter up off the hoverchair. "You can say goodnight to everyone and then it's time for bed… We've set up a cot in an adjacent room," she explained to the Tracys.

Ginny pouted. "Don' wanna."

"I know. But it's past your bedtime."

Before there was the chance for a full-blown childish tantrum, Virgil spoke. "I've been told that it's past my bedtime too. And Uncle Alan's. Must be only special people who go to bed this early. Right, Virginia?"

The pouting bottom lip was sucked back in. Ginny nodded and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Her eyes grew heavy.

"You can stay up and wave Uncle Virgil, Uncle Scott, and Uncle Alan bye-bye," Lisa told her. "And then you're going to bed."

"There's one last thing I've got to do before I go…" Virgil kicked his hoverchair's footplates clear, planted both feet firmly on the ground, rocked himself forward, and stood, unaided.

This was the icing on the cake as far as Butch was concerned. With a cry of utter delight, and what was for him a modicum of restraint, he wrapped Virgil up in a bear hug.

Virgil, glad that he could still breathe and wouldn't have to explain his bruises to the nursing staff, patted him on the back. "It's been a great evening, Butch."

"Ain't it just." Butch released his friend; Scott hovering nearby, ready to catch Virgil if necessary.

The latter grinned. "Does this mean I can give Lisa a hug too?"

"I'd be annoyed if you didn't," Lisa scolded, as she carefully handed her dozing daughter to her husband. "I'm so glad you were able to make it," she said into Virgil's ear as they embraced. "It's made this evening perfect."

"I wish I could stay for longer."

Lisa stepped back, allowing Virgil to reclaim his hoverchair. "Maybe for our fifteenth anniversary."

"There will be one?" Virgil checked.

Taking each other's hands as Ginny slept on her father's shoulder, Butch and Lisa looked at each other.

"We're going to give it our best," Lisa admitted. "We know it's not going to always be plain sailing, but we've got to try."

"An' we wanna try," Butch added.

"Great!" Virgil enthused, and then, exasperated, closed his eyes and dropped his head when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Time to go?"

"Time to go," Scott confirmed.

"Okay."

With a wave to their family and friends, Virgil and Alan left the hall.

As he tried to follow them, Scott found himself caught by the arm by Lisa. "You're welcome to come back," she offered. "There's plenty of food left."

Scott chuckled. "You know how to make an offer that's hard to refuse. I'll see how long it takes to get these two settled."

Outside, the night air had the nip of spring and Scott was glad to get into the van once he'd stowed Virgil's hoverchair in the back. "I'll drop Alan off first, if that's okay with you guys?"

"Fine." In the window seat, Virgil was more interested in waving to his friends.

"Alan?"

Alan, in the middle seat, shifted over a fraction, so his brother could do up his seatbelt. "I'm easy. The night air's woken me up again."

"There's a definite chill out there." Scott started the engine. "What did we miss?"

"Butch singing a love song to Lisa. And Dad and Hamish made a speech. Some kid, I think it was Lisa's nephew, has made a video, so you will probably be able to see it all later."

"What was the food like?"

Alan chuckled at the question. "Tasty. You've missed a treat."

They made the rest of the trip accompanied by Alan explaining how he and their brothers had spent the early part of the evening convincing Olivia to give Bruce a second chance. Virgil, drinking in the view of the night sights outside of a hospital, was only half listening.

They drew up outside what had become the family home away from home.

"Don't move, Virg," Alan suggested. "I can climb over the driver's seat." He gave a crooked grin. "And the driver if he doesn't get out."

"I can take a hint." Scott got out of the van. "I suppose asking if you want a hand's a waste of time?"

Alan slid across the seat and out the door. "You suppose right."

"In that case," Scott got back into the van, "have a good sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

"And if I'm still awake and I hear your feathers rustling when you check on me, I'll give you a wave."

"All I'll need to see is that you're breathing."

"I will be." Alan waved goodbye to the van and let himself into the house.

It wasn't until he saw the light come on inside that Scott put the van into drive and moved away. As they traversed the long driveway, he relaxed in his seat. "The night's young and we've got some wheels. What say you and I hit the town, pick up some girls, and party the night away, Virg?"

There was no response.

Glancing across to the passenger seat, Scott chuckled. "You're right. An early night sounds like a better idea."

Virgil, sound asleep, didn't reply.

_To be continued…_


	54. Chapter 54

"Come in, Jeff." Hamish Mickelson held open the door to what had become his home over the last eight months.

"How's the shoulder?" Jeff asked as he stepped over the threshold.

"Feeling more mobile every day."

"Good. And how are you, Edna?"

Edna, poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee out of the pot. "I'm fine, Jeff. Wasn't it a wonderful evening last night?" She handed him the mug and directed him to one of the chairs. "Especially when Virgil surprised the Crumps."

Jeff chuckled and claimed the chair. "He's been planning that for weeks. But I've got to admit that I couldn't really accept that it was going to happen until I saw him at the door. It feels like he's been in that hospital forever."

"And it probably seems even longer to him." Hamish correctly read his wife's signals, sat down, and accepted his mug.

"Would you like something to eat?" Edna held a plate of biscuits out to Jeff.

He grinned. "Need you ask?" He took one off the plate, still warm from the oven, and bit into it. "Mmmn."

She smiled, happy in a job well done, and offered the plate to her husband. He accepted with thanks, bit into the delicacy, and then frowned when it snapped into two and a cascade of crumbs and larger pieces fell down his front. He brushed them clear.

"Hamish! Why didn't you use your plate?"

"I've only got one hand!"

"And you can use it to clean up that mess after you've finished." Edna claimed a biscuit for herself.

"Okay. But in the meantime, will you trust me with another? Most of mine's on the floor!"

Edna gave a mock sigh. "Go on then." Claiming her own mug, she sat down. "Help yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." Hamish winked at a grinning Jeff, took his second and a third, and nudged the plate closer to his friend.

Jeff took a second biscuit.

Edna curled up on her comfortable chair. "All right, Jeff Tracy. What is it that you need to talk to us about?"

Jeff's chewing slowed. He swallowed. "Two things. Firstly… Is everything okay between you?" He looked between two of his closest friends outside of the inner International Rescue circle.

Hamish appeared surprised, but Jeff could see that it was only an act. "Of course, we are, Jeff. Why would you ask that?"

"Because, erm, _someone_ told me that you'd been heard arguing… Lots."

"_Someone_ being your son, who'd been told by _someone_ else?" Edna guessed.

Jeff sighed. "I knew it would be impossible to take that line and not bring him into it. Yes, it was Virgil who told me."

Edna's lips pursed. "Which means that it's most likely Bruce Sanders or the Crumps who've been gossiping."

"Not gossiping," Jeff protested. "They were… that is we all are, worried about you. Eight months ago, you went through a literal huge upheaval when you were kicked out of your home, you lost almost everything, including your comfortable daily routines, your friends, your clubs, your interests. You have been thrust into a new city and had to learn how to find your way around it, and you've been forced to spend more time together than you've done in decades… _And_ you've had to deal with me being worried out of my mind… You've no idea how much I value the support you've given me."

"We know, Jeff," Hamish said quietly.

"It's not only the both of you that I'm worried about. The earthquake put a huge stresses on everyone; physically, mentally, and their relationships. The Crumps were barely talking to each other for a while there. It seemed to me that it was touch and go that they'd even make it to last night's party."

Looking as though it was the conversation they were having that was more uncomfortable than his shoulder, Hamish adjusted his sling. "We've all thought that."

"I know you've been under enormous strain," Jeff admitted, "and I don't want to add to that. I don't want to be the straw that breaks your marriage's back, just because I need to get ACE back up and running. I need you, both of you, to tell me if you need me to get a project manager in to continue with the build." He saw his friend stiffen. "I want your input, Hamish. No one knows ACE better than you, and that includes me. But if getting ACE perfect means a trade off with your marriage, then, to me, your marriage, and our friendship, are more important." Jeff looked back at Edna. "So, you will tell me if I'm asking too much of him? Or if he's asking too much of himself and you want me to hold him back?"

She smiled at his concern. "I will."

"And you'll both come to me if you just need to talk, or let off steam?"

Hamish snorted. "Jeff, you've been under more stress than any of us. Do you honestly expect us to add to it?"

"Yes." Jeff held his eye. "I can see the light at the end of my tunnel. Yours is still long and dark." He sipped his coffee.

"Thank you, Jeff, and we will keep your offer in mind." Edna placed her mug on the nearby table. "Now, what's the second thing?"

"The second thing that I want to talk to you about, Edna, is a promise that Hamish made to you, months ago. I feel that it's right that he honours that promise."

Hamish shifted uncomfortably again. "Are you sure about this, Jeff?"

Jeff Tracy nodded. "I'm sure."

"I made the promise. You didn't."

"I may not have promised, but it's only fair that I honour your promise after what we've all been through. You were injured and had to have surgery because of me."

"I only had to have surgery because the Skulz exacerbated that injury."

"And if it hadn't been for you trying to save my family and me, you wouldn't have torn that muscle in the first place."

"You don't have to say anything. It's a big risk."

"Not that big; because I know I can trust both of you."

"For Pete's sake!" Exasperated by the men's toing and froing, Edna Mickelson folded her arms and stared Jeff down. "Are you going to tell me you're International Rescue?"

Her husband's mouth dropped open. "Edna!"

"What?"

"You knew!?"

"Of course, I knew. You forget that I've known you for decades and I know when you're hiding something from me." She fixed her attention back on their friend, who was sitting there a little gobsmacked. "I've known you as long as I've known Hamish, Jeff, and I remember your bull sessions where you would go on for hours about forming an international rescue organisation."

"Talking about forming one and succeeding are two totally different things," Hamish reminded her.

"Especially to someone who's got more money than he knows what do to with."

"Edna! I'm sorry, Jeff, she…"

"And those sons of yours," Edna continued, ignoring her husband's protestations. "They're all smart, outgoing, thoughtful, and were making their way in professions that suited their interests and talents. And then suddenly they decide to turn their backs on the world and laze away their days on a tropical island in the middle of nowhere?" She gave a derisive snort at the idea. "Puh-lease."

Hamish turned to Jeff. "I swear I never said…"

"You never said anything?" Edna laughed. "Except dance around the room after International Rescue's first rescue."

"It was an exciting rescue."

"Played out away from the TV screens," she recollected. "You wouldn't have been that excited if you didn't have some kind of stake in the organisation. And there were other clues, such as if Virgil was starting work on the morning of the earthquake you would have told me. You would have known that I would have scolded you if you hadn't invited that boy around for a meal on his first night."

Hamish turned to Jeff. "She would."

"And when you had your breakdown…" Leaning forward, Edna caressed her husband's face. "…you confirmed what I've known all along. If you needed to keep it secret from me then I could live with that." She turned back to Jeff. "I could see that International Rescue's security was reliant on as many people as possible being ignorant of who you were, and if I had to play dumb to keep you all safe, I was willing to go along with your deception."

Hamish, not knowing what else to say, looked at his friend.

"You're amazing, Edna Mickelson," Jeff stated.

She smirked. "I told you that when we were dating, Jeff Tracy, but you still went and found someone better." Edna looked fondly at her husband. "And so did I."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The following day was shaping up to be a stormy one, Bruce realised as he waited for Cole just inside the protection of his home's fence.

He remembered Olivia's kiss goodbye minutes earlier, and felt a warmth fill him that chased away the spring chill.

On the trip to work, he only gave Cole the briefest of descriptions of Saturday evening's events, even glossing over the rekindling of his relationship with Olivia. It was so new and unexpected, that he felt as if he was dreaming and expected to wake up back in the real world at any moment.

He still hadn't told anyone at KAP about his friendship with the family of one of the richest men in the world and didn't intend to any time soon.

Figuring that they were in for a day the same as every other day at work, both men got out of the car.

They were surprised when Wallace hustled over to meet them. "Good. You're here. Go and get your gear."

Cole, with one leg still in the car, stared at him. "Is there an emergency?"

"We've been hired for an outside job. I want to get it finished before the storm hits."

"That makes sense," Bruce admitted, and jogged into the factory.

In the locker-room he threw his overalls on over his clothes and grabbed his hearing protectors and protective glasses from out of his locker. He was about to consign his bag to the cupboard and seal it behind his lock when he hesitated. "How long do you think this job will take, Cole?"

Cole shrugged. "Search me. Not long I hope. The weather forecast doesn't sound great."

Bruce pulled his bag out of his locker. "I think I'll take this with me. I might need my lunch."

"Good idea." Cole unzipped his own pack. "It'll be easier to carry our gear too."

Bruce was just dropping his personal protection equipment into his bag when Wallace raced into the locker-room, followed by another of their colleagues. "Get your coveralls and meet us outside, Felings."

Felings didn't look happy at the prospect of actually having to do some work. His blue face still bore the marks of their altercation from over a week earlier, but he had cut his hair short to get rid of most of the offending colour.

Bruce and Cole looked at each other. Then they hurried out after Wallace.

"Felings?" Bruce queried. "He's coming with us?!"

"I know it's not ideal," Wallace puffed, reaching into his pocket. "But he's the only one on site at the moment." Pulling a foil packet out of his pocket, he popped a pill into his mouth. "Antacids," he explained. "I've got indigestion."

Bruce figured that the man was so highly strung, he had probably bolted down his breakfast, and wasn't surprised by the consequences. "Do you want us to get any equipment?"

"Yeah. Couple of welders, O.S. toolkit, and PPE for working at height."

"Working at height?" Bruce stared at him. "What are we going to be doing?"

"The contractors on a construction project have gone on strike, or something. They want us to make the site safe before the storm." Wallace looked at his watch. "I'll let the office know we're on our way and I'll meet you in the truck." He headed back towards the office, yelling: "Felings! Get out front now!" as he passed the locker-room.

Worried at what he had been told, and even more worried about what he hadn't, Bruce turned to Cole. "Where's this gear?"

"This way."

The two men had manhandled one lightweight and two heavy-duty welders out to the double-cab pickup, had returned to collect the box labelled "O.S. Toolkit" and a bag of PPE, and had covered and lashed it all to the flatbed of the utility by the time Felings emerged from the locker-room. They decided that it was going to be a stressful enough day without berating him for taking his time.

But still Bruce couldn't resist taking his recharged guard sparrow out of his pocket and making a show of inspecting it, before tossing it lightly into the air and watching it hover before him.

Felings turned an interesting shade of lilac as he paled at the sight of Bruce's protector.

Wallace jogged out of the office. "Get in the truck!" he barked. "I've just been getting a map." He tossed the keys at the member of the group who had yet to do any work. "You're driving, Felings. I'll give directions."

"Sure." Felings got into the truck and gunned the engine. "Hurry up… _Boys_." He sneered.

Thinking that this wasn't going to be one of their better days, Bruce and Cole got into the back seats of the utility.

"Where's the job?" Cole asked, bracing himself against the back of the front passenger seat as Felings did a sharp, fast, right turn out of KAP and onto the road.

"Tyler Gorge."

Tyler Gorge had been in the news a lot recently, which meant that Bruce had a reasonable idea where it was located, but it was Cole who asked: "Are we going to the monorail construction site?"

"That's it," Wallace grunted, tucking another antacid into his cheek.

Bruce figured that the way that Felings was driving, they'd all need something to calm their stomachs by the time they reached the gorge.

"Why?" Cole asked. "Haven't they got their own construction team?"

Wallace chewed on his pill. "I haven't got the full story yet, but for some reason their contractors haven't turned up today."

Bruce wondered if that reason was because of the deteriorating weather.

"We're to make sure the site's safe before the storm hits."

"_Before_ the storm hits?" Bruce looked out the window at the trees that were already being lashed by an increasingly ferocious wind. "Why'd they choose KAP?"

"The boss said we had the experience to do the job."

Remembering Jeff Tracy's explanation that "the boss" had little or no knowledge nor interest in engineering, Bruce wondered if KAP did. Then he wondered if maybe his own ACE experience was the reason why he'd been dragged out of the factory and into a roller coaster ride.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up at Tyler Gorge in a cloud of dust and a shower of rain puddles. Around them were pre-fabricated buildings, large-scale earthmoving equipment, and neat piles of construction materials. Towering over it all was one of the towers of the partially constructed suspension bridge. On the other side of the gorge stood its unfinished twin. Linking the two were the long, thick main cables which dropped down in a graceful curve towards the centre of the ravine. Dangling from these main cables were a multitude of suspender cables waiting to take the weight of the bridge's deck.

Hundreds of metres below the uncompleted structure and secured behind a fence that blocked off its steep unforgiving bluffs, snaked a hissing, turbulent, river.

As Bruce looked up at the structure he realised that Tyler Gorge Suspension Monorail Bridge was well on the way to being completed. The suspenders that were closest to the towers were attached to the newly formed deck, whilst those in the middle hung free over the ravine.

Seeing part of the deck constructed and hanging out over the gorge held up by only the suspender cables, Bruce was uncomfortably reminded of a hangman's gallows,

Wallace got out of the vehicle and hurried over to meet the construction crew's representative. Bruce and Cole, after a moment's hesitation and depressed looks at the weather beyond the dry warmth of the truck, climbed out and started removing their equipment from under the canopy.

Felings, having decided that his job for the day was to act as chauffeur, stayed in the cab. That was until Wallace, having jogged back to the group, indicated that he should join the rest of the team for a meeting with an angry jab of his finger.

Cole hugged himself against the chilling wind. "What's the job?"

"Apparently," Wallace began, and took a deep breath. "I'm not used to running," he puffed. "When the contractors knocked off on Friday," he gasped another breath, "they left part of the structure unsecured. We're to secure it before the storm hits."

Bruce felt a worried chill pass down his back that had nothing to do with the wind. He had not been reassured by the construction crew's representative's hand gestures. "And where's the unsecured bit?"

Wallace pointed up and over the gorge; out to the end of the horizontal section that was to hold the track that would suspend the monorail cars as they negotiated the deep gap. "There."

Felings held up his hands in protest. "You said that I'm the driver today. I'm staying down here."

Bruce had risked his neck plenty of times over the last six years and he wasn't about to do it again now. But before he had the opportunity to protest that, in his opinion, to walk out into the face of a gale to the end of an unsecured platform was close to suicide, with a: "For Pete's sake." Cole reached into one of KAP's bags and pulled out a harness. "I'll do it."

"You, Ssss…?" Felings managed to bite back a "Sooty" when Bruce's guard sparrow, hovering above its master's head, had spun around to appraise him.

"I've been mountain climbing and rappelling," Cole said casually. "This'll be a piece of cake… I just wish I'd known what the job was, so I could have bought my own gear," he added as he inserted his leg into the climbing suit.

"Are you sure about this?" Bruce checked. "It looks dangerous to me."

"This is nothing." And Bruce had to admit that Cole sounded more than confident. "At least everything's bolted down and not likely to roll out from under my feet as soon as I put my weight on it. I'll be there and back in no time."

Relieved that someone was willing to prevent a disaster that would set the project back, the construction crew's representative, name Sid, detailed what needed to be done. The detail didn't make Bruce feel any better.

But Cole slung the lightweight welder on his back, slipped his shoulder straps on, fastened and tightened the harness, and turned to the rep. "Where do I access the structure?"

"This way." With a wave of his hand, Sid led the younger man away.

"What do we do while we're waiting?" Bruce asked.

"Sit in the truck?" Felings suggested, taking a step in that direction.

Wallace didn't move as he watched the lift that was taking Cole and Sid up to the level of the platform. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

"He sounded confident enough," Bruce reassured him. "And he's a good welder. He should be able to take care of the job and then we can all get to somewhere warmer." He shivered.

A flash lit up the clouds.

"Lightning," Wallace muttered, and watched as Cole and Sid hesitated, looking towards the dark clouds where the lightning had come from. After a brief discussion, the pair started trekking down the girders that stretched out over the gorge.

A low rumble was heard in the sky.

"And there's the thunder," Felings announced.

"Thirty seconds," Bruce calculated. "The storm's six miles away."

The two men on the bridge stopped at the edge of the support tower and clipped their safety harnesses to a long cable that stretched out to the unfinished end.

After another discussion, Cole continued walking alone.

"Just like a condemned man walkin' the gangplank," Felings snickered.

As much as he disapproved of the allegory, Bruce had to admit that his work colleague was right.

With no apparent traces of fear, Cole skirted the various support structures and suspender cables, and came to the end. He clipped another safety line to a girder, unhooked his welding hose, and knelt.

Shielding his eyes against the heavy drops of rain that had started to fall, Wallace grunted his approval. "Good. He's started."

"There's some shelter back here," Felings pointed a gazebo a few metres behind them. "Why don't we wait there? We can back the truck underneath too, so we can stay dry when we load up again."

Bruce had to admit that, for once, the bully had a good idea.

A flash lit up the clouds.

Bruce started counting.

A low rumble was heard in the sky.

"Four miles."

They huddled beneath the gazebo that seemed so flimsy as the wind whipped it and pulled against its guy ropes. Bruce wished he'd brought an extra layer of clothing for warmth and said as much to his colleagues.

Felings, wondering if the wind would get strong enough to blow Bruce's guard sparrow away, grunted his agreement.

Wallace popped another antacid.

They could see the puddles grow as the rain pounded into the ground.

A flash lit up the clouds.

Bruce started counting…

A loud rumble reverberated through the sky.

"How far away's the storm now, hotshot?" Felings sneered.

Bruce didn't answer, because they all knew…

The storm was directly overhead.

A bolt of electricity shot out of the clouds and blasted a lightning rod jutting above the support tower on the other bank. Its energy was safely discharged into the ground.

Bruce turned to Wallace. "Get him out of there! It's not safe!"

Wallace already had a walkie talkie to his lips. "Are you reading me, Cole?"

Through the driving rain they could barely make out the kneeling figure as he reached down to his belt. _"Receiving!"_ Cole was shouting over the rain.

"Come down," Wallace commanded. "It's too dangerous."

"_I'm nearly finished,"_ Cole shouted. _"Just two minutes more!"_

"Don't be a fool!"

"_I'm wasting time talking to you. Cole out."_ And the radio went dead.

Wallace fumed at the distant figure. "He'll have more than a written admonition this time."

Felings stared out into the gloom. "It that swaying?"

Bruce had started to wonder the same thing. It had to be an optical illusion, at least he hoped it was, but it appeared that the untethered suspender cables were moving. Cole was still gamely welding, but Sid appeared to be hanging on to the steelwork as the whole structure swayed beneath him. He made an urgent gesture out to the figure at the end of the girders, but Cole, either intentionally or unintentionally, didn't hear nor see him.

"Cole!" Wallace bellowed into the radio. "Get off there!"

There was a pause, before the three men heard a burst of static. _"I've finished."_

"Then get to safety!"

Cole clipped the radio to his belt. Then he unclipped his secondary safety line.

A vicious gust of wind blasted the uncompleted bridge. The un-tethered suspender cables started swaying, at first chaotically, but soon finding their own rhythm. The deck bucked.

Cole, with only one point of secure contact with the structure of the bridge was thrown sideways and over the edge.

He fell.

There were three yells of horror from the three men down below.

Cole's sole safety line caught hold, snapping him to a stop with a jerk that must have knocked the air out of him. He dangled beneath the bridge, as limp as a marionette.

"Cole!" Wallace yelled into his radio. "Cole!"

"Is he going out to get him?" Felings asked, pointing.

Bruce redirected his attention to the other end of the bridge. Sid did indeed appear to be fighting against the bucking platform as he tried to reach the stranded man. He fell twice as the bridge almost tossed him clear. He appeared to shout something; probably a yell of frustration.

Then he got on the radio. "I can't get to him. The deck is moving too much."

"I'll try to contact him," Wallace promised. "Cole! This is Wallace. Can you hear me? Answer me!"

"Shouldn't we be calling the rescue services?" Bruce asked.

"Not until it's necessary," Wallace snapped. "KAP doesn't need the bad publicity."

Bruce thought that KAP had more to worry about than bad publicity. "_We_ can't get him down. This is a job for the professionals."

"Cole calling Wallace."

Wallace was back on the radio. "Are you all right?"

"I've had worse falls climbing," Cole reassured him. "I'll pull myself up to the bridge and crawl back to the tower."

Bruce watched as the tiny figure inched up the swaying cable that was his lifeline.

There was an excruciatingly long pause.

"I can't find a finger-hold. I can't climb over the edge."

Bruce expected Wallace to say something reassuring, but there was silence from the other man. Dragging his attention away from the drama above him Bruce witnessed something just as dramatic.

The Production Manager was sweating profusely. As Bruce watched, he doubled over, his hand pressed against his chest. Then Wallace straightened, nearly overbalancing.

"Whoa!" Bruce caught him. "Are you all right?"

Wallace swallowed. "I think I'm going to be sick." He put his free hand to his head. "Dizzy…"

Alarm bells were ringing inside Bruce's head. There were other maladies that could cause the indigestion-like symptoms that Wallace had been complaining about this morning. "Do you have any pain? Any pressure?"

Nodding, Wallace's hand went back to his chest.

"Come with me." Supporting the older man, Bruce led him over to where the company's truck offered a small degree of protection from the elements and sat him down. "Are you feeling pressure or pain?"

"Pain… Squeezing… My chest."

"Okay." As he reached into the truck and pulled out a first aid kit and his own bag, Bruce remembered the last time that he'd dealt with similar symptoms. Pushing a defibrillator out of sight under the truck, he doubted that this case had the same cause as the last. "Lean back," he instructed, trying to make his superior comfortable by letting him recline against the bag. "Are you on any medication?"

"Only this." Wallace pulled his antacids out of his pocket. He tried to unwrap one.

Bruce stopped him. "I don't think that'll help. When was the last time you had a medical?"

"Years." Wallace rubbed at his jaw. "Tooth hurts." He gave an ironic and brief chuckle. "'nly went t' th' dentist last week."

"I don't think you've got toothache." Bruce decided that he couldn't shield his patient from his diagnosis any longer. "Have you ever had heart problems?"

Wallace looked frightened. He shook his head.

"Do you have a family history? Anyone close to you had a heart attack or angina?"

"Father had triple bypass. Uncle died of massive coronary."

"Okay. I think your heart is telling you it's not happy." Bruce gave a confident grin. "But don't worry. I've never had anyone die on me yet and it's not going to happen now." Looking up and over his shoulder to where Felings was watching the easier to see, more localised drama, he issued a command. "You make the phone call. I'll look after Wallace." He turned back to his patient.

"You dealt with a heart 'ttack b'fore?" Wallace asked, as Felings dialled his cell phone.

"Yeah. And I'll introduce you to my patient sometime. You can compare symptoms." Bruce delved into the first aid kit. He pulled out a silver package and a small box. "Are you allergic to aspirin?"

"No."

"Good." Shaking a blister pack out of the box, Bruce pushed a pill out of its protective covering and onto Wallace's hand. "Chew on this. Don't swallow it until you've had a good chew." He checked the best before label on the packet. "This is six months out of date!" Determined to remain positive in front of his patient, he gave a breezy grin. "Oh, well. Medicines can't read, can they?" He opened the other package and pulled the thin metallic blanket out. "I'll wrap this around you to keep you warm."

Wallace screwed up his face as he chewed on the unpalatable medication. "Have you really saved lives?"

"Oh, yeah." Bruce hoped he sounded confident and not cocky. "I've helped a guy with symptoms similar to yours. I kept a co-worker who'd ingested a toxin alive until the paramedics got to her. I've helped a stabbing victim. I've done what I could to keep a man alive when he had a major crush injury. I've saved people from heat stroke and dehydration," he continued, starting to fudge his exploits to boost his patient's confidence in his carer. "I've helped burn victims and I've helped out at a plane crash. And everyone I helped is still alive and kicking and one hundred percent A-OK."

Wallace looked unconvinced. "You for real?"

"Would I lie to you?"

"He's full of it, Wallace," Felings sneered. When Bruce ignored him, he peered into the first aid kit. "Got another of those blankets in there for me? I'm cold."

Bruce knocked his hand away. "That's for people who need them!"

"Oh, yeah? Are you going to stop me?" Felings stepped up and into his personal space.

"If I have to."

"How." Bruce heard the jeering tone in Felings' reply. "Where's your protector, big guy?"

It was then that Bruce realised that he couldn't hear the reassuring buzz of his guard sparrow, and wondered if a gust of wind had been too strong for the small device or if it had gone to ground and safety. "I've put it in my pocket," he lied. "Did you make the call?"

Felings' one word reply of: "Yeah," didn't tell him if he'd been believed or not.

Bruce decided that it would be better for his own health and Wallace's if he kept Felings' mind off the fact that the bully wanted revenge and that he, Bruce, was unprotected. "Did they say how long it will take them to get here?"

Felings shrugged. "Twenty minutes?"

"That's great," Bruce said brightly, although he wished help would arrive sooner. "How's Cole getting on?"

Felings shrugged again. "Think he's still under the bridge."

"Is he getting closer to the tower?"

"Nah. He's just hanging there."

"Did you tell the rescue services that he's in trouble?"

"Nah. Wallace said not to."

Bruce had already decided that Wallace wasn't in the best of shape to be making life and death calls like that, and that there was little more that could be done to help him until an ambulance arrived or the patient deteriorated. "Why don't you radio Sid, and see how he is? And I'll call the rescue services and tell them about Cole." Bruce considered adding an appeasing footnote to say that if someone else were to make a call, then the authorities wouldn't think that Felings was a total idiot for not letting them know about their other emergency. Then he decided that he couldn't be bothered appeasing Felings' ego.

Instead, he dialled the emergency number and was asked which emergency service he required. Deciding to play it safe he said: "All of them," before detailing their original crisis. He gave the address of the building site, before adding: "You've already got an ambulance on the way."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but we have no record of a prior despatch."

"What?" Doing a slow burn and telling himself not to get angry – just in case the despatcher had got it wrong – Bruce added. "Didn't my colleague tell you we've got a possible heart attack victim on site?" He could hear typing down the phone line and glared over to where his least favourite person outside of the Skulz was talking into the radio.

"I have no record of a request for an ambulance." The despatcher admitted as her typing continued. "I'll forward that information to the appropriate services."

"Thanks." Bruce took a deep breath. "Any idea how long it will be before it gets here?"

"We have diverted one from another location. ETA is in ten minutes."

"Good. Would you like me to send video of Cole's situation?"

"That would be extremely helpful. Thank you."

The burn became hotter as Bruce finished videoing through the rain, hung up his phone, and then turned to Felings. "Did you call for an ambulance?"

"Nah."

A flame was ignited, and Bruce did his best to keep it under control. "Then who did you ring!?"

"I let the boss know that Wallace is sick and that Sooty's trashing KAP's reputation. And then I sent some of the guys at work some vid. to show them what a mess Sooty's got himself into."

"You did what!?" The flame exploded. "Are you stupid?!"

"Don't _you_ call me stupid!" Felings snapped.

"Then what did you think I meant when I told you to ring for an ambulance?!"

Felings looked petulant. "You never said nothing about an ambulance. You just said to make a call. So, I did!"

Bruce didn't know whether he should be mad at himself for assuming that Felings had something resembling a few intelligent brain cells, or if all his anger should be directed at the idiot standing before him.

He chose the idiot. "You said they'd be here in twenty minutes! Who did you mean?!"

"The boss, of course. It took us twenty minutes to get here."

Wallace groaned, and Bruce decided that he had more important things to do than get his anger out of his system. He crouched down next to the ailing man. "It's okay. It's not that much of a delay." He turned back on Felings. "Make yourself useful and tie this gazebo to the truck! It's not going to be much good at keeping us dry if it blows away! And see if you can find something to protect him against the wind." Ignoring the grumbles that were directed his way, he turned back to his patient. "Won't be long now."

A short time later he was pleasantly surprised to discover that the wind whistling along the ground had eased off a little. Felings was displaying a hitherto unseen engineering talent and had created an effective windbreak. So effective that he decided to make use of it himself.

Bruce didn't care. It meant that if a wind gust was strong enough to shift the barrier, Felings would be a buffer before it slammed into Wallace.

A flash lit up the clouds.

A loud rumble reverberated through the sky.

Frightened that something may have happened to Cole, Bruce looked up to the end of the span. He was dismayed to see that the whole structure was jumping about even more violently.

The untethered suspenders were swinging like a child in the park. Their momentum was being transferred to the main cables, which in turn fed more energy into the suspenders connected to the deck. Those suspenders' oscillations sent the girders violently bucking against their restraints. From where Bruce was kneeling, it appeared that the main cables were sawing through the towers' cable saddles and tugging against the huge concrete anchors embedded deep into the earth. The continual strain was threatening to bring the whole structure down.

Lights started flashing.

For a brief moment there was the hope that the flashing lights belonged to an ambulance, but Bruce was disappointed to realise that they were mounted on the roof of a police car.

It pulled up next to their gazebo and the driver got out under their shelter. "What's the situation?" she asked

Bruce thought that the situation was obvious.

"Sooty's got himself in trouble," Felings announced.

The officer did a double-take upon seeing his blue facial colouring. "Can I have clarification, please?"

"We've got two workers in trouble," Bruce clarified, still kneeling at Wallace's side. "One's at the end of the deck, underneath the girder." He pointed to the swaying span. "He can't climb back onto the deck, so he can't climb back to the tower. The construction team's representative is in the tower, but I don't think he's in any trouble, is he, Felings?"

Felings sulked.

"Didn't you just talk to him?"

"Yeah, I did. He's okay."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "And our Production Manager is having a possible heart attack. The ambulance is on its way…" He glared at Felings. "_Finally_."

The police officer nodded her understanding. As backup arrived, she took more video, live streaming back to her headquarters and focusing on the way that the span was flexing. "It looks like Galloping Gertie."

Felings looked confused. "Huh?"

"It's a bridge constructed last century," the officer explained, wondering if his nickname was Smurf or something equally irreverent. "When the wind blew at a certain speed it flexed so much that it eventually collapsed…" She looked surprised. "What's that flash?"

"What flash?"

The police officer remained patient. "There was a flash of light at the end of the deck. Can you contact your guy?"

"Yeah." Felings handed over the radio.

The cop accepted the radio. "This is Officer Keel of the Bearston PD. How are you?"

There was a delay as Cole unhitched his radio from his belt. "I'm okay… More or less."

"We will get you down as soon as we can. What can you tell us about your situation?"

"I've welded my karabiner to the bridge. If the girders go I'm going with them, but at least the bridge can't buck me off before then."

Admiring Cole's cool-headed thinking under such stressful circumstances, Bruce didn't get to hear the rest as he heard the joyous sound of an ambulance coming to the rescue. He grinned at Wallace, who was looking noticeably weaker. "The cavalry's arrived."

The cop car moved clear of the gazebo to allow the ambulance to get close to their patient. Standing back to give the paramedics full access, Bruce gave them a clear, succinct explanation of what had happened. "He's got no known prior heart trouble," he said as he handed over the aspirin packet, "but there is a family history of it."

"Thanks for that," one paramedic grunted. "Do you have a record of next of kin?"

"That info will be back at work. Kruse Applied Products."

A flash lit up the clouds.

A loud rumble reverberated through the sky.

Rain pelted down, drumming against the roofs of buildings, vehicles and gazebos.

The wind howled, threatening to take the gazebo on a journey to oblivion.

There was an enormous bang. One of the deck's suspender cables, its inches' thick length of bound together wires fraying, started to flail around, cracking like a whip against the girders.

"That's torn it," one of the policemen mused. "That could take someone's head off."

Sid appeared to have reached that same conclusion. He'd unclipped himself from his vantage point at the tower end of the deck and was climbing down the emergency ladder – unwilling to risk the lift during a major electrical storm. The possibility of a lightning strike electrifying the ground around the tower, made him hesitant to climb the last few metres to terra firma.

More rescue authorities arrived. The building site was filled with intense, serious people in high-viz vests. A no-go zone was marked out around the base of the tower as a guard against electrical discharge from a lightning strike. An incident caravan rolled up and was installed as a base of operations.

The only problem was that no one knew how to solve _the_ problem.

Bruce, having decided that there were enough people worrying about Cole's predicament, was concentrating on supporting Wallace while not getting in the paramedic's way. As the older man was loaded into the ambulance, he reached out for Bruce's hand. "Thanks," he said.

"Not a problem." Bruce smiled. "Take care." He stood back, and the ambulance's doors were closed. He allowed himself a moment to relax as the rescue vehicle drove away. At least the Production Manager was getting professional help.

He turned back to face the other crisis.

"Bruce! Bruce!" Brimming with news that seemed to have pushed the animosity between them out of his tiny mind, Felings ran up to his colleague. "Guess what?"

With more important things to worry about, Bruce wasn't willing to play silly games. He sighed. "What?"

"International Rescue are coming!"

"What!?"

"They've called International Rescue!" Felings was hopping about in a state of high excitement at the chance to see some of the mythical Thunderbirds. "They're on their way!"

A flash lit up the clouds.

A loud rumble reverberated through the sky.

Rain pelted down, drumming against the roofs of buildings, vehicles and awnings.

The wind howled, ripping the gazebo to shreds and sending it on its journey to oblivion.

A throaty whine, accompanying an even more thunderous roar, was heard from overhead. Looking up, almost blinded by the rain that stung his cheeks and ran down his neck, Bruce saw the one thing he didn't want to see.

Thunderbird One.

_To be continued…_


	55. Chapter 55

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five," Scott announced. "At danger zone."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird One," Alan acknowledged. It had been decided that, while he was no longer at risk from complications from his near drowning the week before, it would be advisable if he spent some time recharging his batteries in the less strenuous Thunderbird Five. "What's the weather like down there?"

"It must only be only a couple of steps down from a hurricane," Scott admitted. "Landing's going to be tricky."

"Maybe you should remain airborne?"

"That's going to be even more dangerous."

"Understood."

"I'm going to try a flypast underneath the bridge."

"Be careful."

"Always."

Ignoring his youngest brother's disbelieving snort, Scott eased Thunderbird One into the ravine. Making sure that her extended wingtips were well away from the rocky bluffs, and glad that the steep walls offered him some protection from the howling wind, he carefully cruised above the river.

The ravine narrowed where the bridge was being built, and Scott decided that this was as far as he could safely go. He eased Thunderbird One's nosecone under the semi-completed structure and opened a viewing hatch above him.

Close by, and hanging precariously by two safety lines, he could see a lone figure. He gave Cole a reassuring wave, saw one returned, and coaxed Thunderbird One into reverse and up and out of the narrow canyon.

"He looks in good shape," he commented as he scanned the area around him and the bridge. "How far out's Thunderbird Two?"

"Thirty minutes."

"They're not going to be able to land, so this is going to be an airborne rescue. Except they won't be able to get too close while the cables are snapping like Grandma after you stole that cake this morning."

"I never!"

It was Scott's turn to snort. "I'll have to cut the loose ones free to try to dampen the sway. I can't cut through the main cables because then the span won't have any support."

"How? It sounds like it's going to be too windy for a jetpack."

"It is. I'll have to use One's laser."

"You'll have to get close to the bridge for it to work," Alan warned.

"I know. Once I've got the loose cables out of the way, it should be safe for Thunderbird Two to send down the dampers." There was a flash outside Thunderbird One's cockpit. "Tell them to watch out for lightning strikes. It's like the inside of a Van de Graaff generator up here."

"I think they'll realise about the danger."

"Just remind them that there are lightning rods at the top of each tower." Swinging Thunderbird One around, Scott could just make out the pointed metal skewer with its long copper grounding wire. Pushing a button on his console locked the rod's location into Thunderbird One's computer. He was potentially going to have to get in close to the tower to complete this operation, and something to warn him when he was getting too close to any obstacles was going to be necessary and invaluable.

-F-A-B-

"Come on… Move," one of the cops commanded, shepherding Bruce, Felings, and others away from a large open space. "We need to clear this area for International Rescue."

Bruce considered refusing. If Thunderbird One couldn't land, then there was no chance of disaster happening. But then, he reminded himself as the burly policeman pushed him none to subtly in the back to encourage him to move, down here at ground level wasn't where the potential for catastrophe lay.

He acquiesced to the policeman's instructions but refused the shelter of a prefabricated building. He was already wet through and he didn't want to miss a moment of the drama.

"Wow…" Felings breathed. "It's a real Thunderbird!"

Bruce considered saying, "I've seen it before," but decided against it. After all, he hadn't really seen Thunderbird One in flight… Only flown in her. Something he would never tell Felings.

"What are they going to do?" his nemesis was asking.

"I don't know."

"They can't do much while those cables are flapping."

"No."

"They'll probably have to remove them somehow."

"Probably."

"How?"

Bruce, having as much of an idea as Felings, didn't respond. His hand shielding his eyes against the rain, and his back braced against the building so he wouldn't be blown away, he watched as Thunderbird One swung around until she was nose into the wind. As the craft eased closer to the junction between a flapping suspender and the main line, he remembered that he had his protective googles in his pocket. Putting them on he was relieved to discover that he was able to watch the action with open eyes; albeit through a curtain of running water.

A bright light shot out, illuminating the thick wire rope and refracting through the rain. The cable fell to the riverbed below.

Thunderbird One moved across and down, ducking and darting as she dodged flailing cables. Her laser fired back into action. The second, shorter, suspender fell.

Bruce had to admire his friend's – he wasn't one hundred percent sure which Tracy it would be – control over the Thunderbird.

More suspenders fell.

"That was close!" Felings yelled, when, thanks to the pilot's skill, a flailing cable appeared to just miss Thunderbird One's port wing.

Bruce had thought the same thing.

He concluded that it had to be Scott at the controls of the aeroplane.

Gordon had said that Thunderbird One was his eldest brother's, but with Virgil out of action, Bruce had reasoned that there could have been role changes within International Rescue and that Scott may have been given control of the larger craft. Virgil had always been praising brother's flying talents, but Bruce, having survived a plane crash thanks to Virgil and Alan's piloting skills, had always considered that admiration to be simple hero worship.

But now, as Thunderbird One moved in for the trickiest cut of all, the suspender that had broken free of the completed section of deck, he was beginning to see that, _if_ it was Scott at the controls, he was an aeronautical genius.

There was a thunderous bang and the suspender cracked like a whip. That cable, its fraying end lashing about as if it were a cow's tail and the beast was being annoyed by this flying pest, appeared to be trying to swat Thunderbird One away. It snapped at the rocket plane's fuselage, sending up sparks when it caught the metal body.

At first the audience imagined that the barrel roll that the pilot executed was just a crowd-pleasing escape manoeuvre. That was until the Thunderbird dropped into the gorge.

And disappeared…

Bruce felt his heart leap into his throat. A wave of nausea filled him.

There were agitated murmurings from those watching.

"Where's he gone?"

"What's happened?"

"There hasn't been an explosion, so he can't have crashed. Can he?"

"I didn't hear one."

"Who could hear anything over this rain."

"What's that, there?"

"What's what, where?"

"There!"

A silver cylinder rose up out of the ravine. A huge cheer went up.

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. Having seen how one near fatality had affected the Tracys, he had no desire to see them go through that stress again.

Thunderbird One wasted no time in getting the job done. It flew in above the level of the writhing suspension cable and hovered over the bridge's deck. Then it tilted its nose down until it was pointing at the junction. The bright light shone out…

The offending suspender fell. But instead of falling into the ravine and out of harm's way, it collapsed across the deck.

Those watching through the pouring rain saw the whole span shudder. The anchorage blocks creaked.

Inside the building, Bruce just managed to hear someone yell into a radio. "Cole? Can you hear me, Cole?"

There was a response, but if it was the trapped man, Bruce couldn't make out what he said. He strained his ears to listen to the rest of the conversation.

"Are you all right?"

"…_fine. …cold …wind's … here."_

"I know. It won't be long now. International Rescue have nearly cleared all the obstacles."

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead."

"Can you ask Brains if he'd recommend I remove the suspender opposite the one that broke? Will the bridge be stronger with it, or will the forces acting upon the deck be uneven and make it more unstable?"

"Onto it." Scott heard Alan's voice fade as the younger man spoke into another microphone. "I'm sending you through photos, Brains. What do you think?"

There was silence as Brains analysed the information he had available to him. "Can you hear m-me, Scott?"

"Strength five."

"These suspension bridges are always designed with, er, a large margin of error built into them. I-I think that it will be prudent to ensure that there are less stresses on the structure than there are at present. I would advise that you remove the opposite suspender, so it is sy-symetrical."

"Thanks, Brains." Flying up and over what remained of the bridge, Scott pointed Thunderbird One's nosecone at the cable, her tail into the wind, and let off a laser beam.

Suspender after suspender fell into the ravine, clearing the way for the real rescue. Without the swaying cables the bridge stopped gyrating so wildly. But, despite Scott's efforts, the deck still wasn't stable enough to make a ground-based rescue safe.

"Thunderbird Two is fifteen – one five – minutes out," Alan announced.

"Received, Thunderbird Five. I'm going to land." Scott made the necessary adjustments and concentrated on bringing Thunderbird One down on the area that had been cleared by the authorities. His train of thought was interrupted by a sound to his right. "Hello…"

"What?"

"Someone's filming me…"

-F-A-B-

"Stop that!" Bruce launched himself at the mobile phone in Felings' hands. "You can't film them!"

Felings sidestepped the attack and sneered as Bruce skidded face down through the mud. "Course I can. I've been doing it right through. I'm streaming this straight onto the web. All the major networks will want it. I'll get millions."

"No!" Dripping mud and water, Bruce launched himself at his nemesis again. "I won't let you. They saved my life!"

"Hey! Stop that!"

Bruce found himself hauled bodily away from Felings' phone camera by one of the two policemen who'd converged on them. "Stop him! He's filming International Rescue!"

"Oh, is he?" Keel stepped up and pulled the offending phone out of Felings' hands. "I'll take that, thank you."

Feeling his captive relax, the policeman holding Bruce back let him go.

"You can't take my phone!" Felings screamed, struggling uselessly against a massive policeman. The cop, who appeared to be as big and strong as Butch Crump, seemed unperturbed by this mere scrap of thrashing humanity. "This is police brutality!"

"No. This is honouring the wishes of the organisation who are going to save that man's life. Now… Where's that video…?" Keel delved into the inner workings of Felings' phone. "That should be it…" Staring at the screen, she grinned. "Looks like you lucked out anyway. Your phone failed."

Felings glared at her as his cop released him. "What?"

She held the phone, so he could see the screen. Message after message from potential viewers were coming through saying that they were seeing nothing but static. "I'd heard that International Rescue has some kind of camera-blocking device and it clearly works. It's corrupted at least three files. Maybe more." Smirking, Keel handed the instrument back to its owner.

Looking as blue as his face, Felings accepted the phone. Then he rounded on Bruce. "This is your fault!"

But Bruce had things to worry about other than Felings' injured pride.

Thunderbird One was coming in to land.

She touched down; strong metal spikes driving into the ground from the rocket plane's landing gear, before, much to the audience's disappointment, a kind of curtain descended from the fuselage, hiding everything beneath it.

Bruce relaxed.

That was until the curtains parted and a man in silver rain-protective clothing stepped out and across to meet Officer Keel.

Bruce recognised Scott Tracy.

-F-A-B-

Scott gave a reassuring smile to the police officer who approached him. "You'd better come under here, where it's dry… ish."

"Thank you," Officer Keel said, following him behind the curtain. "And thank you for coming,"

"I hope we can help," Scott responded, speaking louder over the noise of the rain pelting against Thunderbird One's fuselage. "What's the situation?" He listened as she detailed Cole's predicament. "So, your people can't get to him because of the electrical storm and the way the bridge is moving?"

"That's right. It's not as bad as it was, since you've done your heroics, but it's still moving too much for the regular rescue services."

"And the guy in the tower?"

"We can't get to him either. With the lightning rods discharging their energy into the ground, there's a slim chance that someone could be electrocuted."

"Do you have any vehicles with fully enclosed metal bodies on site?"

"Yes."

"Get someone to drive up so they're side-on to the tower, close enough so that your man can jump across to the car without touching the ground. There's still a risk, but it's not as great. If there is a lightning strike, the metal body of the car will act like a Faraday cage and the electricity will go around the outside of vehicle. So long as neither the driver nor your man are touching any metal at that moment, they should be safe."

"Good. Thank you. If you don't need me for anything else, I'd better go and arrange that."

"And I'll get in touch with Thunderbird Two."

"You'll let me know if you need anything?"

Scott smiled. "I will." He led Officer Keel outside.

-F-A-B-

Bruce saw the curtains part, and the silver-coated figure step out from the shelter. He made a decision.

Surprising everyone with his unexpected move, he sprinted towards Thunderbird One, dodging some policemen who had got over their surprise enough to converge on him. "International Rescue!"

The police had blocked off the area that had been designated Thunderbird One's landing site with a long fence of flapping plastic tape. With another "International Rescue!" Bruce's long legs hurdled it.

He nearly made it.

A brief gust of intense wind caught him mid-air and threw him to the ground. With nothing to cling to as he scrabbled against the rocky surface, he was sent tumbling away from Thunderbird One and towards the high fences that were supposed to guard against the drop into the ravine.

He slammed against the chicken wire, too winded to be relieved that it held.

Two pairs of strong hands grabbed him by the arms and pulled him, half dragged, half stumbling, away from the fence and the vertigo-inducing drop.

The wind and rain suddenly disappeared.

Finally regaining his senses, he realised that he was behind the curtain underneath Thunderbird One and that his saviours had been Officer Keel and Scott Tracy.

Scott removed the line that had kept him tethered to Thunderbird One and turned back to check up on the person who'd narrowly missed going over the edge. Fortunately, Officer Keel was too concerned about Bruce to see the International Rescue operative's look of surprise when he recognised the grazed, muddied, and bruised man propped up against Mobile Control.

"What were you trying to do?" Officer Keel demanded.

"Oh, erm…" Bruce thought frantically. "I wanted to see International Rescue." He turned to Scott. "I wanted to make sure that you knew the name of the guy you're rescuing. I work with him."

Scott gave an unemotional nod. "And that is?"

"Cole."

A glimmer of surprise returned, quickly followed by understanding. "What's his other name?"

"Oh…" Bruce suddenly felt foolish. "I don't know. I don't think I've ever been told," he finished lamely.

"And yours?"

"Ah, Bruce…. Bruce Sanders."

"Thank you for the information, Bruce."

"That's not the only reason why I had to see you," Bruce admitted, realising how lame he was sounding. "I wanted to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Officer Keel echoed.

"International Rescue saved my life once."

Scott continued the charade. "When and where did this happen?"

"Eight months ago. I was working at ACE. Um… Aeronautical Component Engineers until the earthquake."

"ACE…" Scott pretended to wrack his brains. "That was the factory where people were trapped?"

"That's right. I was of those in the furnace room." Bruce looked up at Scott in earnest. "I don't know if I ever really thanked you."

"I remember." Scott gave a nod of recognition. "How's the guy we pulled out last? He was in a bad way."

Bruce grinned. "Still in hospital, but well on the way to a full recovery, thanks to you. He'll be devastated to know that International Rescue are so close, yet he won't have a chance to say thank you in person."

"Maybe one day." Scott returned the grin. "In the meantime, give him our best."

"Will do."

With a wink, Scott stood. "Thanks for the intel. I'd better let Thunderbird Two know." Then he turned back as an idea struck him. "Are you a friend of Cole's?"

Trying not to wince as bruised muscles complained, Bruce scrambled to his feet. "I'd say a workmate, rather than friend."

"But you're still someone he knows."

"Yes."

"Do you want to stay here and talk to him? You can keep him calm until Thunderbird Two arrives."

"I'd be glad to," Bruce enthused. "Although I don't know that Cole needs calming. He seems to be more comfortable hanging from the underside of a bridge in the middle of a howling gale than working for KAP."

Officer Keel wasn't convinced that leaving a total stranger this close to a Thunderbird was a good idea. "Are you sure?" she checked. "I know that he tried to stop someone from videoing you, but…"

"You did?" It was Scott's turn to be grateful. "Thanks."

"I wasted my time," Bruce admitted. "Your blockers had already done their job."

"Good to know that they work." Scott turned back to the policewoman. "After a while in this game, you become a good judge of character. I don't think Bruce is a threat to our security."

"All right, then. If you need me, I'll be over at the control room," Officer Keel stated, and stepped out through the curtain and into the rain.

"Thanks…" Both men waited until the waterfall had sealed behind her.

Bruce turned back to the man from International Rescue. "Sorry." He plucked at his soaking, muddy, scuffed and torn overalls. "I guess this is one way of getting rid of the _new boy at work_ look."

"I'm just glad you're all right. I'd hate to be the one to have to tell my brother that one of his best friends got himself killed trying to keep International Rescue's secret. This Cole's the guy I met the other week?"

"That's right. I thought I was going to be sick when Felings said that International Rescue was coming. I knew I had to let you know that Cole knew you…" Bruce frowned at the mouthful of what he'd just said, but Scott just grinned. "I suppose I could have rung Virgil or Mr T. I'm sure they could have called you. I guess I was in such a spin I didn't think." His frown deepened. "Have you spoken to Cole?"

"Yes."

"I hope he didn't recognise your voice."

"So do I, but I think we're safe. If you're in the middle of a howling gale and thunderous rain, trying to listen to a stranger talk to you while you're hanging from the underside of a swaying bridge that feels like it's about to collapse, you're not going to be wondering whether or not you've heard his voice before."

"I hope you're right."

There was a beep from Mobile Control and Scott turned on a video screen. "You can watch the first rescue, only this one isn't going to be performed by International Rescue."

Bruce watched as a metal-bodied van moved across no man's land towards the tower that sheltered Sid from the construction company. The vehicle pulled up parallel to the tower and the two men could just see its door slide open. Sid took a couple steps back and made a running jump into the van. The door slid shut and the vehicle was driven away to safety.

Scott shut down the video screen. "Since you're here, you'd better earn your keep." He held out a radio. "You can talk to Cole while I give Thunderbird Two the news that they're going to have to operate in disguise. John is not going to be happy. And…" he had a sudden thought. "You'd better talk to Cole over there. The noise of the storm should hide my voice."

Bruce accepted the radio and switched it on as he wandered closer to the waterfall that descended from Thunderbird One's tail. "Can you hear me, Cole? It's Bruce."

"Hi, Bruce."

"How are you getting on…?"

Leaving them to it, Scott got on to his radio. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two."

He heard Gordon's reply. "Thunderbird Two. I can't make this girl go any faster in this weather."

"I know you're doing your best. I just want to give you a heads-up."

"Heads-up?" Gordon echoed. "Why?"

"Because the guy we're rescuing works for KAP."

"And that's supposed to mean something?"

"It's the outfit that Bruce works for now. Remember the other week when I was visiting Virg and I had dinner with the Mickelsons?"

"Yeah. You couldn't help but rub it in about what a feast we missed."

"And you did too… Remember I told you that Bruce and one of his workmates from KAP ate with us?"

"Vaguely…" Then Scott almost heard the penny drop in Gordon's head. "Bruce's pal is on site?"

"Bruce's pal is the one you're rescuing. You're going to have to wear hoods."

"What again? Isn't once in twelve months enough?"

"You'll be piloting Thunderbird Two. There's nowhere to land, so John's going to have that pleasure."

"_Gee. Thanks."_

Scott couldn't help but grin at his brother's distant, but deadpan, reaction. "You're welcome, John. Now… What's your ETA…?"

"…Don't worry, Cole," Bruce was saying. He was having to shout so that Cole could hear him over the noise of the wind and the rain, something that made him think that even his Scott's own father couldn't have recognised the man from International Rescue's voice.

Cole wasn't concerned about who was rescuing him, just so long as someone did. "Make them hurry up, Bruce."

"They're going as fast as they can."

"I need to get out of here!"

"I know." Concerned that the trapped man was about to panic, Bruce kept his voice calm and soothing. "We want to get you out too."

"You don't understand! I NEED to get out of here. I'm busting."

"Ah…" This wasn't a statement that Bruce was expecting, but he understood… And sympathised.

"It's all the cold wind and running water. I can't even cross my legs. My harness is in the way."

"Then go. Better wet clothes than a burst bladder."

"I can't."

"Why not? Everyone will understand."

"Felings will think I'm a baby. It'll be something else for him to tease me about."

"Felings is the baby. He was too scared to get out of the pickup and get wet, remember? Let alone climb out onto the end of a half-built suspension bridge in the middle of a storm. He's a coward. Don't worry about it, Cole. We're all soaking wet. No one will even know, least of all Felings."

"But I'm not wearing my climbing gear. I can't just, erm, wet someone else's."

"I'm sure they'll understand. One wash and it will be fine." Not wanting to hear the moment that Cole made the only possible decision, Bruce changed the subject. "You're lucky. You've got International Rescue on your case. I've seen them in action before and they are miracle workers."

"I was thinking that; until Thunderbird One nearly crashed."

"What happened? One minute he was zapping cables, the next he was rolling out of the way when one tried to bisect him. When he disappeared, we all thought the worst."

"I did too. I didn't realise that he was doing anything because of the noise of the storm," Cole shouted over the noise of the storm. "Then, all of a sudden, this… this huge, red, pointy thing fell past me. By the time I realised it was the Thunderbird, I was sure it was going to crash and then it would be curtains for me and whoever was on board. I di…"

There was silence.

"Cole!" Bruce shout into the radio was so loud that Scott looked over at him in concern. "Cole! … Can you hear me, Cole!?"

Cole came back on the line. "I'm h-here." And for the first time Bruce could hear what sounded like real fear in this voice. "I-I thought I was gonna be bucked off that time. Tell them to hurry… Please," he begged.

Bruce tried to sound confident and reassuring. "Thunderbird Two will be here any second." He tried to divert Cole's attention back to their previous topic. "Now, what were you saying?"

"Awww, no…"

"Cole?"

"I coul'n' hang on."

"Lucky you'd welded your harness to the bridge."

"No… I mean I couldn' wait." Cole's voice was shaky. "I've wet m'sel'"

"Oh." Bruce decided to continue with his _it'll be all right_ reassuring persona. "with the fright you've just had, I'm not surprised. Don't worry about it. International Rescue won't care, and neither will anyone else. Now, what were you saying?"

"Sayin'? I've… I've f-forgotten."

"Something about Thunderbird One. It had just fallen past you."

"Huh…? Oh… Yeah… He, ah, stopped spinning and falling and… I, erm, I didn't realise that it was the, uh, Thunderbird until he'd regained control and I, um, saw the words down his back. Uh… He musta stopped falling 'bout ten metres from the cliff, um, side."

"That was close." Bruce, realising that Cole really had his confidence knocked in that last gust, hoped his voice represented stability and hope. "Then what happened?"

"Wish this wind would stop blowing."

"I know," Bruce sympathised. "I do too."

"He, erm, floated just above the river."

"And…?"

"I d-don't know how he managed to fly through that gap. It's tiny!"

"See, those guys are miracle workers. They'll get you out…"

-F-A-B-

"We're nearly there," Gordon announced.

He heard two words from behind him. "I'm ready."

Gordon glanced back over his shoulder and did an exaggerated double-take. "Who are you and what are you doing on my Thunderbird?!" He frowned, hearing an echo of those very words from months earlier.

John was dressed in protective gear which hid much of his body shape. However, it wasn't that that had caused Gordon's reaction.

John's "hood" had puffed out his face, tanned his complexion, and darkened his hair, eyebrows, eyelashes to almost black, and his blue eyes were brown. He sat down heavily in the nearest seat, placing a clear domed helmet next to him. "This feels terrible," he said, his voice an octave lower than normal. "Sounds it too."

"Tell me about it." Gordon grinned. "And it'll feel even worse when you're out in the wind and rain."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two. Go ahead, Alan."

"You're nearly there, Guys."

"That's good to know. It's not much fun flying through this storm."

"I thought all that water would make you feel right at home. Like you're piloting Thunderbird Four through rough seas."

"And if I ran out of power in Thunderbird Four, I'd float. If I run out of power in this beast, we're doing more than sinking."

"Not going to happen."

"Hey, Alan." John decided that he needed a change of topic. "What's the name of the outfit Bruce works for again?"

"Erm…" Alan made a quick entry into his computer. "Kruse Applied Products."

"Kruse is a Dutch name."

"I'm sure Bruce would love to know that."

"Do you guys know what 'KAP' means in Dutch?"

"Is this a trick question?" Gordon asked. "Of course, I don't."

"Me neither," Alan agreed.

John shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable in his disguise as well as take his mind off the fact that it felt as if his mask was suffocating him. "Hood."

Gordon chuckled. "I doff my KAP to you for being the one willing to wear a hood and take on this rescue, John." There was a beep from Thunderbird Two's control panel and he flicked a switch. "Coming up on danger zone, Mobile Control."

-F-A-B-

There were gasps as, emerging out of the murk, the green hulk that was Thunderbird Two became visible to those watching from the ground. Instead of coming into land she hovered over the bridge's tower, turning so her nose was into the wind. She started descending.

Bruce saw that Scott was making some hand signals to him. "International Rescue want to have a word with me, Cole. I'll be back in a moment." He switched off the radio and moved closer to his friend as he heard Gordon's voice say: "_Coming up on danger zone,_ _Mobile Control._"

"You're J-I-T, Thunderbird Two," Scott responded.

Bruce frowned. "J-I-T? John Incognito Tracy?"

Scott chuckled. "Just in time."

"Oh."

"Now that the rescue's going to start, we need to simplify communications," Scott explained. "So, that means that John will be the only one talking to Cole."

"Okay. Just let me tell him." Bruce turned the radio back on. "Sorry about that, but International Rescue have just told me that they're going to start the rescue. They don't want me cluttering up the airwaves, so I'm going to pass the radio onto them."

"Okay, Bruce…" There was the tiniest of pauses. "Thanks for talking to me. You helped keep me sane."

"I'm glad I was able to help. We can have a good, dry, chat about it all and compare stories once you're back down on Earth. Which won't be long. Talk to you soon."

"Bye."

Bruce handed back the radio, which Scott slotted into a port on Mobile Control. "Cole? This is International Rescue: Mobile Control. Thunderbird Two is getting into position. From now on all communications will be through Glenn."

"Right. Thank you, International Rescue."

"Thunderbird Two, I'm passing all communications with Cole over to Glenn."

"F-A-B. Hello, Cole. I'm Glenn. We'll soon have you out of there."

Scott turned the radio down, so the voices were just audible.

Bruce looked at him. "Glen?"

"John. He's wearing a disguise that will also disguise his voice – as did Mobile Control when I just spoke to Cole."

"Good to hear. I suppose I should leave. Just when it's going to get interesting."

"I'd let you stay, but it might look suspicious."

"That's okay. With any luck, I'll be able to wash all this mud off in the rain."

"I'll give you a call later when everything's back to normal."

"Thanks. See you." Bruce slipped through the waterfall's curtains and out into the deluge.

He made his way back to the group of observers and climbed into one of the prefabricated huts, feeling smug at the look of dumbfounded envy that Felings gave him. Envy that for some reason was laced with barely restrained excitement.

Bruce stopped in surprise, all traces of speech drying up as fast as his clothes wouldn't.

"Ah! Bruce! Come here." Ignoring the presence of mud and scratches, his present boss, Mr Kruse, dragged him closer. "I believe that you worked for Aeronautical Component Engineering, didn't you?" He turned back to another man. "Mr Tracy. This is Bruce Sanders, one of our newest employees and a former employee of yours."

Before Bruce had a chance to get his vocal cords working, Jeff Tracy acknowledged him with a courteous nod. "Mr Sanders."

Kruse puffed out in pride. "Kruse Applied Products only employs the best people."

"I'm glad to hear it." The head of Tracy Industries turned back to the head of KAP. "I know Mr Sanders and his work well, and ACE is sorry to lose his services. However, I understand and have total respect for his need to find work elsewhere."

"Well, ACE's loss is KAP's gain," Kruse chuckled.

An unwanted head popped into Bruce's field of view. "I'm Felings, Mr Tracy, Sir! I'm one of KAP's longest serving employees, and it's a pleasure to meet you!" Grabbing Jeff's hand, he thrust it up and down.

Pulling his hand free, Jeff regarded the blue-hued face. "I must congratulate the WINGS team on the effectiveness of their system."

Bruce's snorted a laugh and then tried to smother it with his hand.

Jeff frowned. "Are you all right?" he asked Bruce. "You look like you've been in the wars."

"I'm, urm, okay."

"He was interfering with International Rescue," Felings announced.

Bruce scowled at him, but before he could respond, Kruse, desperate to make a good impression on the great Jeff Tracy, butted in. "I'm sure that whatever reason Bruce had to deal with International Rescue, was done with the best possible motives."

Bruce felt all eyes turn on him. "Needed to make sure they knew Cole's name."

Felings snorted his disbelief. "They already knew it. The cops told them."

"And I…" Bruce hadn't wanted to reveal any of this to anyone at KAP, especially not Felings. "I wanted to thank them."

"Ah." Jeff's face cleared. "That's perfectly understandable." Before anyone had the opportunity to ask what "that" was, he indicated a battered toolbox that was on the floor of the prefab. Beneath several layers of dirt and grime the initials K.A.P. were just visible. "Does that belong to Kruse Applied Products?"

Kruse looked to Felings for confirmation.

"Yep," the latter confirmed. "I brought it in when we were shepherded in here. You can't trust anyone nowadays."

The latch already being broken, Jeff easily flipped the lid of the box open. Inside lay an array of old, worn tools and a plastic bag. He picked up the bag. "What's this?" He began to open it.

"Hey!" Felings snatched it out of his hands. "That's my lunch!"

"Doesn't this toolbox belong to Kruse Applied Products?"

"Yes. You don't think I'd want something like that?"

"Then what is your lunch doing in it?"

"To keep my sandwiches dry, of course."

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Jeff picked a spanner out of the toolbox. This was chipped and, having been held near a heat source at some point of its life, discoloured and slightly out of shape. "Does this belong to Kruse Applied Products?"

Felings looked slightly offended, as if he'd been accused of theft. "Of course, it does!"

"Is this an example of the standard of your equipment?"

Bruce nodded and, disgusted, Jeff dropped the spanner back into the toolbox.

The younger man cleared his throat in an attempt to regain something that resembled his voice. "Mr Tracy…? Why…?"

The question: _Why are you here? _was stillborn, because there was a shout from the other end of the cabin.

"International Rescue are starting the rescue!"

Everyone crowded to the windows.

-F-A-B-

Concentrating on keeping a safe distance between Thunderbird Two and all obstacles, Gordon manoeuvred the transporter until she was parallel to and above the bridge; her nose pointing towards the tower on the emergency side of the ravine, her tail jets on either side of the other. "Sending down dampeners."

He heard Scott's voice. "Need me to spot for you?"

"Negative, Mobile Control. It's too dangerous. We can handle it."

Standing slightly behind Gordon at a separate control panel, John was doing his own spotting. Two large objects descended on cables from Thunderbird Two's underside.

"You're on target," John's disguised voice told those who were listening. "Taking control."

"F-A-B."

John watched carefully as both dampeners descended past the main cables and followed the downward line of the remaining suspender cables.

"Whoa!"

Gordon froze, his hands locked onto Thunderbird Two's controls. "What?!"

"The bridge just reared up and over the left-hand dampener. If the deck hadn't swung out of the way, we would have been pulled into the ravine."

"Then the sooner we get that deck settled the better."

"We can't." John stared at a video screen. Through it he could see that the suspender that Scott had cut free earlier, the one which had landed on the bridge. It had rolled so both ends were dangling over the sides – right where he needed the dampeners to go. "Neither dampener will be able to get a clean connection. They could fall free and we'll be back where we started. Worse still, if _they_ start swinging, they could cause the bridge to break apart or destabilise Thunderbird Two. We're going to have to get the cable out of the way."

"How? Grabs?"

"Why not. The suspenders are metal, aren't they?"

"Is it a ferrous metal? Would the magnetic grabs work?"

"Only one way to find out… Glenn to Cole."

"I'm here."

"I haven't forgotten you. We've got a slight hiccup. One of the cables is in the way. Once we've cleared that I'll come down and get you."

Operating another lever, John lowered a giant electro-magnet on the end of a cable down to the centre of the fallen suspender. Then he turned on the electro-magnet's field, increasing the power until he was sure that the magnet's attraction was strong enough that it wouldn't release the suspender, but not so strong that it would attract those that were still affixed to the girders. Satisfied that he had the suspender under his control, he turned a knob.

Down below, on the deck of the bridge, the giant electro-magnet started a slow spin. As it spun, the suspender cable began to coil, slowly dragging its ends up from where they draped over the edges. Once he was sure that the ends were nowhere near the taut supporting suspenders, John pushed gently forward on another lever.

The coiled suspender cable was dragged along the bridge; closer to the tower and away from the end where the two dampeners waited to drop into place.

"Looks far enough," Gordon told John.

"I think you're right. Lowering dampeners."

A push of a button sent the dampeners on their downward path once again, until John stopped them both next to the girders. Then he moved the units closer to each other until his computer told him they were millimetres away from the deck. It was then that he pushed a second button on his control panel. Another electromagnetic field sucked the two dampeners against the iron sides of the bridge and held firm.

The sway lessened.

"Glenn to Cole. Does that feel better?"

"I think so."

"Good. I'm coming down to get you. Be there in a minute." John turned to Thunderbird Two's pilot. "I'd better get down to the bay. Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

Leaving his control panel, John ran through the aeroplane and stepped into the rescue cage. "Going to open mic." Raising up the clear sides as a barrier against the elements, he spoke. "Glenn calling Cole."

"I can hear you. I don't know what you've done, but things seem to be a lot more stable."

"That's what we want. I'm on my way down and we'll soon have you out of there. I'll talk to you soon. Descending," he announced. "Keep her as steady as you can, Thunderbird Two."

"Steady."

Lowering the rescue cage, John watched as Thunderbird Two's interior slipped up out of sight and the grey world outside the craft slid into view.

As soon as the elevator cleared the body of the aeroplane the cage started to twist and rock, and he was thrown against the barrier. "I'm getting a lot of turbulence, Thunderbird Two."

"I'm trying to keep her as still as I can."

"I know. It was just a comment."

"How much can you see?"

"Not much… Glenn calling Cole."

"I can hear you."

"Good. I'm nearly level with you. Once I'm in position I'll extend a beam out towards you…"

The girders that formed the deck of the bridge rose up into view.

"…and I'll travel along it until I'm parallel with you. Then I'll be able to clip you onto my beam with safety lines and cut your original safety harness free…"

Cole could see the bottom of the cage and "Glenn's" feet.

"…Once that's done, we'll both travel back into the rescue cage. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Good." John knelt, so he could give Cole a reassuring wave as the cage slowed. He received weak wave in return.

Affixing his harness to a hook in the roof of the cage, John slid the clear doors open.

The wind thrust him bodily against the back wall. Glad that he was securely tethered and not about to be blown into the ravine that dropped away below them, he checked his tether. It was firm.

He looked back across to his victim, relieved that the tiny air jets in his fishbowl mask were keeping his field of view clear and dry – Well, as clear and dry as could be expected. In this wind, even Brains' magical device was struggling to work to specifications.

Activating a control panel mounted on his wrist, John felt his feet leave the floor of the rescue cage as the beam extended towards the stricken man.

Cole, his feet streaming out behind him in an attitude that resembled Superman in flight – even though he was feeling less than super – looked over his shoulder at the dark-haired rescuer with a strange globe-shaped helmet swaying towards him. The stranger stopped next to him, his body doing its own superhero impression as he too was buffeted by the wind.

At least, Cole thought, this guy was used to being a hero. Being as much an avid follower of International Rescue's exploits as the rest of the world, he tended to believe the media's hyperbole around this mysterious organisation.

John felt anything but heroic. Trying to act supremely confident; as if being knocked about by an almost-hurricane that was trying to throw Thunderbird Two against a couple of concrete towers whilst he was suspended above a vertiginous drop wearing something with the appearance of a fishbowl on a claustrophobic head was something he did every day; he fastened the first of his safety lines to Cole's harness. Then he clipped a second to a lower strap for stability. "There. You've no chance of falling now."

Cole managed a smile of thanks.

"How are you?"

There was no way that Cole would embarrass himself in front of this heroic man by admitting what he'd done in a stranger's climbing overalls. This, coupled with the continuous rubbing of the harness, was giving him a major case of nappy rash, and the sooner he was able to get to someplace warm, dry and private to hide his shame, the happier he would be. "I'm, erm, losing circulation in my legs. My harness is digging in."

"Can you pull yourself up and take some of the pressure off?"

"I've done that several times. I've been here too long, and my arms are getting too tired battling the wind, for it to do much good."

"Don't worry. Now that the bridge is locked down and we've managed to dampen some of the oscillations, it won't be long, and you'll be able to get comfortable again."

_And dry,_ Cole thought.

"Let's see if we can reduce some of that pressure before I cut the welds. I don't fancy making sparks around flammable gases, so if you can take your welder off, I'll get it out of harm's way."

"I can't," Cole admitted. "I put my climbing gear on over the welding unit's straps. I can't take it off without taking off my safety harness." Hearing John's unspoken _why would you do that?_ he continued. "I know it's not best practise, but KAP's stuff's that old that it doesn't fit properly, and the straps keep slipping. I didn't want to take the chance that the welder would throw me off balance."

"What gas are you using?"

"Welgon."

"Highly efficient and even more highly flammable. How full's the cylinder?"

"Three quarters?"

John tried to examine the weld that joined Cole to the bridge, but the howling wind was buffeting him too much. "How many welds have you done on the karabiner?"

Cole checked to confirm that his memory wasn't playing tricks on him. "Three."

"It won't take me long to release those… But not until I've got rid of the welder. I'll have to swing you around, so I can reach it."

"Do what you have to."

Regretting every extra minute that they spent being buffeted by the wind and rain, John spun the trapped man around until he was side on. Then he took another safety line and clipped it to the handle at the top of the welding unit, pulling the line tight to take up the strain. "Okay, Cole. I'm going to cut the first of the straps now."

"Go right ahead."

Pulling a small pair of mechanical shears from out of one of his many pockets, John engaged the motor and snipped the first shoulder strap clear.

The welder sagged back against its left strap and the safety line. It was immediately blown back against its carrier.

Cole grunted.

"If I spin you around the other way and cut the other strap clear, can you see if you can pull the rest of that strap out?" Not waiting for the other's approval, John started the turn.

Feeling the resistance of the wind, Cole endured the slow and careful rotation, pulling at the right strap as he went. But there was too much friction between his body and his safety harness, and he couldn't move the strap as much as a millimetre. "It's no good. It won't move," he complained, as the welder fell free of his shoulder blades. With only its safety line and the two lower sections of the straps holding it aloft, he felt it dig into the small of his back.

"How about this one?" John did some tugging of his own and came to the same conclusion as Cole. "I'll cut the bottom straps as well. You'd better brace it on the other side."

The left side strap was released, and the welding unit fell against Cole's arm on the right.

"I feel like a piñata," Cole joked as John spun him back.

"Sorry." The final cut was made, and the welder dropped until International Rescue's safety line was holding its full weight.

Unfortunately, age and maltreatment over the years had weakened the links that held the handle to the unit. The sudden strain caused by the welder's drop was too much for the degraded metal. The handle broke free.

The canister, three quarters filled with highly flammable gas, dropped like a stone.

Feeling it fall, Cole made a grab for the welding hose, but it slipped through his cold, wet fingers. Time seemed to slow, and as the welding unit plummeted towards the hard, unyielding rocky ground, and he realised that the fear he'd felt before was nothing compared to what he was experiencing now. There was no way that they could escape what was going to be a massive explosion.

John, more used to life and death situations, only had time to gasp out: "Detonation!" to everyone listening and wrap his body around Cole's in a futile attempt to protect him.

The explosion engulfed them both in scolding heat and light, slammed them against the underside of the bridge, and smashed them with the pressure wave, as the world turned white…

_To be continued…_


	56. Chapter 56

Those sheltering in the prefabricated buildings saw and heard the flash from the welding cylinder's explosion through the heavy rains. At once a chatter, even more agitated than after Thunderbird One's disappearance, filled the rooms.

"What happened?"

"Something exploded."

"Yeah. But what?"

"That elevator thing they had? Who knows what they had on board."

"How were they going to cut him down anyway?"

"He welded himself to the bridge, didn't he? He would have had welding equipment with him. They use explosive gases, those things do."

"Thunderbird Two hasn't moved."

"Must mean they're not worried."

"More like they can't move. Not with those things holding the bridge steady."

"What's that guy over at Thunderbird One doing?"

"He hasn't left his cover."

"Maybe he's packing everything away, so he can take off to assist them."

Bruce stepped closer to Jeff Tracy ready to offer support or cover if necessary, but said nothing. The latter's face was tight, but otherwise showed no emotion. But Bruce saw his hand move to his watch…

-F-A-B-

Scott, sitting at Mobile Control, heard the single word "Detonation!" His sensors picked up the sudden source of searing heat and disruption to the air in the ravine.

He grabbed his microphone. "Mobile Control to John! Come in, John!"

There was an agonising silence.

Lights on Mobile Control were flashing, telling him that Thunderbirds Two and Five, and his father, were desperate for news, but knew better than to intrude onto the network.

"Mobile Control to John. Come in, John! Can you hea…"

"I can hear you, Mobile Control. No need to shout. My helmet protected my ears."

Scott could imagine the collective sigh of relief as the lights went blank. He sent a _F-A-B _in Morse Code through to his father's watch. "Situation report."

"I'm okay. My helmet and suit protected me from the worst of it, although my face may have melted. Cole's a little dazed though."

"Any injuries?"

"None known."

"Equipment report."

"I've lost my shears. Aside from that, I think everything's operational."

"What happened?"

"Shoddy maintenance. The welding unit couldn't sustain its own weight. When it fell, the cylinder; three quarters full of Welgon; ruptured. We were lucky the gorge's so deep."

"How long before you've got Cole in the cage?"

"Ten minutes? It would be less if this wind would stop blowing."

"Okay. Report back if there's the slightest hint of any problems."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

Jeff felt his watch vibrate the familiar three letter call sign and relaxed.

With a small smile, he winked at Bruce, who decided that he'd take that as a sign that all was well.

But there was no way that he'd be able to relax until he knew that both Cole _and_ International Rescue's secrets were safe.

-F-A-B-

"How're you feeling, Cole? Are you with me?"

Cole shook his head and wondered why his ears were ringing and his head felt like it had been put into a tumble dryer. "Huh?"

"Cole..."

Slightly cross-eyed, Cole looked about him. "Wha' 'appened?"

"The welding cylinder exploded. Remember?"

Cole frowned. "Wha'?" He rubbed his ears.

John repeated his sentence, louder.

Looking as if the world was out of focus, Cole peered down to the blackened slopes below them. "Hope they don't 'pect me to pay for that."

Keeping a wary eye on his companion, whilst he pulled another safety line from his beam to clip to the rear of Cole's harness, John kept the conversation going. "They wouldn't, would they?"

"Wha'?"

"Would they make you pay?" John shouted, fighting against the wind as he tried to hold them both still long enough to slide the clip through.

"Yeah. An' cleanin' bill for this gear." Cole tried to loosen the cloth around his chaffing nether regions as the clip slid home. "Stings."

"Your climbing gear's been cutting into you." John held up a gloved finger. "How many fingers am I holding up, Cole?"

"No' cutting'. Rubbin'." Cole managed a hoarse laugh. "I'll have t'wash this cov'rall 'fore I give it back."

"We'll worry about that later when we've both had a chance to get into some dry gear. How many fingers?"

Cole looked slightly cross-eyed at John. "You had a accident too, huh?"

"That's right, Cole." John was becoming worried by Cole's confused responses. "We've been in an accident, but we'll be safe and dry soon."

"Dry. I was dry, but busting. Bu' then the bridge jumped, and I wasn't busting no more. Wasn't dry neither."

Having heard and seen worse, John was unperturbed by the revelation. What he was concerned about was the victim's slurred and rambling speech. "Cole..."

Cole, however, was finally becoming awake to what he was saying and the heroic man he was saying it to. He turned scarlet. "I... Erm... I..."

Once again, John tried to get a focused response. "Follow my finger, Cole."

But Cole, having finally regained the full use of his faculties, had more important things to worry about. "Please don' tell anyone," he begged.

"After what we've just been through, anyone's entitled to a small accident. Better than a big one, huh? Now how many fingers am I holding up?"

Cole looked unconvinced by his rescuer's reassurance. "One."

"Good." John smiled. "Can you follow it with your eyes?"

"Yeah..." But the patient refused to.

"Are you experiencing any pain?"

"Got a headache," Cole grumbled.

"I'm not surprised. Anything else?"

The response was a miserable: "I'm wet."

"Aside from that."

"Embarrassed."

"Hearing?"

"My ears are ringing, but I can hear you. Just like I'll hear Felings laugh at me for wetting myself."

"Don't worry about it," John soothed. "I'm not going to tell anyone. Just remember that you're not the first to, erm, have an accident in this type of situation. How do you think International Rescue always manages to look so cool, calm, and collected?" he bluffed, knowing it was important to restore Cole's confidence. "We've got extra absorbent underwear. No one ever gets to see how frightened we get."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Would an International Rescue operative lie to you?"

"Don't know."

"I'll make you a deal. If you don't tell anyone what I've told you, I won't tell anyone what you've told me." Subject closed, John raised his hand again. "Now would you please follow my finger. I just want to check that you're going to be okay for the trip back."

Cole finally obeyed. "I'm okay. There's nothing wrong with that part of me."

Satisfied that Cole wasn't in immediate danger, John started to try to examine the welds that held the trapped man to the bridge. He pulled a mini-grinder out from his pocket. "Can you put your safety glasses on?" He helped Cole tug his glasses up from where they were hanging loosely on elastic around his neck and fixed them firmly to his face. "Now, don't look up."

As Cole studiously did as he was told, John ground the welds away from the bridge. When the last one gave way, Cole felt himself drop into International Rescue's restraints, grunting as his harness cut into his chaffing skin.

Catching him, John tried to steady them both against the wind that still howled under the girders. It felt like they were being buffeted by what had to be a force ten gale on the Beaufort Scale… At least. "We're going for a ride into the cage," he shouted above the wind.

He didn't know if Cole understood or not.

Keeping a secure hold on his companion, John started the beam's slow retraction back. Helpless, Cole had no choice except to remain suspended, puppet-like, by the lines that held him aloft.

They made it inside to safety. Relieved to finally have something firm under his feet, John dragged the protective door across the entrance, abruptly stopping the air currents that swirled around them.

He took a steadying breath. "Glenn to Thunderbird Two. We're on board the rescue cage."

"_Understood, Glenn. Let me know when you're ready for me to retract the cage."_

"I'm going to cut you free, Cole," John told his charge, and released the safety lines. But, instead of standing, the victim's legs seemed to give out on him.

John dropped down next to him. "Are you okay?"

Cole looked at him, slightly cross-eyed. "Your face's funny."

John's comment to Scott about his mask melting had been a joke, but now he wondered if there was a grain of truth to it. "Retract rescue cage, Thunderbird Two."

"_Retracting._"

John stood, found a small piece of shiny metal panelling, and checked his features. From what he could tell they were fine. He assumed that his helmet was distorting things a little and removed it. Then he returned his attention to Cole…

-F-A-B-

"They're bringing it up!" Felings yelped.

"Are they?" Kruse peered into the murk. "I can't see anything."

"There!" Bruce pointed through the window. "See, they're retracting the elevator."

"I hope that means they've got him out safely," Officer Keel mused.

"It's International Rescue. They work miracles." The words were out of Bruce's mouth before he realised what he was saying and who was present. He shared a guilty grin with Jeff Tracy.

-F-A-B-

Gordon grimaced. Eight months after he'd been handed control of Thunderbird Two and he still wasn't in his comfort zone. He would have given anything to have been battling the waves of a category five cyclone rather than trying to keep an aeroplane still and away from numerous obstacles in a mere storm.

He felt Thunderbird Two's tremor through his controls as the winds tried to force her closer to the towers. He felt like he needed at least three pairs of eyes to keep a watch on everything that was going on around him. He needed to watch Thunderbird Two's nose to check that she didn't ram the tower that supported the girders which held Cole. He needed to watch Thunderbird Two's tail to ensure that the boosters didn't knock the tower on the other side of the gorge. He needed to watch the rescue cage and each of the dampeners – a job which probably needed three pairs of eyes on their own. He also needed an eye on his control panel, one for the weather radar, and an ear out for any commands from John, Mobile Control, or Thunderbird Five. He needed to be a scallop with its one hundred and ten eyes. But they didn't have any ears nor limbs, which would have made hanging on to the control yoke impossible. For that task an octopus would have been handy. An octopus with eight arms to control the yoke, the flaps, the ailerons, the boosters, the microphone, the…

Gordon told himself to get a grip.

John appeared on the flight deck. "How's it going?"

"Piece of cake," Gordon replied. "Not a problem. How's Cole?"

"I gave him a quick once over and I think he's all right. I've left him some dry clothes, a couple of buckets of water to rinse out his gear, and some anti-inflammatory cream."

"We had some, did we?" Gordon pretended to be surprised. "I thought we didn't need that. Not with our extra absorbent underwear. Not that I wear it, of course. Possibly not the best bit of kit for an aquanaut."

John chuckled. "I guess not." He stood next to the control panel. "I had to say something to make him feel better. The poor guy was so embarrassed… Ready for me to retract the diapers...? I mean dampeners?"

"Anytime."

"Right… Releasing them." John flicked the switch that cut the power to the two blocks that were holding the deck still, and Gordon felt Thunderbird Two's reaction. "Raising dampeners."

"How about releasing the electro-magnet holding that suspender, and then I'll gain altitude vertically?" Gordon suggested. "Once we're clear of the bridge you can retract all three without worrying about them, or us, crashing into anything. And we'll be less likely to ground a lightning bolt."

"Good idea." Flipping another switch, John cut power to the giant electro-magnet. "All clear. Lift away."

"Can you spot Two's tail? We haven't got a huge margin of error back there."

"F-A-B." John focused on a video screen that showed both boosters as they slid past the tower. Not once did he need to offer any advice or warning. "Smooth, Gordon," he said, impressed. "Virgil couldn't do it any better."

"Won't be much longer and he'll be back in the saddle and showing us how it's done."

John ran his hand up the back of his neck, feeling the artificial skin ride up. "No offence intended, Gordon…"

"None will be taken."

"…but it won't be a moment too soon." John smoothed the fake skin back into place.

"For you and me both," Gordon agreed. It wasn't time to relax, but now that he was clear of the bridge he felt some of the tension in his body lessen.

"Retracting dampeners." John pulled back on a lever and both blocks retreated into Thunderbird Two's underside.

Gordon became aware of the change to Thunderbird Two's handling. "With all the water we've taken on board, we must weigh several hundred kilos more."

"Retracting electro-magnet." John waited until he was assured that nothing was dangling from Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. "Before I head back down to the guest rooms, how does my face look?"

"Unrecognisable."

"I know that's the idea, but do I still look natural? Cole said my face looked funny."

"It always does."

"Gordon…"

"Okay." Grinning, Gordon glanced behind. "Looks fine to me."

"Good, I'll go back down and see how he's getting on."

"And I'll find out where we're taking him." Gordon got onto the radio. "Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control."

"We've got Cole on board and he's all right."

"Well done, Gordon."

"It's John who deserves the praise. I just provided the taxi. Where are we dropping Cole off?"

"I'll find out and get back to you."

-F-A-B-

John knocked on the door.

"Come in."

John entered the infirmary. "Feeling better?"

"Much better." Cole smiled. He felt safe, refreshed, dry, and pain and embarrassment free. "Thank you. Thanks for everything."

"All part of the service. We're just arranging a rendezvous point and then we'll drop you off." John got a couple of disposable bags and held one open. "Put your wet gear in there."

"Thank you," Cole repeated, as he dropped his borrowed clothing into one of the bags, "for being so, erm, understanding."

"We've all been there," John soothed. "Now, if you wouldn't mind sitting in this chair and fastening your safety harness, we'll be coming in for landing soon…"

-F-A-B-

Word filtered through from the radio that Cole was safely on board Thunderbird Two and was going to rendezvous with the authorities at a nearby playing field. It was assumed that soon Thunderbird One would be packing up and leaving.

Bruce sidled up to his former employer. "Mr T?" he began quietly, in a voice that he hoped was low enough to not be overheard.

Realising that whatever was about to be said wasn't to be in the public domain, Jeff responded with an equally quiet, "Yes?"

"Don't you think that _you_ would want to thank International Rescue?"

After a moment's thought, Jeff gave a slow nod. "At least someone in this place has got some brains," he whispered. Then he raised his voice to his normal speaking level. "You are right, Mr Sanders, I would like the opportunity to thank International Rescue, and if you would be good enough to introduce me to them, I would be more than grateful." He flipped the hood of his, obviously very waterproof and wearable outfit (one that Bruce was sure had evolved from International Rescue's research), onto his head and zipped the neck closed. "That's if you don't mind getting wet again."

"I don't mind at all, Mr Tracy. We both have a lot to thank International Rescue for. But maybe this time we should ask the police's permission first?"

"It would be wise," Jeff agreed. He approached Officer Keel, who was in a conversation with another officer. "Forgive my intruding," he began, "but I have a favour to ask. My factory was practically destroyed by the earthquake eight months ago, and my son was one of those trapped. If it wasn't for International Rescue's efforts he, and other members of staff, including Bruce Sanders here, wouldn't have survived. I would appreciate it if I could be allowed to take this opportunity to thank International Rescue in person."

Officer Keel hesitated. Having volunteered for the post-quake clean-up, she was aware of who this man was and of the events of which he spoke. But she was also aware of International Rescue's need for secrecy and their desire for little fanfare. But still… Jeff Tracy had been given a great gift and he should have the chance to thank those who'd presented it to him. Besides, what could a man, who could already buy anything he set his mind to, want with International Rescue's secrets?

She nodded and pulled her own hood onto her head. "Since International Rescue already trusts you," she told Bruce, "I'll let you come with us."

"Thank you."

"Can I come too?" Felings begged. "So, I can thank International Rescue for saving my co-worker's life?"

Officer Keel fixed him with a cold, hard stare. "No."

Outside, she gritted her teeth against the water that ran down her sleeve while she held what remained of the guard tape high to enable Bruce and Jeff to pass underneath it. As the group approached the waterfall curtains of Thunderbird One, a silver coated figure stepped out, stopping beneath the relative shelter of the aircraft's wing.

Bruce watched as Officer Keel made a little speech. "I'm sorry to disturb you, especially as I'm sure you're eager to get out of this storm and return to home, but this is Mr Tracy of Tracy Industries. He has something to say he would like to say to International Rescue."

Scott turned to face his father, any trace of surprise hidden behind a mask of polite attention.

Jeff spoke. "As Officer Keel said, I'm the owner of Tracy Industries and Aeronautical Component Engineering is one of my companies."

Scott indicated Bruce. "I met one of your employees… I mean, former employees, earlier."

"You saved Bruce's life, and that of many other of my employees, and I would like to thank International Rescue for this. But, I also have a more personal reason to speak with you. The last man that you saved from ACE, the one who was crushed, was my son. I want to take this opportunity, on behalf of the rest of his family, and friends, and myself, to thank International Rescue for saving his life."

"Bruce told me that your son is going to make a full recovery."

"It appears so, yes. Thanks to International Rescue's efforts." Jeff removed an object from his pocket. "I know it's not much, but…" He opened his wallet and withdrew something. "…this is my card. If International Rescue ever need anything, and it's something that I or any of my companies can help you with, then please do not hesitate to contact me."

As he accepted the card, Scott flashed a smile as warm and engaging as his father's, and Bruce felt a moment's concern that someone would see the resemblance and put two and two together. But then the smile disappeared. "Thank you, Mr Tracy. We don't always get to hear if our rescues are successful, and I appreciate that you've made the effort to tell us." The card was indicated. "I will remember this, and if we do need your assistance, then we will contact you. Thank you."

Jeff extended his hand and the two men shook.

Scott retreated behind the curtains and the others returned to the prefab.

Jeff pushed his hood off his head and unzipped the front of his jacket. "I feel better for doing that." His eye caught Bruce's and the younger man had a feeling that the sentiment was genuine.

Able to relax at last, Bruce smiled. "I never got the chance to ask you, Mr Tracy, but why are you here?"

"I was visiting Kruse Applied Products, with a view to purchase it, when the call came that the outside unit was experiencing some difficulties. Mr Kruse," Jeff indicated Bruce's current boss, who standing at his side, eagerly listening to every word, "suggested that we come here to see how things were progressing. I didn't realise that you were involved… Or the seriousness of the situation."

Feeling stunned by the phrase "with a view to purchase it", Bruce could only stammer. "Ah… Right."

"I have to say," Jeff glanced at the battered toolbox, "that this has been an informative visit. "Who was in charge here until Mr Kruse arrived?"

Kruse, glad to offer something of value, smiled. "Wallace."

"And Wallace is?"

"My Production Manager."

"I was hoping to talk to all the staff on this visit. Where is he?"

Once again Bruce was aware of a feeling of surprise. "He's at the hospital, Mr Tracy."

"Hospital?" Jeff frowned as Kruse fidgeted at the revelation. "Why? Cole wasn't injured."

Bruce glanced at Kruse who appeared to be making warning 'don't tell him' signs. "He had what I think is a heart attack about five minutes after everything started to go pear-shaped."

"Heart attack?" Jeff turned to Kruse. "Were you aware of this?"

Kruse fixed the man who promised him easy pathway to unimaginable wealth with an ingratiating smile. "Felings said that Wallace was unwell… But he didn't mention hospital, an ambulance, or a heart attack!"

Felings leapt to his own defence. "That's because Bruce didn't tell me to!"

Jeff ignored him, preferring to concentrate on Kruse. "So, you were unaware that he's in hospital with a serious medical condition?"

"No! … Well… That is yes. A short time after Felings rang KAP, the hospital rang up to get Wallace's details. Next of kin and that kind of thing." The company's owner became solemn. "My secretary put them through to me, so I could authorise the release of what is very sensitive information… You can't be too careful about that sort of thing nowadays. They… erm… may have… in passing… said something about cardiac problems?"

"And did you alert his family to that fact?"

"That's the hospital's job."

"But you have sent a trusted member of staff to the hospital to assist his family and take some of the burden off them by acting as a liaison with the authorities?"

Bruce couldn't think of anyone at KAP that he'd even consider calling "a trusted member of staff".

Kruse seemed surprised that anyone would consider doing such a thing. "No."

"And what about Cole?"

"What about him?"

"Who authorised him to climb out to the end of an unfinished suspension bridge during a storm?"

Kruse gave an _I don't know, and I don't care_ shrug. "Wallace, I guess."

"He volunteered," Felings sneered. "He should've known better."

Jeff turned on him. "Did you point out that he was entering into a dangerous situation?"

Felings took a metaphorical and literal step back. "No."

Bruce figured it was time to make an admission. "To be fair, I didn't either, Mr Tracy. Cole said that he does rock climbing as a hobby. He seemed so assured that he could do it safely, that we had no reason to doubt him."

Jeff grunted, then swung back to Kruse. "Have you informed Cole's family that he was in trouble?"

Surprise showed on Kruse's face again. "No."

"So, you haven't offered them support either?"

"No."

Jeff gritted his teeth. "How long did it take us to get here?"

Kruse treated Jeff to a bright smile. "A little under twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" Jeff turned back to the only person that he considered to have any degree of intelligence or compassion in the group. "How long since this disaster began, Mr Sanders?"

"Let's see…" Bruce examined his watch. "Wallace was feeling unwell before work – he was claiming that he had indigestion, but he didn't really exhibit signs of heart disease until about five… maybe ten minutes after Cole was thrown from the bridge. I treated him as best as I could and asked Felings to call…" he resisted the impulse to say _the ambulance_ and changed it to "for help. That was when he rang Mr Kruse. It was about five minutes later when I rang for the rescue services, so we'll say that's fifteen minutes. Then it took ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive. – That's twenty-five… And I guess it's been forty-five minutes since then." He looked back up at Jeff. "About an hour and a quarter in total?"

Jeff turned to Kruse. "So, you were aware that you had one, no, _two_ members of your staff in mortal danger for at least forty minutes before I arrived, unannounced, at your factory."

Kruse fidgeted.

"What did you do about it?"

"I… erm…" Kruse had finally got the idea that Jeff was displeased. "I gave the hospital the information they needed. And when I heard that International Rescue had been called out I decided I should make a site visit…"

"After I'd arrived… Did you consider coming here to support them prior to that?"

"Of course, I did," Kruse soothed.

"Why didn't you?"

"It was raining."

"Did you send anyone else?"

"No."

Jeff bristled. "Let me get this straight… You've got two staff members, both of whom who have had a traumatic morning, resulting in one of them being taken to hospital. And you've done nothing to support either of them?" Bruce was unsure, but he thought he could detect the faintest trace of a Kansas accent in Jeff Tracy's speech. If so, it meant that his former boss was beyond angry. "Don't you have something important to do now?"

"Do…? Uh… Now?" Kruse was flummoxed by the question. "Well… Of course… Back at my office…" He smiled another ingratiating smile. "As you know, a manager's work is never done."

Jeff's frown deepened. "Don't you want to see how Wallace and Cole are?"

"Erm… Yes?" The query in Kruse's response was unmistakable.

"When will you be leaving?"

Relieved that his interrogation would soon be over, Kruse started for the door. "We can leave whenever you're ready."

"When I'm ready? I assumed that you'd want to go to the hospital to help Wallace and his family after you've checked that Cole's all right."

"But it's raining."

This was the last straw. "Bruce!" Jeff Tracy turned to the man, who, startled by the volume and use of his first name, jumped.

"M-Mr T?"

"I'm not going to let you stay here and risk your neck with this pack of clowns. I want you to come and work for me on Tracy Island – at least until ACE is reinstated or Virgil's able to return to work."

Bruce's jaw dropped. "Work for you…? On Tracy Island…? You mean work for…?" He made ambiguous hand signals. "On the…?"

"Yes. With Virgil out of action we've been missing the skills of a trained engineer. Your pay will be at least treble what you got at ACE to compensate for the distance and isolation, but we can negotiate that. And of course, you'll get full board and meals."

Bruce gaped at Jeff Tracy.

"I would have extended the same offer to the Crumps, but I don't think the upheaval would be good for Ginny. I've often thought that I should offer you this job, but, and I'll admit that I was being selfish when I decided against it, I felt it was more important that you were available to keep Virgil company. But, as he's nearly recovered and I'm living nearby, he doesn't need your support so much. So, I'm finally going to offer you this position. Do you want it?"

Bruce closed his mouth.

"Well?"

Well? A multitude of thoughts were running through Bruce's befuddled brain. There was his newly rekindled relationship with Olivia. She couldn't begrudge him working for International Rescue, could she? But did he want to leave her so soon? And there was Virgil. He'd promised that he'd always be there for his friend. Could he do that when he was half a world away? Should he even _consider_ leaving when he knew he knew something that he could never tell Jeff Tracy? "Um… Can I get back to you?"

Jeff looked annoyed that someone would dare to not jump at the chance of accepting his very generous offer.

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Bruce mumbled. "But I'd like to think about it."

After taking a deep breath to cool his temper, Jeff nodded. "Fair enough. It's a huge step, even if it's only for a limited time."

Felings stepped in front of Bruce. "If you're looking for someone who's an excellent engineer and a hard worker, I'm available. I'd be glad to leave this dead-end outfit and work for a man who is brilliant and a visionary." He gave Jeff an overly friendly punch on the shoulder. A gesture that had Bruce cringing at the thought of Jeff Tracy's retaliation.

Jeff looked down at where the punch had landed. Then he looked back up, holding Felings' eye. "Your reputation has proceeded you, Mr Felings," he rumbled, and as Felings preened himself, continued. "I have to tell you that I value the services of those who are loyal to their company and their workmates and have a strong work ethic. People such as Bruce Sanders. I will not entertain the employment of anyone who bullies, belittles, or threatens others. People such as you, Mr Felings. Your application has not, and will never be, accepted." He turned on his heel and marched away to the other end of the building to have a word with the rescue authorities.

Felings stared after him, an expression of hurt innocence on his blue-stained face. "Why would he think I'm a bully?"

Bruce had to turn away to stop himself from laughing out loud.

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird One calling Thunderbirds Two and Five."

"Thunderbird Two responding."

"Receiving you, Thunderbird One."

"Am leaving danger zone. Heading for home."

"F-A-B," Gordon acknowledged.

"Is John there?"

"He's just seeing Cole safely off. He'll be back up in a moment."

"Good. I've got something to say to you all." Scott heard a noise in the background.

"Here's John now," Gordon announced. "At least I hope it's John. It's either him or we've picked up a hitchhiker."

"It's me," the dark-haired stranger massaged his arm, "Having just about had my hand shaken off." He scratched at the skin-substitute at the base of his neck. "Can I release myself from the instrument of torture?"

Scott chuckled. "Go ahead."

"Didn't you once say…" John pulled at the latex-like material, peeling it upwards. "…that you were going to send Brains on a route march wearing one of these?" Like a scene from a horror movie the skin stretched, and the stranger disappeared into it.

Scott waited until his tousle-haired, red-faced, brother had reappeared. "Yes."

"Then will you make sure that it's some time when I'm dirtside?" John ran his hand through his hair to try to bring it back under control.

Scott chuckled again. "Agreed."

Alan brought his brothers back to the original subject. "Now that we're all here, in a manner of speaking, what did you want to say to us?"

"That I've just been given what had to be one of the most meaningful thank yous that International Rescue has ever received."

"Yeah? Who from?" John was still trying to tame his locks. "It wasn't Cole."

"No."

"Bruce?" Gordon offered.

"No."

Remembering the original distress call, Alan offered his own suggestion. "The cops?"

"Nope." Scott smiled. "Jeff Tracy."

"Jeff Tracy?" Alan frowned. "You can't mean _our_ Jeff Tracy."

"I do."

"What did he have to thank us for? He's got nothing to do with KAP."

"Apart from Bruce," Gordon offered.

"He thanked International Rescue for saving his son's life."

"You mean Virgil's?" Alan frowned into the video camera. "Why'd he do that?"

"At a guess, it was partly as camouflage." Scott held up a small rectangle. "He gave us one of his business cards, so International Rescue could call on his help if we ever needed it. It could be cover for us in the future."

"Which card?" John asked. "Sparkler, solar, or super nova?"

It took Scott a moment to comprehend the metaphors. "Super nova."

John let out a low whistle. "He must be due for a reprint."

"You said _partly as camouflage_, Scott," Gordon reminded him. "What's the other part?"

"I think he genuinely meant it. I know none of us expects thanks; it's our job, and that time giving up just wasn't an option; but I guess he does have a lot to thank us for."

"He's not the only one."

Three pairs of eyes fixed on one video image. "Alan?"

"I've got a lot to thank you for too. You guys worked your butts off getting Virgil out of there in one piece – more or less. I couldn't do anything." The youngest Tracy dropped his eyes and his voice. "Thank you for giving me the chance to see him again."

"You don't need to thank us, Alan. You did a lot," Scott told him. "You were the one thing that remained constant and steady when we were working in an environment that could crash and burn. Just knowing that you were there with a – literally – cool, clear, brain keeping an eye on everything gave us a huge amount of reassurance."

"And we know that Virgil appreciated you being there with him when we couldn't be," John added.

Alan looked up. "He said he can't remember anything about the rescue."

"He said that; but at the time, when it was important, it meant a lot to him."

"We're all thankful," Gordon said. "We're grateful because we're a team. If we weren't, and we hadn't worked together eight months ago…" He grinned. "I wouldn't be looking forward to handing this girl back to her rightful owner sometime soon."

-F-A-B-

Zipping up the front of his raincoat, and after a thank you to the police and local rescue coordinator, Jeff Tracy approached the group of KAP employees. "Right, I'm leaving."

"Oh!" Kruse looked around for his own coat. "I'll be right with you."

"I said _I'm_ leaving," Jeff told him. "You have other matters to attend to."

"I do?"

"You do."

"Oh…" Kruse remembered the luxurious car that they'd travelled in from the hole that was his office at KAP. "But how will I get back?"

"You have a company vehicle here?"

"I, erm, I suppose so." Kruse looked to his staff for confirmation.

"We came here in the pickup," Bruce offered.

Kruse looked depressed at the thought of returning in a filthy utility, crammed in with a bunch of grimy, wet, engineers.

Jeff turned to his former, and he hoped future, employee. "I'll see you back at the house. I'll tell Kyrano to have the coffee on. Stop in and you can give me the full story about what happened here. I'll tell Olivia, Lisa and Butch to come too so you don't have to repeat yourself."

"Butch is back home fixing up his house."

"Of course. Just Olivia and Lisa then. And Hamish and Edna."

"Okay."

Jeff had an idea. "Would you like a ride back, Bruce? I'm sure my car will be a lot more comfortable than a ratty old pickup."

Bruce wondered if Jeff Tracy was deliberately making it difficult, if not impossible, for him to continue his employment at KAP. The way that Felings was shooting daggers his way, he knew he'd be greeted by, if not curiosity, then open hostility when he next showed up at work.

"Bruce?"

Seeing Jeff Tracy's look of honest concern Bruce realised that the older man had been so incensed at Kruse's cavalier treatment of his staff, that he had forgotten that no one at KAP knew of their relationship. "Thanks for the offer, Mr T." He smiled and indicated the officials at the other end of the prefab. "But I'll have to stay until all the paperwork's done."

"Of course." Jeff nodded his understanding. "Your conscientiousness is exactly the reason why I want you to work for me again.

"Erm…" Kruse stepped forward. "What about your plans, Mr Tracy?"

"My plans?" Jeff gave a frown of confusion. "I intend to go and visit my son." He looked at his watch. "It's past visiting time."

"But what about KAP?"

"I have no need to return there."

"But, when will you let me know when you've decided to buy the business?"

Jeff stared down KAP's owner. "Mr Kruse. I have no interest in owning any company that doesn't recognise that its greatest asset is its staff, and its second most important asset is its plant and machinery. If I were to buy Kruse Applied Products, the first thing that I would have to do is get rid of all the dead wood – both human and technical – to bring it up to a standard that would make it viable at least. From what I've seen of Kruse Applied Products, that would mean the loss of so many 'assets'," he glared at Felings and the toolbox, "that I would be better served building a new factory from scratch. And that's what I'm going to do with ACE."

Kruse looked so disappointed that Bruce thought he was going to cry.

Jeff took a step towards the door and then turned back. "Think about my offer, Bruce," he instructed. "And let me know as soon as you've made up your mind…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"You are going to say yes, aren't you?"

Bruce flopped back in the easy chair facing the window and rubbed a scratch on his face. "I don't know."

"Why not?" Virgil looked at him in concern. "Don't you want to?

"Want to?!" Suddenly afire with enthusiasm, Bruce sat up again. "Of course, I want to! Working on the –" he lowered his voice to lower than a whisper, "Thunderbirds – is every engineers' dream job!" He flopped back again. "It's just that I've got other things to consider."

Virgil thought that he understood. "What does Olivia say about it?"

"I don't know. I've told her everything that happened today, except that. We haven't even been back together for 48 hours and I'm not sure that I'm ready to leave her."

"Talk to her. I'm sure she'll understand. And maybe there's something she can do on the island too."

"It's not only her I've got to consider," Bruce admitted. "There's you too."

"Me? Don't worry about me."

"I am worried about you, Virgil. I promised you that I'd always be available if you needed someone to talk to. How can I do that if I'm half a world away?"

"Quarter," Virgil corrected.

"And in a different time zone. Part of the reason why I'm more than willing to act as your sounding board, is because I'm not your family and because, here, we can talk without them overhearing. There, there'll be a greater chance of someone learning something you don't want them to."

"Don't let that worry you," Virgil reassured his friend. "I'd rather know that you were happy in a job where you're appreciated, than working somewhere where you're unhappy. And you'll be able to keep me up with the gossip that my brothers 'forget' to tell me."

Bruce hesitated. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"I'm more than sure… Besides, how much longer can they keep me in here?"

Bruce leant forward yet again. "Have you heard something?"

"No. I'm just being optimistic. There are still one or two things that aren't working correctly that the medicos want to get under control before they release me." Virgil smiled at his friend. "Go. It's a once in a lifetime chance. And you'll be working for people who genuinely appreciate your talents. Only be prepared," he warned. "When there's work to be done, there won't be time for slacking."

"Hard work doesn't bother me."

"I know. Which is precisely why Father wants you on the payroll. Talk to Olivia, Bruce, and if she's happy, or you can work out a compromise, then go… Please…"

_To be continued…_


	57. Chapter 57

Jeff Tracy looked across at his companion in the co-pilot seat. Although this wasn't the first such trip ever made, the latter was gazing outside at the white fluffy clouds and the ocean below with an intensity that spoke of barely constrained excitement.

Jeff grinned at his companion's expression. "It's a beautiful day."

"Definitely."

"Too beautiful to just sit there and do nothing. Do you want to fly her for a bit?" Jeff almost laughed at the startled expression his suggestion evoked.

"What?"

"Fly her. There's not a breath of wind, we're miles from any other air traffic, and," Jeff grinned, "this girl practically flies herself… Go on." He indicated the control yoke that was the partner of his.

There was a moment's indecision, and then both hands were carefully wrapped around the steering unit. Jeff waited until he was sure that everything was under control, and then released his own grip.

He was almost blinded by the smile as the sensations of flight were fed through the control yoke and into both of the new pilot's hands. It was a smile that refused to disappear for the rest of the trip.

Jeff relaxed back into his seat; keeping a casual eye on the various gauges to ensure that all was well. He wasn't worried. As he'd said, this model of aeroplane had a good safety record and he was sure that his co-pilot could have reached safety no matter what happened.

It wasn't until they were nearing their destination that he claimed back the controls with a promise of more flight time soon.

They touched down on the runway with Jeff Tracy's characteristic feather-light touch.

"Thank you."

Jeff grinned. "It was my pleasure."

As they made their way back through the cabin, he pointed through one of the aeroplane's many windows. "It looks like you've got a welcoming committee."

The smile lit up again.

Tracy Island greeted them with a stunning day. The sea air smelt fresh. The birds were singing. The sun was warm and invigorating.

They both descended on a platform that had extended out from the aeroplane's fuselage; one hand clinging to the handrail for balance.

The platform touched the ground.

There was a series of whoops, an ecstatic chorus of "Happy Birthday!", and a pair of crutches went flying as all four of Virgil's brothers descended on him. Wrapping him up in a scrum that would have been suffocating if they hadn't lifted him high into the air, they carried him on their shoulders a short distance before placing him with care in front of his grandmother.

"Idiots." Virgil chuckled. "Hiya, Grandma."

He didn't complain when, with another "Happy Birthday," he found himself wrapped up in a different embrace; one that smelt deliciously of home baking. "It's so good to have you home again, Virgil."

"Not as good as it is to be home again."

When Grandma took a step back, so she could look at her grandson, he could see tears in her eyes behind her smile. "I can't believe that I've got my handful back."

Virgil's own smile returned. "What's for lunch?"

"Oh, you!" Laughing, she hugged him again. "You'll have to wait and see."

"I seem to have been demoted to baggage boy," Jeff pretended to grumble as he handed his son the two lost crutches. "You might need these."

"We can carry him," Alan announced.

With a "Thanks," Virgil accepted the crutches. "Since I have legs of my own, I'd rather walk." Now with his support, Virgil easily approached the next couple. "Tin-Tin…"

"Welcome home, Virgil." This hug was wrapped up in the perfume of a delicious floral scent and the smallest trace of engine oil. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Honey."

"Did you have a good flight?"

"Great. Father let me fly her for a bit… Kyrano…"

"Selamat Hari Jadi." Kyrano offered a low bow. "I have long prayed for today, Mister Virgil."

"You and me both…" Virgil turned to the last person in this group. "Brains…" His right crutch hanging off his arm, he extended his hand to the engineer. "Thank you… For everything." He pulled Brains closer.

Even after all these years, Brains had yet to get used to the Tracy Boys' propensity for hugging one another and, it seemed to him, anyone else within grabbing distance. It was a trait that appeared to have got worse the longer International Rescue had been in action. Still… he mused as he was let go… it did fill him with a feeling of warmth that he enjoyed… And at least they didn't kiss…

He received a big, wet, kiss on the forehead. "Yes, Brains. Thank you," Mrs Tracy said, as Tin-Tin smothered him under a kiss of her own.

"I-I, erm, d-didn't d-do much," Brains stammered.

"Are you kidding?" John changed Virgil's lighter bag from one hand to the other and gave his friend a one-handed hug about the shoulders. "If it wasn't for you we wouldn't have even known about the treatment."

Brains blushed. "I-I-I did nothing. It's Bryce and Timoti we should be thanking."

"I have," Virgil admitted. "Many times."

"I don't want to contemplate what could have happened if you hadn't been here, Brains." Scott slung Virgil's heaviest bag over his shoulder. "I hope you're not too tired, Virg. You haven't seen everyone yet."

Virgil thought he had. His crutches stabilising him as he moved, he walked over to Lady Penelope and Parker. "Good to see you both."

"And it is indeed, ah, good to see you, Virgil." Lady Penelope's perfume, when they hugged, was different, but no less pleasant, than Tin-Tin's.

"Me an' all," Parker enthused, shaking his younger friend's hand.

"And many happy returns of the day," Lady Penelope added.

"I sure hope so," Virgil agreed, grinning. He made sure he had a good grip of his crutches. "Where's Bruce?"

"He didn't want to get in the way of the family reunion," Scott admitted. "He's over there."

Virgil looked to where his brother was pointing and felt his smile blossom yet again. As close to running as he was able, he pushed himself over to the last group. "I thought you had to be at ACE today!"

He was intercepted by a hug that wrapped itself around his leg. "Happy Birfday, Uncle Virgil."

Using both crutches as a prop before he laid them on the ground, Virgil crouched down so he could reciprocate the hug. "Seeing you has just made it a very happy birthday, Virginia." The little girl smelt of soap and shampoo. "Did you fly here?"

"Uh, huh." Ginny gave an emphatic nod. "Aunty Lady Penny-lopy flewed us in her plane. It's pink!"

Virgil grinned over his shoulder. "Thanks, Aunty Lady Penny-lopy."

"It was my pleasure. She was a little angel."

"Glad to hear it." With a little help from his father, Virgil got back to his feet. Now he could greet the older members of this group properly. He hugged Bruce, Lisa, Butch, Hamish, and Edna as they each wished him the warmest of birthday greetings and expressed their delight that he was well enough to return home.

Grandma had slipped her arm through her son's as they watched the reunion. "Was it a good flight?"

"Great. When I suggested that he take the controls, he didn't believe me. Then he couldn't grab the yoke quick enough. He hasn't lost his touch."

"That's good to hear. He must be so happy to be finally free of that hospital."

"He couldn't wait to get out of there. Although I think the nurses were a little disappointed to lose their favourite patient. They joked that it was like losing a piece of furniture."

"Would Miss Ginny liked to come with me?" Kyrano asked. "I have baking to do, and I should like her assistance."

"Go with Uncle Kyrano, Ginny" Lisa urged. "You can bake Uncle Virgil something nice for his birthday."

"'kay." Happy with the suggestion, the little girl took Kyrano's hand and allowed him to lead her away to the monorail terminus.

Virgil watched them go. Then, suspicious that Grandma was willing to not supervise a birthday feast, he turned back. He could sense his friends' and family's not so suppressed state of excitement. "What are you guys up to?"

Scott put his arm about his younger brother's shoulder. "There's someone else who wants to say happy birthday to you before you go up to the house."

"There is?"

"And we thought that it would be better if Ginny wasn't introduced just yet," John added.

"This way." Jeff Tracy led the group into the Tracy family aircraft hangar. They walked past Lady Penelope's pink aeroplane and towards the shelves that lined the back of the room. Grasping one panel, so the concealed reader could scan his fingerprints, he pushed the shelves sideways into the solid rock walls lining the hangar.

There was a gasp from those who hadn't yet been fully inducted into International Rescue's secrets.

Ahead of them appeared to be another wall. One of complete blackness.

Jeff stepped forward and through the 'wall'. His family followed, John and Scott dropping their bags in the hangar before encouraging the Crumps and Mickelsons forward.

Knowing what he was about to see; Virgil followed them.

"Come on, Virgil." Gordon pulled him forward. "You should be at the front."

"Everyone inside?" Jeff asked.

"Everyone" assured him that they were.

He pulled down on a lever.

One by one, slowly, to give their eyes a chance to acclimatise, lights illuminated, revealing a huge cavern. As the light improved and details emerged out of the darkness, those waiting began to make out shapes and see that the cavern's walls were smooth and perpendicular. Huge pieces of machinery surrounded them and high above their heads, giant girders ran across the ceiling.

Something loomed in the lightening darkness. Spotlights in the walls, ceiling and floor spun around and picked it out, highlighting the characters stencilled on its flanks.

_Thunderbird 2_

She was raised up on her legs, her pod door was open, and the interior was lit by several spotlights. Across the pod's mouth was a banner: _Happy Birthday, Virgil_.

Astonished, Edna turned to her husband. "Is this what you've been hiding from me all these years?"

He grinned, as delighted as everyone else at the sight. "A bit of it. Although the only time I've seen her, briefly, was almost a year ago, at ACE."

Bruce was pointing out bits and pieces to the Crumps. "I helped with that; and that. And we'll be starting work on that section later. We'll have to get you to help before you leave."

Excited by the prospect, both the Crump's eyes were shining.

"I think it's time you were all given a tour," Jeff announced. "Shall we start with Thunderbird Two?"

Virgil turned to his father. "It was a long flight and I'm tired. Would you mind if I were to head up to my room?"

A slight frown creased Jeff's features. "Of course, you can. But don't you want to show off Thunderbird Two?"

Virgil yawned. "I'll have to relearn where everything is myself before I do that. Bruce can show her to everyone."

"Okay…" Bruce looked a trifle bemused by the honour. "Thanks."

"I'll come with you, Virg." Scott hefted both of Virgil's bags into his arms. "Only no one's to show anyone Thunderbird One until I'm back," he warned.

"Aw…" Gordon grinned. "Spoilsport."

Most of the group bustled one way, leaving Scott and Virgil to head off in the other.

It was a slow trip back to the villa; Virgil using his need to get reacquainted with everything as an excuse for his less than stellar speed.

Scott didn't care how long it took. He was just glad that his brother was at his side.

Finally, amazed at what he remembered and what he'd forgotten, Virgil stood outside the door with its musical motif inlay. He reached out to the controls and slid the door back.

He stepped inside.

It was literally like returning home again.

The room looked exactly as he remembered it. Captivated by the sight, Virgil breathed in and could smell the old familiar scents of mechanical engineering, oil paints, and the tang of the sea – all topped with a floral perfume that told him that someone, most likely Grandma, had been cleaning.

Scott dropped the smaller of the bags on a chair and placed the larger on the floor next to it. "Does it feel strange?"

"Yes." Virgil nodded. "Yes, it does."

"But good?"

Virgil shook his head. "Not good. Wonderful!"

Scott grinned.

Virgil unzipped the smaller bag and pulled out Ginny's solar flower. He placed it on his windowsill where it immediately started its joyful dance in the tropical sunshine.

"Do you need a hand with anything?"

"Unless you've been doing some major renovating, I think I remember where everything is."

Scott chuckled. "If you do need anything, you can get in touch with me?"

Virgil raised his arm and indicated his watch. "Not a problem."

"Don't sleep for too long. Grandma's got a special lunch planned."

"Okay."

Scott made as if he was going to leave. Then he stopped, turned back, and marched two steps over to his brother. Virgil barely had time to react before he found himself wrapped up in a bear hug.

At least ten seconds passed before Scott spoke. "It's good to have you home again."

"It's good to be home."

Letting go, Scott turned away. "I'll come back later," he promised as he headed for the door.

"Okay…" Virgil watched him go, sure that there had been a catch in his brother's voice and – was it even possible? – A tear in his eye.

Now that he was alone, Virgil examined his surroundings. He checked out the rooms that formed his suite and then regarded his bed.

He'd spent enough time in bed over the last twelve months.

Opening the sliding door that led out onto his balcony he stepped outside. A whole new vast vista of ocean, sands, and palm trees greeted him.

This was the best birthday present he could have hoped for.

A button on the exterior wall was covered by a protective flap and he lifted it clear and pressed it. An awning slowly extended out over the balcony, shading the area. He regarded its motion critically. It wasn't moving as smoothly as he remembered. He'd have to do some maintenance on it.

Tucking that little task away in the back of his mind for later, he wheeled a deckchair outside, before finally approaching his bed. But instead of lying down, he pulled his pillow free of the covers. Tucking it under his chin, he carried it outside, placed it on the head of the deckchair, and then sat down, slipping his crutches under the chair.

Finally, he could relax.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Virg… Virgil…?" Scott peered inside the room, seeing the unoccupied bed. "Are you still here, Virg?" He spied the door open to the sunshine and approached it.

Outside he found his brother stretched out on the deckchair, sound asleep.

Scott hesitated; wondering if he should waken the sleeping figure, but Virgil, as if he'd sensed the other's presence, saved him from the decision.

Seeing the brown eyes flutter open, Scott grinned down on him. "Hiya, Sleepyhead."

"Huh?" Virgil stared about him, taking a moment to get his bearings and remind himself that it wasn't a dream. "Oh… Hi."

Scott leant against the balcony railing. "Because someone needed to catch up on his nap time, we're having a late meal. You've got an hour if you want to do anything first."

"Where is everyone?"

"Grandma and Kyrano are finishing lunch. Bruce has got the Crumps doing some work on the Mole. Father's keeping the Mickelsons entertained. Alan and John have got their heads together with Brains and Tin-Tin. It's not that often that they're at the same altitude at the same time, so they're making the most of it. Lady Penelope and Parker are doing whatever it is that Lady Penelope and Parker do. And Gordon's giving Ginny some swimming lessons."

"Exercise." Virgil sat up and stretched, grimacing as stiff muscles resisted. "That sounds like a great idea."

"In the pool?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll get into my swimming gear and meet you back here."

Scott was as good as his word. He let the chefs know their plans, and then retired to his room where he donned his swimming trunks and a robe. Hanging clean and dry clothes over his arm he went in search of towels for the pair of them.

Then he returned to Virgil's room; barging in without knocking.

He found Virgil standing there: naked. A vision even more grotesque and stomach churning than he'd ever seen.

It wasn't the sight of his unclothed brother that he found shocking, he'd seen that more times than either of them could remember. It was the maze of scarlet arteries and blue veins that pulsed in the lower half of Virgil's torso and meandered down his legs and into his feet. It was the grey skin that seemed almost translucent. It was the memories.

Bad memories. Terrible memories. Memories even more horrific than what stood before him now.

Dropping his clothes and their towels, and ignoring Virgil's concerned: "Scott? Are you all right?" he made a dash for the cool, revitalising air of the balcony.

Virgil hesitated, hearing sounds of retching from outside. Then, figuring that a robe wasn't going to be enough to hide what had upset his brother, stepped into the loose-fitting, full-body swimsuit; sliding it up and over his arms until only his head and hands were visible. A tug at a cord and the full costume sucked in, clothing his body like a second skin. Only then did he put a robe on and pick up one of his crutches.

After a detour to the bathroom to get a moistened flannel and a rubbish tin, he finally went outside.

Scott was bent over the balcony railing. He barely reacted when Virgil placed the flannel over the back of his neck.

"There's a bucket here if you need it." Virgil put the rubbish tin down.

Scott nodded his thanks.

"I'm sorry. I would have been changed, except that I couldn't find my swimming gear in my bags." Virgil leant on the rail. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah…" Scott gulped. "I-I'm sorry, Virg. I-I…"

"It's okay."

Scott didn't look up from the plant he had fixed his attention on as his roiling stomach settled. "Does it hurt?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?"

"I've had it so long that it seems normal. It's like a continuous case of pins and needles. Most of the time it doesn't bother me. It's just there, like some kind of background noise."

Scott pulled the flannel from off his neck and buried his face into it.

"Sometimes it gets worse. They've given me painkillers for if it gets bad, but I try not to use them. I don't have to so often now."

Scott clenched his hands into fists, screwing up the flannel.

"Scott. I'm home. I'm home because I'm getting better. They wouldn't have released me from hospital if I wasn't. Look." Virgil held out both arms. "Look at my hands. If you didn't know, would you be able you tell which one had been injured?"

Scott steeled himself and turned to look at his brother.

"See?" Virgil showed the back of both hands and then flipped them both over to show the palms. "You wouldn't even know that anything had been wrong." He wriggled his fingers, the action of his left hand mirroring his right. "My legs are just taking longer because more tissue has to grow. One day we won't even know that anything was wrong with them either."

"It's…" Scott took a deep breath. "It's not that you look terrible…"

"Except I do. I know I do."

"It's that… I don't think I'd really realised how much they replaced. That, plus seeing it all reminded me of when it happened. How close we came to losing you. How helpless I felt."

"You weren't helpless. You, and John, and Gordon, and even Alan; you all kept me alive. I didn't think that was possible."

"You… You remember?"

Virgil looked down. "Bits. Straight after the 'quake. Not much after that until after I came out of the coma."

"I thought you didn't remember anything."

"I prefer not to remember anything."

"Yeah. Me too." Scott pulled himself together. "Do you want to go for that swim now?"

"Yes."

Scott plastered a grin on his face. "Good. Let's go." Picking up the rubbish tin, he looked around. "Where's your other crutch?"

Virgil started walking back into his room. "I had my hands full, so I only used the one."

"You can do that?" Scott tucked the rubbish tin inside the bathroom door and tossed the flannel into the laundry basket. "Remind me to get you another one."

Virgil picked his other crutch up from where it was propped against the bed. "So long as I'm not planning on doing it for too long. The idea is to use both legs evenly and not twist my spine. Part of that was replaced too, remember."

Scott remembered.

After gathering together their towels, they made their way down to the pool, Scott making a conscious effort to slow his speed to match his brother's. Once they were there, Virgil handed over his crutches and robe, and grasped the handles of the ladder that led into the pool.

"Need a hand?"

"No. I'm fine thanks." Virgil descended cautiously towards the water.

Scott watched him. Then he placed everything in his arms onto a nearby deckchair. But rather than joining his brothers and Ginny in the pool, he sat on the edge and watched.

"Looks like someone's joined us, Ginny," Gordon said to his pupil. "Shall we show him how good you can swim?" He towed her to the side of the pool. "Show Uncle Virgil that you can swim from this side to that one."

"Look at me, Uncle Virgil," Ginny instructed.

Virgil laughed. "I'm looking."

The little girl, her water wings keeping her afloat, splashed her way with plenty of speed and not much finesse, from one tiled wall to the other.

Virgil applauded her efforts. "Do you think I can make it from this wall to that far one, Virginia?" He pointed the length of the pool.

"Yes."

"Shall I give it a go?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, then." With a little more finesse and not much more speed, Virgil swam the length of the pool and back, Gordon keeping a wary, but not too obvious, eye on his progress.

"Show me what else you can do," Virgil instructed, when he'd reached his honorary niece's side.

Ginny, glad to be able to show off for her favourite uncle in a place well away from the smelly hospital where he'd been forever, willingly obeyed.

After sticking close by to ensure that neither of his charges were getting into any difficulties, Gordon pulled himself out of the water and sat next to his eldest brother. "You're quiet."

"Am I?"

Gordon lowered his voice, so it couldn't be heard by those in the pool. "I thought I heard someone being sick before. I would have gone to see if I could help, but I couldn't leave Ginny alone and I didn't want to take her with me."

"That was me," Scott admitted. "I walked in on Virgil while he was getting changed. I saw his body."

"Maybe that'll teach you to stop barging in on us without knocking."

Scott managed a small grin. "Pot. Kettle. Black."

Gordon chuckled. "I thought his skin would have almost healed by now. It hasn't?"

"No. It's kind of grey. And I could see all the arteries and veins. I could even see the blood moving through them. Remember what his hand was like at Christmas after he'd played the piano? It was like that, only worse because there was more of it."

"His hand's better, so I thought the rest of him would be almost healed by now," Gordon admitted. "I thought he'd only have to concentrate on getting his muscle tone and strength back. Although, if I think about it, when I last saw his legs they still had a long way to go."

"You've seen them?"

"On my birthday, when he had the withdrawal symptoms. He kept on throwing the bedclothes back, so he could make a dash for the door."

"It was probably worse then, which, when you consider what I've just seen, must have been horrific."

"I tried not to look. I was too busy trying to keep him in bed and avoiding getting hit."

"I saw everything. I hadn't realised how much they had to replace. Either that or I'd made myself forget."

"How much?"

Scott held his hand by the base of his rib cage. "There down."

"Ouch. No wonder the hospital was so reluctant to release him."

"If Brains didn't live here and hadn't had so much to do with his recovery, they probably wouldn't've."

Gordon looked down to where his brother and Ginny were attempting backstroke. "I'm glad we've got him home today. It's like a huge birthday present for all of us."

"Just so long as _we_ don't get too excited. Judging by what I saw, it'll be a long time before he'll be able to go out on rescues again."

"At least he's home. It's another step." Gordon nudged his brother. "Are you going to have a swim, or have you dressed like that to show us what a playboy you are?"

Scott grinned. "Well, if you are one, you may as well look the part." He slipped into the pool.

Chuckling, Gordon checked his watch, which he'd tethered to the ladder. "It's nearly lunchtime. If you guys want to be dried and dressed by the time the rest of us start to eat, it's time to get out." Kneeling by the side of the pool, he held out his hands. "Come on, Ginny."

She pouted. "Do I haveta?"

"Yes, you do," a voice said from behind Gordon's shoulder. He looked back to see Lisa, Butch, and Bruce standing there. "It's lunchtime," Lisa concluded.

"Come on, Ginny." Scott swam closer. "Uncle Gordon and I can launch you out of the pool like a rocket. Would you like that?"

"Uh, huh." Ginny nodded.

"Okay then. Have you got hold of Uncle Gordon's hands?"

"Yep."

Scott placed his hands on either side of her body. "Are you going to help us count down to launch?"

Ginny nodded again.

"Good." Scott began counting. "Five…"

Everyone joined in Ginny's countdown. "Four… Three… Two… One…"

"Lift off!" Scott thrust Ginny, squealing in delight, out of the pool as Gordon pulled her up through the air and onto dry land where Lisa wrapped her daughter up in a warm towel and carried her, giggling, to one of the nearby changing rooms.

Scott felt someone tap him on his shoulder. "Are you going to do that for me too?"

His eyes twinkled at his brother. "If you really want, Virg."

"Nope. Just make sure I don't fall off the ladder. I can usually make it without help, but I haven't got full upper body strength yet."

"Okay…" Keeping a hand ready, but not touching his brother's back, Scott supervised the slow, ponderous climb out of the pool.

Gordon was waiting with Virgil's crutches. "Do you want to get changed in the changing rooms, or head back up to your room?"

"My room," Virgil stated. "Not that there's any more privacy there."

-F-A-B-

Lunch was the festive occasion that everyone had expected; dreamed; hoped it would be.

"Would you like some more pie, Virgil?" Grandma asked, a broad smile at his obvious pleasure lighting up her entire face.

At the sight of yet more of that golden pie, Virgil hesitated. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't eat too much and that he'd tried to take this meal slowly, but the smells and tastes had overwhelmed him, and he hadn't been able to stop himself from enjoying every morsel on offer. His taste buds and olfactory senses were saying _yes! I want more pie_, while his stomach was waving the white flag. Deciding that his stomach was the voice of reason, and that there was still enough on his plate to keep his nose and mouth happy, he grimaced. "I'd love to Grandma, but I guess I'd better not."

She nodded her understanding. "I'll save it for later."

Pleased by the compromise, Virgil beamed at her.

Tapping his knife against his glass, Hamish Mickelson got to his feet. "I'm not one for making speeches…"

Jeff grinned. "Can I remind you of that at our next board meeting?"

Bruce chuckled. "And at ACE's monthly Monday morning meetings."

Hamish smiled. "This might not be exactly the right time," he began, "but as this is the first time that everyone's been present," he smiled at Virgil, "it's the best opportunity there's been for any of us to speak on behalf of everyone at ACE – and especially those seated at this table. I would like to thank each and every member of International Rescue for what you did for us a year ago." He looked slowly around the group, making sure that he held each Tracy, and their extended family's, eye. "Without your courage, your selfless generosity, your intellect, and your sacrifices, the world would be a poorer place. I don't know how many lives you've saved; how many family and friends have been reunited; how many people are happy and healthy because of your actions; but I do know that that it's because of those actions that the ACE team didn't suffer any major loss. On behalf of every person who has been touched by International Rescue," he raised his glass, "I would like to say thank you."

"I'll second that," raising his own glass, Bruce got to his feet, closely followed by Edna, Lisa, and Butch. "To International Rescue!"

"International Rescue!"

"'Nashnal Rescue," Ginny chimed, raising her mug – although she wasn't sure why she was doing it.

Once his friends had regained their seats, it was Jeff's turn to stand. "If you're giving thanks for International Rescue's work," he began, "then you are to include yourself, and ACE, as well. If it hadn't been for your management, Hamish, and your team's workmanship," he turned to the others and grinned, "even though you may not have been aware of it at the time, International Rescue, quite literally, could not have got off the ground. And so, we would like to raise our glasses to you."

"I'll second that," Scott, Gordon, John, Alan, and Virgil chorused, and all laughed at the synchronicity of their speech.

Edna gave a pretend pout. "I feel quite left out. I've done nothing for International Rescue."

"You know the saying, Edna," Jeff grinned. "Behind every great man…"

"There's a woman wondering what happened," Grandma concluded, to everyone's laughter.

Jeff continued. "And since we've started the speeches already, and because today's such a momentous day, I can't let it pass without saying something. I don't need to remind anyone here that it's been a long, and sometimes hard, year for us all. But, finally, we are beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel. A year ago, there was a disaster that could have meant the end of so much. And in some respects, it has meant the end. But it is also the beginning. Now we're about to embark on a new journey. One with new environments, new family, new members of International Rescue…"

"New legs, new fingers," Alan interjected.

"And a new stomach that's wondering what's hit it." John winked at his brother.

Virgil laughed along with the rest of his family and friends. "It's learning what _real_ food tastes like."

"And finally," Jeff concluded, when the laughter had died down, "I need to say what I know I don't need to say. Today's a momentous occasion for the Tracy family, and we are privileged that our friends are here to share it with us. This is a day that we've waited a year for and that I, to be honest, can't quite believe has finally arrived." He smiled at his middle son. "Welcome home, Virgil. Happy birthday."

Everyone raised their glasses. "Happy birthday, Virgil."

"Thanks." When the clanking of glasses had settled down and his father had reclaimed his seat, Virgil placed both hands on the table. "My turn… And since I've been given the chance to stand on my own two feet, I'm going to do it." He stood.

"I'm even less cut out for making speeches," he admitted, "But, first of all, I'd like to apologise for all the stress and distress that I put you through... I know, I know..." he continued when several protests were heard. "It wasn't my fault. But I am still hugely sorry for what you all had to deal with... I think in some ways I had it easy. While you had to deal with everything else, all I had to do was lie back..."

"Situation normal," Alan quipped.

Virgil ignored him. "...and get better. I want to thank you all, each and every one of you, for the support, and care, and, erm," he looked embarrassed, "love that you've shown me over the past year. I know it hasn't always been easy for you. You've had to deal with your own circumstances as well make endless visits to the hospital while trying to think of new and interesting things to talk to me about. I've become an expert on Bearston's weather, even though I didn't get to see much of it."

The group chuckled.

Virgil's smile faded, and he became serious. "A year ago, I was convinced that when I left the furnace room, I wouldn't be leaving it alive. It was the International Rescue team... you guys…" He looked between his brothers. "...keeping the faith, that kept me alive. If it wasn't for you, the best brothers a guy could hope for, I wouldn't be here now. So, Scott…"

Smiling, Scott raised his glass.

"John…Gordon…" Virgil made sure that he held each brothers' eye. "And Alan… Thank you for not giving up. For not giving up on me and not letting me give up."

"Never, Virgil," John told him.

"Giving up wasn't an option," Alan added.

"Thanks for always being there for a quiet word..." Virgil placed his hand on Gordon's shoulder. "...or a laugh. And thank you for not walking out on me." He looked down at his brother. "Even though there must have been times when it would have tempting."

Gordon patted him on the hand. "Just returning the favour."

Virgil fixed his attention on the far end of the table. "Bruce and Butch – and Mr Watts, even though he's not here. – Thank you for sticking by me when it would have been so much easier and more comfortable for you to leave me and save yourselves."

"After the number of times you laid your neck on the line for us," Bruce told his friend, "the idea of deserting you didn't even cross our minds."

"Yeah." Butch agreed. "We owed ya." He took Lisa's hand and gave his wife a loving smile. "An' we still ain' paid ya back."

"Thanks… Unc…" Virgil saw the wry smile and grinned. "Hamish: Thank you for caring enough about my family to put yourself at risk. Although I think you were probably in greater danger from Edna afterwards when you told her that you'd done something foolhardy just to rescue a few computer files."

Edna glared at her husband. "You've got that right."

"And thank you, Edna, for not being afraid to sit with me when I needed nothing more than a friendly face and a caring touch to tell me that it was going to be all right and that I would get through it."

She gave a gracious nod.

"Tin-Tin, Kyrano, Lady Penelope, Parker… Thank you for all the times you visited. Thank you for all you did behind the scenes. I know that without your quiet and active support my family couldn't have coped as well as they did…. And, from what I understand, if it hadn't been for your fighting skills they may well have ended up in the rooms next to mine."

There was a chuckle from the group.

"Virginia…" The little girl giggled. "…and Lisa. Thank you for your regular visits and making dreary days when I was trapped in the hospital room so much brighter. And thank you for being loyal, not only to me, but to International Rescue."

Lisa smiled at her friend.

"Grandma… Thank you for just being Grandma. I don't know if any of us would have survived without you always being there; being the rock of the family. And thank you for this fantastic meal. I probably should go back to the hospital just to recover from it."

Everyone laughed.

"Brains… I know we've often said that we're thankful for your intellect; if it wasn't for you International Rescue would have only been a dream; but, and I don't know how many times this has been said, but it's still worth repeating, I'm thankful – we're all thankful – that you had the knowledge, and contacts, and tenacity, to give me back my life. Thank you."

There was a general chorus of "Hear, hear," and Jeff Tracy patted the blushing scientist on the back.

"And finally…" Virgil smiled at his father. "Dad... I suppose that, first of all, I should state that I am thankful that you've got a money-making brain in that head of yours, else there's no way I'd be standing here." There was a light chuckle from the head of the table. "But, more than that: thank you for always doing what you felt was right for me, even though there must have been times when you must have wondered if you were making things worse. Thank you for sticking to your guns and not giving up on me. Thank you for always being there. And, I suppose most of all, thank you for being my father."

Jeff cleared his throat and sipped at his drink.

Virgil opened his hands to encompass everyone sitting in front of him. "I don't think any of you realise how much your support has meant to me. There've been many times when I was ready to throw in the towel, but you've kept me going. You reminded me that I had to get well not only for my own sake, but because others – you – were counting on me. You were my support team when I was on a solo mission; one was a little more drawn out than most, but one I think it was just as important as any I'd been on previously."

"That's what we kept on telling ourselves, Virg," Scott told him, "when we were trying to decide whether to stop the traditional surgical options and authorise this new treatment. We kept on asking ourselves what you'd want, and we decided that you'd treat it like just another rescue."

Virgil smiled at him. "I'm glad that you did. And..." He took a deep breath. "It's because of your support, and help, and love that that I think I should tell you that…" He hesitated. "That I…" He looked around the group, seeing a sea of smiling faces and one slight frown. "I…" He swallowed, overcome by an unaccustomed emotion. "That I think I'd better sit down before I embarrass myself."

He sat down.

A raucous, earthy noise, similar to a raspberry, filled the dining room.

Ignoring Ginny's hysterical laughter at the uncouth sound, Virgil scowled at the brother next to him and pulled out the red balloon-like object that he'd sat on. "Gordon!"

"It's been a year," Gordon treated him to his famous, impish grin, "so I thought you would appreciate being reminded what it's like to be home."

John looked across the table to Scott. "Does that count?"

Scott nodded. "That counts." He stood. "C'mon, Alan."

"Right."

Everyone else looked on in bemused interest as the two eldest Tracys grabbed their second-youngest brother under his arms while the youngest pulled his chair free.

"Fellas…" Gordon protested.

"You were warned, Gordon," Scott reminded him.

"I know. But…" The prankster, declaring that it was only a bit of fun and they shouldn't be getting too serious over it, was dragged out of the room.

Virgil looked once again at the faces before him, seeing nothing but confused stares.

Bruce, after four months of living and working with the Tracys was clearly used to such shenanigans, because after an _I don't know_ shrug, he poured himself another drink.

But no one said anything.

Finally, a full five minutes later, Scott, John, and Alan returned, reclaimed their seats, and carried on as if nothing had happened; Scott going so far as to help himself to more fruit salad and ice cream.

"Boys…" Jeff began cautiously. "What have you done with your brother?"

Scott swallowed his latest mouthful. "We warned him that if he did anything to disrupt Virgil's homecoming, then there'd be consequences... There were consequences." He scooped another spoonful of fruit into his mouth and munched happily.

"And where…" Jeff had that patient tone that said that he was resigned to his son's antics. "…have you taken him?"

John shrugged. "Just somewhere where he can cool off and consider what he's done." Alan snorted a laugh.

Jeff gave up. He switched on his wristwatch telecom. "Gordon?"

"Hi, Dad," his auburn-haired son said brightly.

Even through the small video screen, Jeff could see that the younger man's shoulders were hunched up by his ears. "Where are you?"

"Oh, you know… I'm just hanging around… Chillin'."

"Hanging around where?"

"A cool place."

"We've nearly finished lunch and your brothers have made their point. Can you come back?"

"I'd love to, but I've got to deal with the 'consequences of my actions'."

Wondering which of his boys had made that statement, Jeff looked over the dial of his watch to his youngest son. "Alan. Where is Gordon?"

"Oh…" Alan glanced across at his two eldest brothers. "It's like he said… He's… erm… hanging around in a… ah… cool place."

"And that place is?" Jeff rumbled. "And I want the exact location."

Seeing Alan's second, pleading glance, Scott gave a small nod of approval. "The climatic control room."

Even Bruce seemed confused.

Butch looked at the members of International Rescue. "What' tha'?"

"It's where we test our equipment to see how it holds up against extreme temperatures," John explained.

"And how extreme is the temperature?" Jeff enquired.

John shrugged. "Ten degrees C."

"Ten!"

"We're not going to leave him there too long," Scott clarified. "If he'd done it right at the beginning of lunch we would have strung him up at room temperature…"

"Strung him up!?"

"He's wearing a harness and he's hanging on a hook, so he can't go anywhere. We did warn him that if he did anything to disrupt Virg's birthday, then that's the punishment he'd get. The earlier the misdeed, the longer he was going to be left hanging, but the warmer he'd be."

"If he'd done anything when we first sat down to eat," John elaborated, "he'd be in there for the full meal, but the room would be set to room temperature. For each ten minutes that we made it through lunch without him disrupting anything, the temperature was going to be dialled down a degree. He didn't do anything until near the end of lunch, so he's getting a short, sharp punishment."

"It's his own fault," Alan piped up. "We warned him."

"We warned you too," John reminded him.

Gordon's sometime partner-in-crime pouted. "I wouldn't! Honest, Virg! Not today!"

Jeff gave a sigh, as exasperated by the jailers' actions as that of the miscreant. "I'm sure that Virgil would rather share his birthday with all of his brothers and not just some of you."

"Dad…"

"Go and get Gordon."

Realising that to protest would cast a black cloud over an otherwise glorious day, and after another nod of approval from Scott, his three sons left the room.

There was a brief silence. And then...

Virgil couldn't help it. He'd been trying to hold it in throughout the entire escapade, but couldn't contain it any longer.

He began to laugh.

His laughter was infectious and soon everyone at the table was joining in. Even Jeff couldn't stop himself.

It wasn't until the four siblings had returned that those at the table had managed to get their faces back under control.

Gordon reclaimed his seat as calmly as if being suspended in a chilly room by his brothers was something that happened every day. Which, the Mickelsons surmised, was entirely probable.

"How're you feeling, Virg?" Scott asked. "Need another nap?"

"Nope. I'm feeling wide awake."

"Good. Every birthday party needs party games, so it's hoverbike races down the runway in half an hour. That should be long enough for Gordon to finish the dishes."

Gordon, perhaps theorising that he was getting off lightly, offered no complaint.

"Hoverbike?" Lisa asked. "What's that?"

"You're going to love them," Bruce beamed. "I've only used one for getting through the complex, but they're a blast."

Collecting his plates together, Scott stood. "Everyone, including Gordon, meet up at the hangar in half an hour. No exceptions."

Stuck for something to do for that half hour and more than happy to leave Gordon to his dishes, Virgil wandered out onto the balcony that jutted out from the lounge. He was joined in the sun by Bruce.

Leaning on the railing, Virgil groaned. "I think I've eaten too much…" He grinned. "But it was worth it."

Bruce chuckled. "I reckon your grandmother was trying to build you back up in one session. Either that or you were trying to make up for a year's worth of missed meals."

"I think I was."

After another chuckle, Bruce became serious. He looked out over the golden sandy beach that stretched before them. "You were going to tell them, weren't you?"

"Yes." Virgil gave a slow nod. "But I know how happy they all are… How happy _I_ am… And I couldn't do it. Not today."

"So, nothing's changed?"

"No. If anyth…"

"Is this where you boys are?"

Bruce and Virgil turned and smiled at Lisa and Butch.

Bruce jerked his thumb at the man by his side. "He's trying to get his second wind after that meal."

"I'm not surprised, after all you had to eat." Lisa slipped her arm through Virgil's. "Happy to be home?"

"I'll say. I almost can't believe it. I keep pinching my arm to make sure I'm not dreaming." Virgil laughed. "I may have to get a new one."

Lisa laughed along with him. "So, you're having a happy birthday?"

"It's the best one I've ever had. And having you guys here has made it doubly special. Where's Virginia?"

"I put her down for a short nap."

"How long are you all staying for?"

Butch beamed. "Coupla days. Mr T said we could work on th' Thunderbirds."

"We wanted to catch the pair of you while we had a moment," Lisa admitted. "We have something to tell you." She nudged her husband. "Go on, Butch."

"Guess wha'."

Willing to go along with the game, Bruce and Virgil chorused the expected: "What?"

The big man blushed, and a broad smile spread across his face. "We' gonna have 'nother baby."

Virgil was delighted by the news and, judging by his face, so was Bruce. "That's fantastic! Congratulations!"

"And, Bruce," Lisa continued, "because you've done so much for our family, including keeping me alive, we want to name the baby after you."

Much to Virgil's amusement, Bruce's jaw dropped. "After me?" he squeaked.

"Yes, but we know it could be confusing if it's a boy and our son's got the same name as our friend, so we thought we'd give him your middle name."

Bruce's voice still hadn't found the right pitch. "Middle name? NO!" He cleared his throat. "You don't want to inflict that on some poor kid."

"We'll be the judge of that."

"No." Bruce shook his head frantically. "You can't do it."

"Why? What is it?"

"Erm…" Bruce turned bright red. "Windsor."

Virgil stared at him. "Windsor?"

"Mum's a bit of a royalist."

"Windsa…" Butch mulled the name over for a bit. "I like i'."

Bruce's squeak came back. "You do?"

"We do," Lisa told him.

"And if she's a girl?" Virgil asked. "I can't think of any feminine forms of Bruce or Windsor."

"I met a woman called Wyndsor once," Bruce admitted. "I remembered her for obvious reasons, but I think she spelt it with a Y instead of an I."

"Sorted." Lisa gave an emphatic head nod. "Then he, or she, will be called Windsor; maybe with a Y."

"When are you going to tell everyone?" Virgil asked.

"We were thinking of doing it at dinner tonight," Lisa told him. "Unless you don't want us to steal your thunder and would rather that we left it till another day."

"Don't be silly. It's a day of celebrations," Virgil reminded her. "And one more will make it even more special. Besides… Everyone's going to be wondering why he's floating around on cloud nine." He indicated Bruce with the arm that wasn't being held fast by Lisa.

"Thank you. Now…" She tightened her grip. "Tell us about these hoverbikes. Are they dangerous?"

"They're not, but the situations they've been used in have been."

"Don't worry, Lisa," Bruce reassured her. "There won't be any issues for someone in your condition. You'll love it. And it'll mean that he," he indicated Virgil again, "will be able to compete on an equal footing – pun intended."

Butch looked at his watch. "When we gotta be at th' hangar?"

Virgil pushed himself off the balcony railing and stabilised himself on his crutches. "If I start moving now, I might get there on time." He led the way back into the house. "We'll take a monocar."

"I'll get Ginny," Lisa said. "Will you get us all a jacket, Butch?"

"Sure. Catcha soon. Meetcha both back at th' monorail, Guys."

"See ya soon." As the Crumps hurried away, Bruce and Virgil followed at a slower pace.

Bruce shook his head. "The poor kid."

Virgil chuckled. "Feels good though, doesn't it?"

At once Bruce brightened. "I feel like it's _my_ birthday and I've been given the best gift ever."

And Virgil knew what he meant.

_To be continued…_


	58. Chapter 58

The four friends and Ginny, still dozy after her nap, met at the monorail and settled in one of the red cars. Bruce pressed the button that read _Hangar_ and, with a brief jolt, the car moved forward.

"Bruce showed us Thunderbird Two," Lisa enthused as they moved through the complex. "She's amazing!"

"A engineerin' marvel," Butch expounded.

"Yes," Virgil admitted. "She is."

"Gordon said you were her pilot."

"I was. That's his job now." Virgil watched in consternation as Lisa's face suddenly crumpled into tears. "Lisa...? What's wrong?"

"I-I…" Lisa sniffed, "just realised that what happened to you is my fault."

"Your fault?" Virgil stared at her. "I know you're stronger than you look, but I doubt that even you could create an earthquake."

"It's hormon's," Butch hypothesised. "They wen' a bi' crazy wi' Ginny too." He smiled down on his daughter napping in his arms.

"It's not!" Lisa scolded, and then sniffed again. "I-If I'd known that you were a member of International Rescue, Virgil, I never would have suggested to Mr Mickelson that he call you in. Then maybe you wouldn't have been hurt."

"And maybe Butch, and Bruce, and Mr Watts, and Olivia, and Winston would have died. This is a small sacrifice to pay for knowing that they're all okay."

"Small? You've l-lost a year of your life."

"That wasn't your fault." Shuffling forward on his seat, Virgil reached across and held her hand. "In the original plan I wasn't even going to go anywhere near that building. I was going to stay well away from anyone connected to ACE in case they recognised me. I spent most of that rescue cooling my heels on Thunderbird Two's flight deck and wishing I could get outside and do more. Up till that point the only rescuing I'd done was flying Virginia and her friends to safety. At the last minute, the decision was made that, because I had more experience driving the Firefly than he did, that I'd go in instead of Gordon. We don't know what would have happened if we'd stuck with our original plan. Maybe the building would have collapsed, killing everyone inside. Or, more likely, Gordon would have been as successful breaking in as I was, but it could have been him who spent the last year in hospital. And, who knows; with his medical history, maybe he would have had less chance of surviving than I did. Or maybe he would have been that little bit closer to the furnace when it collapsed and been killed instantly. We don't know. But if there's one thing I've learned when I worked at ACE, and had reinforced many times since then, it's that there are no guarantees. There are times when luck plays as much a part in your survival as planning and fancy equipment. And if you're not prepared to take that risk, then you shouldn't be a member of International Rescue."

The monorail glided to a stop.

All three men were surprised when Lisa suddenly lurched forward, wrapping her arms about Virgil's neck. "Thank you for being prepared to take that risk. I might have lost Butch if it wasn't for you."

The monorail's doors slid open. Various Tracys and their friends stared at the sight of Lisa Crump embracing a man who wasn't her husband.

With an embarrassed clearing of his throat, Virgil sat back up as Lisa looked away and tried to surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

"Where are those hoverbikes?" To divert attention away from his friends and give them a chance to compose themselves, Bruce pushed his way between them and out of the car's door. "How's this race going to work, Scott? Head-to-head or teams? I'm looking forward to it."

"Head-to-head knock out rounds." With a mental note to ask a few questions later, Scott pulled himself together. "Come outside and I'll show you." He pointed to a hoverbike. "Do you want to ride that out, Virg?"

Those who had never seen a hoverbike before stared at it. It appeared to be a large Victorian flat iron, and seemed to be just as resistant to gravity as the garment press.

More than pleased with the suggestion, Virgil, with some stabilising support from his brothers, climbed on board. After a quick check to reassure himself that he hadn't forgotten how it worked, he turned on the ignition.

There were gasps as the hoverbike levitated off the ground and then hummed its way outside.

Settling his vehicle down on the runway's apron next to four others, Virgil waited for everyone else to catch up. "Now what?"

Edna examined the controls. "How do they work?"

What followed was a brief lesson on the fine art of controlling a hoverbike – Ginny scoring several rides in the process, before, satisfied that the competitors had enough knowledge to at least be competitive, everyone claimed a seat in an arc of chairs facing the course. Thinking it was simpler and more dignified than relying on help, Virgil stayed on his hoverbike.

Scott stepped up to the front of the semicircle of chairs. "Okay, Virgil, you can demonstrate the course." He handed his brother a helmet adorned with the International Rescue logo. "It's down the runway, through the slalom…" He indicated five cones laid out equidistant apart. "…around the end mark, back through the slalom, and then floor it for home. Got that?"

Thinking that the mother hen was in his element, Virgil did up the helmet under his chin. "It's not rocket science."

Laughing, Scott clapped him on the back. "Then can you line your 'bike up with the start? I've taped reflectors to the front of each of them. When the reflector returns the beam from those beamers," he pointed to a pair of objects set up at each end of the start/finish line, that means the 'bike has crossed the line." He supervised Virgil's placement of his hoverbike, so that the light on the top of a "beamer" lit up.

"Now, before you begin…" Scott turned back to the assembled competitors. "Every serious race needs an official starter. And so… I would like to present… The best-looking woman on Tracy Island…!" He swept his hand in the direction of the hangar and his eyes grew round. "Grandma?!"

Everyone turned to see what had stunned him.

Standing there, in the exaggerated pose of a glamour queen, was Mrs Tracy. Her grey hair hung in curls around her face, which was heavily made up with scarlet lipstick and equally bold eyeshadow and mascara.

But it wasn't that that had shocked her eldest grandson and those about him.

Her upper torso was clad in little more than a halter top, offering the odd hint of loose skin and a belly button, whilst her lower half was covered by a pair of silver lamé shorts over a pair of fishnet stockings. To finish off the look, she was teetering on glittering silver stiletto-heeled shoes.

There were two reactions to her ensemble. Those not related cheered, applauded and wolf-whistled to the accompaniment of "You go, girl!", whilst her relatives were horrified, mortified, and wondering if they could ever erase the image from their mind's eye or if they were scarred for life.

"Mother!" Jeff exclaimed. "What _are_ you wearing?"

She sashayed forward through the gap in the semicircle. "The track girls at Alan's races always wore something skimpy, so I whipped this little number up on the sewing machine and dug these shoes out of the closet. What do you think?" After a twirl, she posed again.

Jeff stared at the slim, tall, glittering heels. "Who did you steal them from?"

"Steal? They're mine."

"They're yours?!"

Grandma batted her eyes coquettishly. "I used to wear them when your father and I went night-clubbing."

Jeff turned away. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Don't listen to him, Dear," Edna called. "You look wonderful. I love the fishnets."

"Fishnets?" Grandma looked down at her legs. "Oh! You mean my varicose veins."

"Grandma!" Pretending to retch, it was Gordon's turn to turn away.

"Whoops, they're slipping." With a shimmy, Grandma hitched up her bra strap. "I don't think even Thunderbird Two's grabs could support these puppies."

"Mother!"

"Grandma!" John chorused with his brothers, adding: "We have young, impressionable minds present, remember!" He placed his hands over Alan's ears.

Alan shook him free.

Bruce laughed. "I think the competition has just got a lot more even."

Grandma winked at him. Then she reached into a box and withdrew a square of yellow cloth. "Where do you want me, Scott?"

Scott resisted the temptation to say _inside where I can't see you._ "Here, Grandma. Next to the nose of the hoverbikes. Then the pilots can see you when you start them off."

"Here?" Grandma took up position. She held her yellow flag high. "Ready, Virgil?"

"Ready," he responded, secretly thankful that at least he had the opportunity to get well away from the vision beside him.

"On your marks… Get set… Go!" Grandma dropped her arm and Virgil opened up the hoverbike's throttle.

It was exhilarating. At first he took it relatively slow, getting used to the feel of the vehicle beneath him, but by the time he'd reached the beginning of the slalom he was feeling at one with the machine.

He threaded his way through the markers, keeping close to each of them, but without nudging a single one. He was revelling in the freedom of movement; free of pain and stiffness.

He reached the end of the outward leg. Pointing the nose of the hoverbike at the marker, he leant into the turn and swung the 'bike's tail out and around until he was facing the return course.

"Virgil Tracy!" Alan cheered over the yells and applause, as his brother set off on the return leg. "The drifting champion!"

"B-But," Brains stuttered, astounded by what he'd seen. "Hoverbikes aren't designed to drift."

"Trust me, Brains," Scott told him after a: _Way to go, Virg!_ "When the side of a building or a cliff face is about to crush you, you learn to drift in a mighty hurry."

Virgil completed the course with a flourish and accepted the congratulations and high fives from his audience. "That was fun." He massaged his left hand.

Jeff noticed. "Are you all right?"

Almost surprised by the unconscious action, Virgil looked at his hand. "Fine. It's just not used to hanging on to something so tightly."

"I was going to have you compete in the first race." Scott looked worried. "But we can wait if you'd like."

"I'm fine," Virgil insisted. "Who's going to race against me?"

Scott turned to a large computer screen set up against the cliff face. At the top were two names. _Virgil_ and _Scott_. "Me."

"Then you'd better get ready. 'Cos you're wasting time." Virgil manoeuvred his hoverbike to the start line and waited for Scott to line up the second 'bike.

"Just a minute…" Scott turned to the Crumps. "I'm going to need a co-pilot. Do you want to race with me, Ginny?"

Ginny was up and out of her seat before her parents had a chance to react.

Scott picked her up and put her on the carrier, so her back was resting against the back of his seat, and buckled her in. "You've got to wear a helmet too," he insisted, assisting her into a smaller version of Virgil's. "All right?"

Ginny gave a head nod that sent her helmet slipping down towards her nose.

Scott laughed. "I think you need a smaller model." He pulled another out of a box. "How does that feel?" He knocked on the little girl's helmet. "All set?"

There was the nod again, but this time without the associated helmet slipping.

Scott put his own helmet on and then, standing behind Ginny, made some signals to John.

John nodded and held up his watch arm.

"What was that all about?" Lisa asked.

"Scott asked me to let him know if she's not happy," John explained. "You know her better than I do, so you can tell me, and I'll get Scott to stop."

"You won't have to worry 'bout tha'," Butch told him. "She'll love it. Takes afta her ol' man."

Scott slid into the pilot's seat. "Okay, Grandma, give us the countdown."

She leant to her left, closer to Scott. "Are you trying to handicap yourself?"

He shrugged. "It is his birthday."

"Good boy." In addition to the yellow flag Grandma now also held one that was pale blue and another that was brightly patterned with dozens of little rabbits. "See, Ginny. I've got one with Mr Bunny on, just for you."

Ginny clapped in delight.

Leaving the yellow flag in her right hand, Grandma shifted the other two into her left. "This reminds me of when I was young, carefree, and I used to go to Union Road with the boys when we went drag racing against Kyle Phillip," she admitted.

"Drag racing?" Her son looked at her warily. "Down Union Road? But that's a public highway."

"That's right."

"But that was illegal! Kyle Phillip became the county sheriff."

She dimpled at him. "I know. It was such a thrill." She raised the flags high. "Ready, Boys?" She winked at Ginny. "And girl."

"Ready."

"Ready."

"Weady."

"Go!" Grandma dropped both flags.

The hoverbikes leapt away from the start line. They reached the slalom at the same time and remained neck and neck until they came to the marker that denoted the turn for home.

Scott, unwilling to chance drifting around the turn as Virgil had done while he had a passenger, turned the corner in the conventional manner. Virgil, knowing that Scott would be unwilling to risk Ginny's wellbeing, also took the corner more slowly, but was less reticent about gunning it for the return trip home.

He crossed the finish line a full second in front of this brother and to cheers and the waving of his yellow flag. "Thanks for the good race," he shook Scott's hand.

"Ah, well. I'll do better next time."

Virgil grinned and rubbed his hands together. "I know you will."

"Here you are, Ginny. This is a prize for coming second." Grandma tied her "Mr Bunny" flag around the little girl's neck. "And one for you." She gave the pale blue flag to Scott before taping Virgil's yellow one to the side of the computer screen next to his name. "Who's next?"

"Let's see." Free now to concentrate on organising the race, Scott shifted Virgil's name on the computer to the first of two empty fields together in the next column. He then clicked on the fields below his name. "It's our two world champions; Alan and Gordon!"

Both Scott and Virgil's hoverbikes were moved clear, Virgil parking his in the centre of the semicircle so that he could watch the action. When, after some good-natured bickering and banter, Alan's and Gordon's bikes were perfectly aligned and they had their helmets on, they waited for their grandmother to start the race.

White and orange flags were held high. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Ready."

"Go!"

This race was just as evenly matched and nail-biting as the first; with both riders showing off their expertise at drifting around the top mark in a synchronised display of daredevilry, before setting off at top speed to the finish.

"Come on, Alan!"

"You can do it, Gordon!"

"Pretend it's Thunderbird Three!"

"Show 'im that he's not the fastest one on land!"

"C'mon, Uncle Gordon! C'mon, Uncle Alan!"

Pure determination showing on both their faces in their desire not to lose, Alan and Gordon leant into their joystick controllers and urged their mounts across the finish line.

There was a groan as everyone realised that it was a photo-finish. They waited for Scott's ruling on who won.

Sliding his pale blue bandana around until the knot was at the front, he checked the computer to see whose beam had been broken first. Wandering across to his grandmother, he whispered something into her ear. She gave a serious nod of understanding and he backed clear.

Grandma examined her orange and white flags before thrusting the citrus-coloured one at her elder grandson.

With a: "Yes!" Alan raised his hands in victory.

Accepting defeat, Gordon looked at the scrap of cloth in his hands, shrugged, and tied it over his head like a headscarf.

Grandma taped Alan's white flag next to his name on the screen. "I'll be back in a minute," she said, as the replacement hoverbikes were shifted to the start line. "These shoes are killing me."

She was back in her sensible flat shoes in time for Scott to announce the next two competitors: "JT and Arnold!"

"Who?" Lisa asked Virgil.

"John and Father."

"Which is JT and which is Arnold?"

"It's interchangeable. Father's nickname was Arnold when he was in the astronaut programme, which meant that John, when he joined, was nicknamed Arnold Junior. I don't think he likes it that much."

But if John had any issues with being compared to the Tracy patriarch, he wasn't showing it as he strode up to his hoverbike. "Be prepared to eat my dust."

"Oh, yeah?" Jeff taunted. "I'm not exactly a novice at these things you know. Who do you think test drove them?"

"Scott."

"Once I'd tested them. There was no way I was going to let you boys anywhere near anything until I'd checked it was safe enough to use." Jeff Tracy pulled his helmet onto his head. "Bring it on."

At the drop of the lilac and gold flags everyone was on their feet, cheering on the two protagonists. Some were cheering for their boss. Others for their brother. Whilst the rest, acknowledging their divided loyalties, cheered for both racers.

Once again, the race was tight enough for a photo finish. On tenterhooks, everyone waited for Mrs Tracy to hand over the losing flag.

"Congratulations, John," Jeff said as the square of lilac material was taped to the screen. He tied his gold flag around his neck.

"Another day and the roles could have been reversed," John admitted. "We'll have to have these races more often as training sessions."

"And now for a class battle," Scott announced. "Lady Penelope and Parker!"

"Dear me," Lady Penelope regarded the hoverbike's seat. "This is a most undignified arrangement."

"Just pretend h-it's a motorbike, m'Lady," Parker suggested. "An' get yer leg over." His eyes twinkled. "That's what I h-always did."

Despite her protestations, after the drop of the pink and maroon flags, Lady Penelope proved to be a more than adequate hoverbike rider. However, it was Parker's years of driving and motorcycle experience that allowed him to win the waved maroon flag. "H-I'm sorry, m'Lady."

"Don't be, Parker." Lady Penelope tied her pink flag around her wrist. "The best, er, man won."

"Thank you, ma'am," Parker responded demurely. But, once her ladyship's back was turned, a huge grin blossomed on his face and he high-fived the Tracy boys.

Scott stepped up. "Now it's Kyrano versus Kyrano."

Kyrano approached the starting line and bowed to Scott, who acknowledged him in a similar fashion. Then he turned to his co-competitor. "I wish you well, my Tin-Tin." He bowed again.

"Thank you, Father." Tin-Tin bowed. "And I you."

Everyone settled back for what promised to be either a very one-sided or else pedestrian competition, but as the fuchsia and teal flags dropped, both competitors set off at speed.

"I'm astonished," Edna commented as both Kyranos rounded the top mark. "Is Scott timing these races? They must be easily as fast as the Tracys."

"Tin-Tin uses a hoverbike around the, ah, complex," Brains explained over the cheers and shouts of encouragement. "And Kyrano's used to speeding when he has to get the groceries under cover during a sudden thunderstorm." He let out a huge cheer when the fuchsia flag was waved, and Tin-Tin crossed the line first, barely half a second ahead of her father.

Kyrano pulled his teal flag through his belt as Tin-Tin's was attached to the screen.

"Next up," Scott reclaimed everyone's attention. "We have the battle of the Bs!"

"Who?" Bruce asked, and then realised it was his turn to compete against Brains. "What colour have you got me, Mrs T?"

She waved a square of azure material. "Royal blue for a regal name."

Wondering if the Crumps had already started telling everyone about their special news and feeling the warm buzz that had filled him since he'd been given the honour intensify, Bruce approached his hoverbike. "You've got the advantage," he told Brains. "You've had more practise than I have."

"I've never seen the need to travel at speed." Brains pulled his International Rescue logoed helmet onto his head. "Especially in a competitive environment."

"Can I have that in writing?"

Despite his dismissal of the concept behind the race, Brains still looked put out when he received his brown flag and, once it was moved beyond the racetrack, buried his head inside his hoverbike's workings to try and find out why it hadn't got the speed he'd expected.

"Now, Crunchs. It's crump time." Scott 'realising' that he'd made an error, grinned at the littlest member of the group. "I got that wrong, didn't I, Ginny? I should have said: Now, Crumps. It's crunch time!"

"Come on, Ginny," Lisa took her daughter's hand. "You can ride with me."

Excited, the little girl could barely stand still as her helmet was put back on and done up under her chin. Then she pulled at her bandana around her neck.

"Do you want me to give that to Mrs T?" Lisa checked.

"Yes, pwease."

"Okay." Lisa undid the knot, and as Ginny was strapped to the back of the hoverbike, her Mr Bunny flag joined her mother's green one.

"Red rag to a Butch," Bruce quipped as a square of that colour cloth was raised in Mrs Tracy's left hand.

This time the result offered no surprises as Lisa, thanks to her passenger (and with some consideration to her condition), was well beaten by her bikie husband.

Delighted, Butch picked the red flag waving Mrs Tracy up off the ground and kissed her.

"Oh, my," she said, fanning herself with his flag. "You'll all have to wait a moment till I get my breath back."

They waited a moment.

"And now last, but not least," Scott crowed. "It's the mighty, magnificent, Mickelsons!"

Hamish rubbed his hands together. "I'm looking forward to this."

"Don't get too cocky," his wife warned him. "Else you'll be on toast for a week."

"After what I've eaten today, I need to be."

Whether it was Edna's threat playing on Hamish's mind, or she had a genuinely hitherto unexpected turn of speed, everyone was surprised by how close the race was. The couple were neck and neck until the turn; which Hamish, trying to emulate the drifting Tracy boys, took wide. Straightening up, he gunned it, but his opposition already had too big an advantage.

Grandma waved the winning peach flag as Edna Mickelson crossed the finish line first.

"And that's the upset of the day!" Scott exclaimed, as he accepted the winner's flag for taping to the screen.

"Not really." Edna watched as her husband accepted the second-place silver flag. "I used to do drag racing myself," she said smugly. "Except I drove the car."

Hamish groaned. "I'd forgotten that."

"Look on the bright side, Mr M," Bruce called to his boss. "At least you still get to eat."

"And now we have our quarter finalists," Scott announced. "Virgil Tracy, Alan Tracy, John Tracy, Aloysius Parker, Tin-Tin Kyrano, Bruce Sanders, Butch Crump and Edna Mickelson. We will now ask the computer to mix our competitors to find out who will race who in the next round." The names in the second column disappeared off screen, reappeared, shifted places, and came to rest.

Scott stared at the screen. Each name had ended up in exactly the same field as the one they'd started in. "Must be broken." He shrugged. "Oh, well. First up: the battle of the Tracys. Virgil versus Alan." Taking down the yellow and white flags, he handed them to his grandmother.

"Take your marks," she instructed, as the two hoverbikes were jostled into position.

Gordon clapped his hands together. "C'mon, Alan. You know what you have to do."

There were other shouts of encouragement, mostly for the "birthday boy".

Virgil stared down the course, by now not even aware of Grandma's skimpy outfit. He held the joystick tightly in both hands, and when he saw his yellow flag drop next to Alan's white one and heard the word "Go!", applied full power.

The downward leg was evenly matched, with Virgil even managing to get the lead. That was until he turned around the top mark, gripping the joystick tightly as he endeavoured to maintain his balance and not lose control of his vehicle.

He felt his left hand cramp up.

Having lived through a year of varying degrees of pain, and with no desire to experience more, he slowed down.

He crossed the line a second after Alan; who was being glared at by a line of seriously displeased siblings. There was no need for a telepathic link to read their thoughts: _You were supposed to let him win._

After accepting his yellow flag from a disappointed Grandma, Virgil motored over to the winner. "Sorry I couldn't give you a proper race, Alan, but I developed a mega case of cramp." He massaged his hand, trying to straighten his fingers.

"You have?" Concerned, and glad for an excuse for reneging on what had to have been a pre-arranged plan, Alan turned to him. "I could get Brains…"

"No, don't do that." Virgil held up the hand to stop him. "I'm out of practise, that's all. A bit of rest will do it good." He yawned. "I don't know that I could have been competitive in the next race anyway."

"Do you want to go up to the house for a rest?" Scott checked. "We could carry on later."

"No way! I want to see who wins. And sometime in the future," Virgil nudged Alan, "you and I will have a rematch."

Alan grinned. "Deal."

"On with the show!" Scott strode forward. "Next up… It's John and Parker!"

As the two hoverbikes were readied for the next race, Virgil returned to his position in the centre of the semi-circle. Putting his flag around his neck, he tried to tie the knot, but his cramped hand refused to work properly.

"Can I help you?"

Virgil smiled at Tin-Tin. "I'd love it, thanks."

Making a bandana, Tin-Tin tied a reef knot in the folded corners of the flag so the knot rested flat against his throat. She saw that he was still rubbing his hand. "Is it sore?"

Virgil tried flexing it. "It's stiff. It feels like it did about eight months ago."

"Would you like me to massage it?"

Virgil briefly considered the offer. "Would you mind? I could ask someone else, but you were always the gentlest. When my brothers did it, I always felt like it had been crushed all over again."

Taking his left hand in hers, Tin-Tin began the massage. "It is a shame we do not have some oil here."

"Plenty of engine oil in the workshop," Bruce teased.

"That is not quite the same thing." Then Tin-Tin looked at him. "I've just remembered. Bruce, would you mind going to my work station in Thunderbird Two's hangar? I think that I may have left some hand cream there."

"Sure." Bruce sped away.

Tin-Tin traced the line of Virgil's thumb. "I don't think I have ever known your hands to be so soft. I always thought that it was a shame that such artistic hands were so callused and work-hardened."

"We could say the same about yours," Virgil said warily, glancing over to where Alan was keeping a not so subtle eye on them. The younger man appeared to be trying to not be jealous of the attention his girlfriend had been giving his brother. "Tin-Tin…"

"Hmmmn?" She massaged his palm.

"I think we're being watched."

"We are?" Tin-Tin looked up from her work. "Alan," she hmphed, as the young man, embarrassed at being caught out, quickly looked away. "It's about time your brother learned to trust us."

"Except that, from what I've read, he doesn't take too kindly to you winding him up."

"He should know better."

Virgil was glad when Bruce returned.

His friend unscrewed the lid of the pink tube decorated with pictures of rose buds, sniffing it with the air of a connoisseur savouring a fine wine. "Mmmn: You're going to smell very pretty," he teased as he handed it over to Virgil's masseuse.

Tin-Tin accepted the tube with thanks, and continued the massage, this time with the limited lubrication offered by the cream. "How does that feel?" she asked after a minute.

"Much better."

"Tin-Tin… Bruce…"

Tin-Tin looked away from her ministrations, as Bruce made the enquiring: "Scott?"

"You're up, Guys."

Virgil looked across to where Parker was tying his maroon flag around his neck. A glance across at the computer screen showed a lilac flag had been reaffixed there. "Looks like Alan's not going to be the only Tracy in the semis."

Tin-Tin held the hand cream out to him. "Use as much of that as you need."

"Thanks."

"I'm glad I'm against you, Tin-Tin," Bruce admitted as he and his competitor approached the start line. "Somehow, beating your boss, or an immediate member of your boss's family, doesn't seem to be a great career move."

Tin-Tin laughed. "You may discover that competing against me is not a smart move either."

"I don't doubt it." Bruce mounted his hoverbike. "Go easy on me, Tin-Tin."

Tin-Tin didn't go easy on him, crossing the finish line a full second in front. He wandered back to his seat next to Virgil, tying his royal blue flag about his neck. "She was too good for me."

"You're surprised?"

Bruce grinned. "Nope." Twisting in his seat, he looked at the computer screen. "Who's next?"

Virgil watched the couple approach the start line. "Butch and Edna."

"This is going to be interesting."

"I can't see either of them giving an inch."

Virgil's words seemed almost prophetic as the two competitors glared at each other in silence, settled onto their hoverbikes, and waited for their red and peach flags to drop. The hoverbikes almost screamed on protest as they flew off the start line. They were still neck and neck by the time they reached the first of the markers.

It was during the tight twists and turns of the slalom that Butch's biker experience came to the fore, Edna's drag racing past failing to give her feedback from the hoverbike necessary to win. She crossed the line half a second behind her opponent. Getting off her hoverbike, she approached him. "Well driven, Butch."

"Thanks, Mrs M. Maybe someday you an' me can check ou' a go kart track?"

Edna grinned, her face lighting up. "I'll hold you to that."

"And that concludes the quarter finals," Scott announced. "After a short interval, it's time for the semis."

A "short interval" was a chance for a cup of coffee, tea, or orange juice and a cupcake or a biscuit. Virgil eyed up the cupcakes as his stomach told him that its white flag was a match for his yellow one.

"You're not eating?" Hamish asked, biting into a cupcake that dissolved into fluffy, lightweight, crumbs.

"I'm trying to make sure I've got room for dinner."

Hamish grinned. "Fair enough."

"Take your seats for the semi-finals," Scott announced when everyone had declared themselves to be well fed, watered, and had taken care of all other needs. "Now to see who our competitors will be… That's if this thing works."

On the computer screen, the names in the third column of Alan Tracy, John Tracy, Tin-Tin Kyrano, and Butch Crump shuffled, shifted, and hopscotched over one another. Finally, they came to rest.

"First up," Scott reached out for the white and red flags, "Alan Tracy and Butch Crump."

Butch looked stunned. "I can'," he bleated. "No'… Not 'gainst _him_!"

Lisa gave her husband a push in the back. "Of course, you can."

"Bu'… But it's _Alan Tracy_."

"So? Don't think of him as a world champion race car driver. Think of him as your friend."

"It's Alan Tracy, Liesel!"

Alan wandered over. "Good luck, Butch." He extended his hand and received a weak and floppy handshake in return. "I only ask that you go easy on me. I'm more at home with a steering wheel than handlebars."

Butch gave a numb nod, forgetting the fact that they both would be steering with a joystick.

Lisa pulled him to his feet and pushed him over to his steed.

"Here, Daddy." Ginny pulled her bunny bandana over her head and held it out to her father. "You can wear this."

Butch managed a weak smile of thanks as he sat on the hoverbike's seat.

"And you can wear mine too, for luck," Lisa told him as she tied the bunny bandana and her green one around each of his wrists. "Go and do your best… For me." She kissed him.

The kiss seemed to give Butch the steel that he needed.

"Are you going to kiss Alan for luck, Tin-Tin?" Gordon teased.

"No. I am not."

"Give him your flag?"

"No."

"Okay, then." Gordon dashed over to his brother, planted a big kiss on his lips, and then held out his orange flag. "Wear this for me," he gushed, as everyone laughed.

"Gimme that," Alan growled, snatching the cloth and wiping his mouth on it before tying it to his joystick.

"Oh!" Gordon batted his eyelashes in coquettish delight. "He's wearing my colours."

"You'll be wearing more than that if you don't stop bothering me… Let's start this race, Grandma, so I can get away from this idiot."

Grandma stepped up, red and white flags held high. "Take your marks… Get set… Go!"

The flags dropped.

It was a race.

And an evenly matched race it was, as both drivers ducked and dodged the markers that led up to the turn.

Alan pointed into the top mark and leant inwards, eager to start for home; but instead he overcooked the turn and spun out. By the time he'd corrected his mistake, Butch was well ahead and on the homeward stretch.

The big man crossed the finish line to the frantic waving of his red flag, the delighted squeals of his wife and daughter, and the enthusiastic applause of the rest of the audience. "I did i'! I beat Alan Tracy!"

"You did, Butch!" Lisa gave him a huge kiss. "You won."

Ginny jumped up and down in delight. "Daddy won! Daddy won!"

Butch lifted her high and kissed her too. "Daddy did!"

Alan crossed the finish line, dismounted, and accepted his loser's trophy from his grandmother. "Time to wave the white flag," he said, flapping it in the air before he tied it about his neck. "Congratulations, Butch."

Delighted by his win and his opposition's magnanimity, Butch Crump nearly shook Alan's hand off.

Massaging it, Alan claimed the seat next to Virgil.

"Here," Virgil handed him Tin-Tin's hand cream. "You may need this."

"Thanks. Tonic for my war wounds."

Laughing, Virgil clapped him on the shoulder and leant closer. "Thanks," he whispered.

Alan grinned, watching the big man's exuberance as Butch told his wife all about the race, his hands tracing out every twist and turn. "No worries. I owe him," he looked at his brother, "big time." He twisted the white bandana at his throat to try to loosen it. "Maybe he'll finally stop that ridiculous hero worship thing."

Virgil chuckled. "I doubt it."

Tin-Tin and John were already at the start line before Scott had time to announce their participation in the last semi-final.

John leant over to his co-competitor. "You realise it's down to us to uphold the name of International Rescue?"

Tin-Tin smirked at him. "Is that a plea asking me to lose?"

"Of course not," John responded, affronted by the suggestion. "It was just a comment."

"Well, stop commenting and start driving."

John grinned. "You're a hard woman, Tin-Tin Kyrano."

"Hard and fast. That's me."

John raised an eyebrow. "Is Alan aware of this?"

"Oh!" Tin-Tin realised what she'd said and blushed as red as the sole flag that remained attached to the computer screen. "You know what I mean."

"Yep." John watched as the lilac and fuchsia flags were raised skywards.

"Oh! Wait a moment. They've slipped again." Wriggling, Grandma adjusted her top. "There. That's better."

Groaning, John hid his eyes while Tin-Tin giggled.

But if Grandma's tactic had been to put him off, it failed as John used his years of white-knuckle, seat-of-the-pants, a-split-second-between-survival-and-death, hoverbike riding to good use. He crossed the finish line first to the accompaniment of the waving of his lilac flag. Accepting the cheering of his audience, he bowed to his brothers. "International Rescue lives to ride again."

The computer scoreboard was now an arrow of names, narrowing down to just two.

Butch Crump and John Tracy.

Gordon shook his head in supposed resignation. "John? He's the least competitive of all of us. I don't think he's won a race in his life."

"Yeah." Alan sounded just as disgruntled. "International Rescue's reputation is toast."

"He's done all right, so far," Jeff reminded them. "And he's enjoying himself, which is the main thing."

"That sounds like the words of a man who's convinced we're about to lose."

"It's not a world championship, Alan."

"Where else is there a hoverbike competition? It's the only one in the world, isn't it? Therefore, it's the world championship."

Scott stood at the front of the semi-circle; the lilac flag in his left hand and the red one in his right. "Would our two finalists step up, please?"

Butch; his confidence restored, and John; determined not to let International Rescue down, stepped up as instructed; facing each other down like a pair of prize fighters before a major bout.

"I got th' skills," Butch boasted. "I bin drivin' all m' life."

"I've got more experience on a hoverbike," John retorted.

"I beat Alan Tracy."

"He's just my kid brother."

"He's a international sports star."

"And I'm International Rescue."

"Gentlemen. Mount your bikes," Scott instructed. "M'Lady." Bowing, he handed the two flags to his grandmother.

She accepted them. "Are the competitors ready?"

"Ready," John agreed.

"R'dy," Butch grunted.

"Marshall? Are the hoverbikes in position?"

Scott checked his computer and gave Grandma the thumbs up.

"Then, to discover the hoverbike champion of the world." Grandma held the red and lilac cloths high. "We will begin on the drop of the flags… In five!"

Everyone joined her in her count. "Four! ... Three! ... Two! ..."

"One!" The flags were thrown down. "GO!"

It was chaos. Everyone was shouting and screaming for their favourite competitor, although none of them cared who won.

"C'mon, John!"

"C'mon, Butch!"

"Do it for International Rescue!"

"Do it for Ginny!"

"Go, John, Go!" Gordon screamed. "International Rescue's counting on you!"

"Go, Butch!" Lisa yelled "You can do it, Honey. You're a champion!"

"Faster, John!" his father yelled. "Do it for the Tracy name!"

"Go, Daddy!"

Bruce grinned at Ginny and picked her up. "Let's say that together, so he can hear us. _Go, Daddy! Go, Daddy_!"

Ginny, then Lisa, and then the Mickelsons all joined in the chant, alternating between "_Go, Daddy!_" and "_Go, Butch!_"

"Go, Butch!" Parker bellowed.

"Parker, really," Lady Penelope admonished. "Do you not have any loyalty to International Rescue."

"H-it's quicker than sayin' _Go, Mister John._"

"Drift, John, drift," Alan yelled, as his brother approached the top mark. "Don't overcook it!"

Scott, forgetting the impartiality required as the organiser of the competition, was telling John that if he didn't win he'd be washing Thunderbird Three the next time he was dirtside… Using his toothbrush.

Grandma confused everyone who heard her by chanting, "Drive, Cyril, drive!"

Brains had tapped into both hoverbikes' schematics and was analysing each and every spike and power surge and muttering to himself.

Tin-Tin and Kyrano were egging on John in Malay.

Virgil, torn between his loyalty to his brother and his loyalty to his friend, was standing on his hoverbike's platform, yelling "Come on!" to no one in particular, and clapping until his hands hurt.

The competitors were through the slalom and on the final stretch.

"Go, John!"

"Go, Butch!"

"Go!"

"Go!"

"Yes!" The finish line exploded into a shower of confetti, covering everyone present.

"Who won?"

"I don't know. It looked like a draw to me."

"That would be fair."

"I think it was Butch."

"Nah. John was millimetres in front."

Virgil collapsed back onto his hoverbike's seat and rubbed his aching hands over his aching legs.

Panting after the effort he'd put into it. John reached across to the man on the other hoverbike and shook his hand. "Thanks for a good race, Butch. That was fun."

"Yeah," the big man grinned. "I' was. Bu' who won?"

John indicated across to where his eldest brother was analysing the computer's readout and fiddling with something. "We'll find out any second."

In fact, Scott was already walking towards his grandmother, carrying a cylinder. "Would you like to do the honours, Grandma?" Placing the cylinder on its end on the ground, he whispered something into her ear.

"I'd love to." Grandma grasped the top of the cylinder. "And the winner of the title of _Hoverbike Champion of the Year_… Is…" She pulled the top away.

A small flagpole erupted out of the cylinder and unfurled the flag that identified the owner of that hard-fought title.

John let out a whoop of delight.

As Butch slumped in defeat and everyone else applauded his triumph, International Rescue's Space Monitor gunned his hoverbike, backed it up a short way, and sent it spinning about its nose in tight victory circles.

Brains watched in gobsmacked disbelief. "B-B-But hoverbikes aren't d-designed to do doughnuts!"

No one was listening to him. As John finished his celebratory dance and brought his hoverbike to a rest, they surged forward to congratulate him. He jumped onto the 'bike's carrier and, slightly wobbly after his spin, thrust his hands high. "The champion!"

Scott approached the victory celebrations, a couple of large, silver objects in his hands.

Virgil laughed. The two objects were homemade trophies. The larger of the two appeared to have been made from the nose cone of hoverbike, affixed at its point to a thin length of metal tube. (The cutting end of an Oxyhidnite tube, he surmised) The metal tube was wedged into what appeared to be a wheel rim but was probably the drive wheel off the caterpillar tracks off one of International Rescue's smaller vehicles. Laser-etched into the "bowl" were the words _Hoverbike Champion of the Year_. The smaller of the two was proudly labelled as belonging to the _Hoverbike Runner-up of the Year_ and was equally haphazard in appearance.

Holding the larger of the two trophies out towards his brother, Scott grinned. "The winner!" He was rewarded with an ecstatic hug before he was relived of the trophy.

"And," Scott turned back to the other competitor in the final race, "a worthy opponent and deserved winner of second place: Butch Crump!" He presented Butch with the smaller of the two trophies, which was decorated with Butch's red flag tied about its stem.

"I'm so proud of you!" Lisa rewarded her husband with a huge kiss on the lips.

"And I'm proud of you." And before John had the chance to escape, Grandma puckered up and kissed him as well, leaving him as red as her freshly re-applied lipstick, the tell-tale signature of which was left on his lips.

He sidled over to Butch. "I think you got the better prize there, Pal."

Butch, his good humour restored, grinned. "Challenge ya t' a rematch sometime."

John clapped him on the back. "You're on."

Gordon was eyeing up the winner's trophy. "Who made this?"

"I did," Scott told him.

"Yeah, but who did the welding?"

"I did," Scott repeated.

"You did?" Gordon turned to his second eldest brother. "My advice to you, John, is that you put that down now, back away slowly, and don't go anywhere near it again until Lisa's had a chance to make it safe."

There was a backdrop of laughter to Scott's indignant: "I can weld!"

"You can do something, but I'm not sure that I'd call it welding."

"I can weld!"

"Can't he weld?" Lisa asked a laughing Virgil.

"Of course, he can, he just doesn't have the certificate to prove it."

"Oh." Lisa looked disappointed that she wouldn't have the chance to show off her skills.

Scott decided to ignore the slurs on his craftsmanship. "And that concludes the afternoon's entertainment," he announced. "Let's head down to the beach to relax."

"Do you want to ride with me, Virginia?" Virgil asked, and as the little girl clambered on the carrier behind him, told her: "You won't need your helmet this time. I won't go fast."

The Tracys let Butch drive a second hoverbike with Lisa sitting side-saddle on the carrier and Ginny spent the entire trip between the runway and the beach in front of the villa waving back towards her parents.

Virgil allowed the hoverbike to settle on the golden sands. "Can you climb down by yourself?" he checked, as she crawled off the carrier.

Ginny slid down the hoverbike's base and stood. "Yes," she told him.

"Good. Then do you think you could help me?" Virgil lifted his left leg over the hoverbike's seat and eased himself down onto the sand. "I've been sitting on that thing for too long," he explained as the second hoverbike pulled up next to them.

"You sore?"

"A little," he admitted and tried to find a comfortable backrest. "And this isn't designed to be leant against."

"Here you go, Virg," Scott handed him a couple of cushions. "Stick them behind you." He plonked himself down on the sand next to his brother.

The rest of the group were happy to sit close by, Edna asking Ginny if they should make a sandcastle. Soon sand was being piled high.

John, thrilled with his trophy, still carried it with him. He placed it into the middle of their circle and then uttered an indignant "Hey!" as Gordon and Alan promptly started throwing stones at it to see how long it would last before it fell apart. When they were told by their father to behave themselves, they declared that what they were _actually_ doing, was seeing who could get the most pebbles into the trophy's bowl. This evolved into a competition that involved everyone and that even John was willing to participate in.

Happy and content, Virgil leant against the cushions and listened to the sounds of laughter, the excited chatter, the surging waves, and the squawking gulls. It was warm, he'd had an exhilarating few hours, and he was still digesting a delicious lunch…

"Virg… Virgil?"

Virgil woke up.

Gordon grinned down at him. "I thought you'd done what you'd threatened to do a year ago and died."

"Nope." Virgil stretched and looked around him. The sun was low in the sky, the sea was further up the beach, and he and his brother were the only ones left. "What time is it?"

"Dinner time. I've come down to see if you're going to join us for your birthday party or if we can start without you."

Virgil looked around for something to assist him to his feet. "Can you help me up?"

"Sure." Gordon grabbed him by the arm and hefted him upwards. Then he brushed the worst of the sand off the legs of Virgil's trousers before he started fixing the cushions onto the hoverbike's carrier.

Leaning on the backrest, Virgil scanned the area again. "Where are my crutches?"

"I think they're back in the hangar. You'll have to take the 'bike up to the house."

"I've done enough sitting today. I want to walk." Taking a deep lungful of fresh sea air, Virgil exhaled as he gazed out over the Pacific Ocean; basking in the setting sun and revelling in the cooling breeze. "Do you have any idea how wonderful it feels to be out in the fresh air, with the sun on your face, and feel the wind blow the cobwebs away after months in hospital?"

"Ah... Yeah?!"

With a sheepish chuckle, Virgil looked back at his brother. "Yeah, you do, don't you?"

With a laugh of his own, Gordon clapped him on the back. "Do you want me to get your crutches now, or do you want to ride this thing up to the house and I'll get them after dinner?"

"No…" Virgil shook his head. He was going to cause problems, he knew that, but today was his birthday and his first day home, and he was going to enjoy it the way he wanted to. "I want to have dinner down here. On the beach."

With an unconcerned shrug and an "Okay", Gordon got onto his wristwatch telecom.

Virgil heard a familiar voice. _"Gordon?"_

"His Lordship has spoken," Gordon told his watch. "And he's decreed that he wants dinner here on the beach."

Jeff stared at his watch face, then he looked at the festively laid table, before finally turning to his mother. "Virgil wants to have dinner on the beach."

"Then so he shall," she stated. "We should have thought that ourselves. He's spent enough time cooped up inside this past year."

"We may need your help, Gordon," Jeff told his son. "Can you come back up here?"

"Sure." Gordon lowered his watch arm and started offloading the cushions. "I'll leave you these," he said placing them on a convenient rock, "and take the hoverbike. I'll make a detour to get your crutches."

Virgil smiled, happy at the thought of further home cooking and the chance to enjoy more time away from confining walls.

"Can't Gordon find him?" Scott asked as he entered the dining room. Swiping a delicacy with the ease of many years' practise, he dodged an equally practised swipe from his Grandmother. He popped the snack into his mouth and chewed happily.

"Virgil wants us to have dinner down on the beach," Grandma told him. "So we're going to have to move all this," she indicated the table and its contents, "down there."

"He does?" Scott got onto his own wristwatch telecom. "Where are you, Gordon?"

"Getting Virgil's crutches."

"You're on the hoverbike?"

"Yep."

"Grab a couple of the tables. We need enough space to seat eighteen."

"Gotcha."

"And a generator."

"F-A-B."

"John. Alan." Scott turned back to his brothers. "Get some crates. And the insulated bins."

"Okay."

As John ducked out of the room he passed the Crumps. "I'd keep a low profile if I were you. Scott's got his commander's hat on and he's likely to send you on a route march."

"Wha'?" Butch watched him jog away. "Wha' he talkin' abou'?"

"Will you need to do further heating, Grandma?" Scott was saying.

"Yes. I was planning to. And dessert still needs cooking."

"I'll go and get the cooking gear from out of the pod." Scott saw Alan return with the first of many crates. "Tin-Tin, will you help pack away the crockery?"

"Of course, Scott." Tin-Tin was already rolling the placemats around each setting of cutlery, ready to be placed in the appropriate container.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked.

Jeff was placing delicate glasses into a specially designed packing crate. "We're going to have dinner outside."

"We are? Great idea. How can we help?"

Down on the beach, and unaware of the frantic activity up at the house, Virgil sat and watched the waves roll onto the beach. A quiet hum told him that his solitude was about to be broken.

"You've created all sorts of mayhem," Gordon told him cheerfully as he dismounted. "Here." He held out the crutches.

"Thanks." Virgil accepted them and got to his feet. "Can I help?"

"You can help by keeping out of the way," he was told, as Gordon erected a small table for an equally small generator. "Now…" He turned to face his brother. "Where do you want the tables?"

Virgil shrugged. "Along there?" He traced a line in the air with a crutch.

"Okay." Gordon motored forward, his hoverbike towing a hoversled laden with two portable tables. He stopped where Virgil had indicated and tipped the first of the tables off the sled.

"Need a hand?"

Gordon grinned at Bruce, who was slightly out of breath after his jog down from the house. "I'd love one. He," he pointed at Virgil, "is useless."

"I did offer," Virgil protested, as his brother and friend erected the first of the sturdily built tables.

"Where do we want the second one?" Bruce asked. "If we put it like that," he drew a plan in the sands, "it'll be better than a long table where you can't even see the people at the other end."

"I like the way you think." With Bruce's help, Gordon shifted the tables into place. "This'll work even better than the table in the dining room."

By the time they'd set up two serving tables, Scott had arrived with one of International Rescue's portable ovens and Alan and John had brought down the first of the crates. Tablecloths were spread out and the re-setting of the table began.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Full, after a delicious meal, Jeff Tracy sat back and surveyed the view; the setting sun casting the scene in a delicate gold. "This is an excellent idea, Virgil. We should do it more often."

Virgil, who'd been promised enough leftovers to keep him satisfied for the next week, and thus had succeeded in moderating his eating, was finishing the last of his dessert. "Great meal, Grandma; Kyrano. It's the best food I've had in a long time. In fact, when you consider hospital meals, it's the _only_ food I've had in a long time. This tastes so good that I almost feel like I'd had my tongue amputated along with everything else and it's only just grown back."

"You know?" Alan told him. "That almost sounds creepier than what you actually had done to you."

Virgil chuckled and ate his last mouthful. Then it was his turn to sit back. "It's been a great day. Thanks, everyone."

"It's a special day," his father reminded him.

"More special than I think you know." Virgil winked to his friends across the table.

Lisa cleared her throat. "Virgil's right. Ginny has something to tell you."

Ginny squirmed in her special chair. "Now?"

"Ya c'n say it now, Cupcake," Butch told her.

"'Kay." Ginny pulled herself up straight. "I'm going to have a baby brother."

"Or a baby sister," Lisa corrected.

Ginny screwed up her nose. "Don't wanna baby sister."

Astonished, and pleased, Gordon gazed across at the couple on the other side of the table with the little girl between them. "Is this for real?"

"It's for real," Lisa confirmed.

"Primo!" Gordon's exclamation was accompanied by other expressions of approval, delight, and congratulations.

"And when is this blessed event due to happen?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"February. And," Lisa added, "Bruce has granted us the privilege of allowing us to name the baby, whether it's a boy or a girl…"

"Boy," Ginny interrupted to adult chuckles.

"… after him. So, this child will be named Windsor, spelt with or without a Y, depending on which sex it is."

"My middle name," Bruce explained. "And I hasten to add that the name wasn't and isn't my idea. And if, in the future, you decide to change your minds," he told the Crumps, "I will not be offended."

"There is no question of that," Lisa huffed. "If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be having this child."

That was an opening that was too much for Gordon to let pass. "Oh, yes?" he smirked.

"What I mean is that Bruce saved my life," Lisa elaborated. "And he's been a good friend to both of us."

"Obviously," Still smirking, Gordon nudged the man at his side. "Is there something you're not telling us, Brucey?"

"If I were closer, young man," Grandma scolded.

"Well, I am," Jeff reached across and cuffed his son across the ear in a gesture that was more admonition than punishment.

"I can remember that each time I was told that I was going to get a sibling," Scott began, in a deliberate attempt to divert the conversation in a seemlier direction. "I would hope for a little sister." He made a face. "I wound up with four little brothers instead."

"Just as well," Alan teased. "Pity the poor girl that had you as a big brother. She'd be wrapped in so much cotton wool she'd suffocate."

Tin-Tin sighed. "Tell me about it."

Scott pretended not to hear them. "So, if you really want a brother, Ginny, I've got four you can borrow." She giggled.

"Your mother and I kept trying for a girl." Jeff gave an impression of a perplexed frown. "For some reason, each time one of you boys popped out, it was my fault. I don't know why."

"In the human species," Brains began, "it is the male gamete that carries the determining…" He stopped his dissertation when everyone looked at him. "Th-Tha was a joke, wasn't it?"

"Obviously not a very good one," Jeff told him. "Well, as we have congratulations to offer," he got to his feet, "I'd like to propose a toast. To Butch, Lisa, and Virginia. May the four of you have happy, healthy lives together. Both now, and into the future."

Everyone else got to their feet and raised their glasses. All except for Virgil, who attempted to stand, but was thwarted when his father gently, but firmly, held him down.

The sun was setting, and it was starting to grow dark. One by one, lights, powered by the almost silently purring generator, brightened…

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"It's been a great day." Jeff Tracy returned the last of the glassware to its appropriate cabinet. "And you," putting his arm around his mother, he kissed her forehead, "outdid yourself with both meals."

She dimpled at the compliment. "Thank you, Jefferson. I wanted it to be special." She wiped down the bench. "It's so wonderful to have Virgil home again, isn't it? It's been so long that it almost seems like a dream. I suppose that the next step is for him to start flying Thunderbird Two again. Have Virgil or Brains said when they think he'll be well enough to re-join International Rescue…?" She realised that he wasn't paying attention. "Jeff?"

He held up his hand. "Listen," he whispered.

"Listen?" She frowned. "To what? I can'…" Her hand flew to her mouth, silencing herself.

She smiled.

Moving as quietly as a cat, Jeff, followed by his mother, left the kitchen and made his way to the lounge.

The lid of the white baby grand was open. A gentle melody was floating from the keys and through the open patio doors into the starry night.

Jeff touched a button combination on his watch.

After a moment's delay, footsteps could be heard running down the hallway. As Grandma turned to face the oncoming herd, her finger to her lips, her grandsons slowed to a walk. A walk, which, when they realised what was happening, changed to an almost silent tiptoe.

They stopped at the door to the lounge and listened.

John put one arm around Scott's shoulders and squeezed, bringing forth a smile bigger than any of them could imagine was possible. Alan and Gordon, grinning, fist-bumped each other. And Grandma wiped a tear from her eye.

Jeff just stood, listened and, his eyes closed, absorbed the music and what it meant.

"You don't have to stand there, you know?" Virgil didn't stop playing his piano. "Come in and sit down if you're expecting a concert."

"We were frightened that if we stopped you, we'd wake up and this would all be a dream," his grandma told him as she claimed a seat.

Virgil grinned at her. "If it's a dream, it's one I've had hundreds of times." Pressing the sustain pedal with his right foot, his left hand played a rich melody. "And reality sounds hundreds of times better."

_To be continued…_

_Sorry to "disappoint" you, but, although I _may _be able to upload tomorrow, I won't be able to upload for the next two weeks. Still, at least I haven't left you on a cliffhanger._

_FAB_

:-) Purupuss


	59. Chapter 59

He sat at the piano, enjoying the music that flowed from the fingers of his right hand. The tune was unknown to him, but haunting, distant, and melodious. He raised his left hand to add the rich timbre of the bass notes to the melody.

The bass notes remained mute.

Shocked, Virgil lifted his left arm away from the keyboard and stared at the stump that remained in place of his fingers and hand.

A feeling of desolation filled him, and he allowed his deformed arm to drop into his lap.

Or where his lap should have been. His upper torso, balancing precariously on the piano stool, wobbled and, unable to support itself, fell backwards, his good hand grabbing uselessly at the piano's keyboard.

After a momentary fear that he was about to endure more pain, Virgil was relieved to realise that he was sliding down the chute from the lounge to Thunderbird Two. Relief that transformed into concern when he realised that he was travelling headfirst for longer, far longer, than he expected. Surely, he was well past the point where he should have spun about, so he could continue the journey feet first…?

If he had any feet.

He almost laughed at his stupidity. Of course, it would take longer! The piano was further away from the hangar than the painting of the rocket that was the traditional gateway to the mighty transporter.

Even as he thought this, Virgil was relieved to feel his downward plunge slow, stop, and then his whole body; well that which remained; rotate.

For a horrific, gut-wrenching, improbable moment he wondered if his change in orientation would result in his remaining internal organs spilling down the chute and splattering over the aeroplane below. As he picked up speed again, he told himself he was being silly. Everything was held in place by spiderwebs.

He continued descending as Thunderbird Two's hangar opened up before him.

He frowned. Something was missing.

Below him wasn't the reassuring sight of a large, green, Thunderbird. Below him he could see smoke rising.

No. That wasn't smoke.

A nest of snakes writhed and hissed at him as he drew closer. Snakes that topped the head of a large, ugly, scowling, round-headed woman. The woman looked upwards and, seeing Virgil, smiled… A smile of pure venom and evil. She opened her mouth…

...wide...

…to swallow him whole.

With no way to stop himself, Virgil found himself plunging towards that red, fiery mouth that grew bigger...

and bigger…

and bigger...

He woke up with a gasp.

Dream?

Reality?

Swinging himself around, Virgil sat on the side of his bed and switched his light on. Holding his two hands in front of his face he wriggled his fingers as he counted them.

Ten.

His perspiration-soaked nightshirt stuck to his chest and back as he lifted the hem and checked his legs.

Two legs that flexed. Ten toes that wriggled. He bent his knees and straightened them. He ran his hands carefully over his grey, translucent, vein-revealing legs.

Everything seemed to be in place and more or less in full working order.

Relieved, and aware that he was parched after his horror dream, he drained the glass of water on his bedside table. Also, aware that an earlier drink had worked its way through his system, he dragged his crutches towards him, rocked to his feet, and made his slow passage to the ensuite off his bedroom.

After he'd used the toilet and washed his ten fingers and two hands, Virgil realised that he still had a raging thirst. Filling up his tooth mug once and then twice, he drank the cool refreshing water down.

His nightshirt felt damp and clammy and, after a moment's thought where he tried to recollect if he'd put the new garments in the drawers, he went to his bag and removed a fresh one.

Then Virgil returned to bed and attempted to go back to sleep.

_16 August_

When Virgil arrived in the dining room the following morning, he was greeted by everyone present with a broad smile and a cheerful good morning, or enquiry about how he was feeling.

He yawned. "Too much excitement yesterday." He grinned. "But it was great."

"Here, let me help." Scott vacated his chair and waited as Virgil selected which fruits and cereals he felt like breakfasting on, before carrying the bowl over to the table for his crutch-supported brother.

"Thanks." Virgil sat down. He yawned again.

"How'd you sleep?" his father asked, seeing the yawn.

"Not great," Virgil admitted. He poured himself a glass of juice. "It's a different sort of heat here to what I'm used to, and I found it difficult to drop off. Plus, I always tended to sleep on my side. Obviously, I haven't been able to do that for the past year and I'm now in the habit of sleeping on my back. But my bed's not set up for that."

"We'll get that fixed," Jeff promised.

Virgil looked across the table to where John and Alan were seated side by side. "Who's heading back up to Thunderbird Five and when?"

"Me." Then John looked pleased. "And not till tomorrow."

Virgil felt an equal amount of pleasure. "Good. Are you taking your trophy with you?"

John appeared to consider the question. "I'm in two minds about that. I might put it into the trophy cabinet."

As John had known they would, Alan and Gordon, both of whom had expensive, hard-fought-for, professionally made and designed trophies in that cabinet, froze. Then they started to complain.

That was until an alarm went off. That heralded a mad scramble for the door as most of the Tracys made a dash for the lounge.

Virgil was left sitting at the table. Feeling alone, he sipped at his drink.

That was until he heard movement from the hall. "Morning, Virgil," Lisa Crump said cheerfully.

"Morning."

"What do you want for breakfast, Ginny?"

"Nearly go' run over," Butch announced to the lone Tracy. "Intanashon'l Rescue been called ou'?"

"Yeah."

"Hope they ain' gone fer too long. We're leavin' tomorra."

Bruce claimed what had previously been an empty seat on the other side of the table from his friend. "What's the story?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know."

Butch moved towards the exit. "C'n I go an' listen?"

"You won't learn much," Bruce told him. "Just what the situation is and where they've got to go. And the Tracys won't let you watch a launch."

Butch looked disappointed. "They won'?"

"No. They're happy to show us the Thunderbirds, because they know we know they're International Rescue and there's not much point hiding the craft from us. But they won't show where they launch them from. It's so that if we get asked by any nefarious wrongdoers we can honestly say that we don't know where the Thunderbirds are kept."

"Bu' you bin livin' here th' las' four months. Ya musta seen?"

"Nope." Bruce shook his head. "Part of my contract is that if International Rescue are called out I have to head to my room, or, if I'm in one of the workshops, I'm to hide myself away in special blast chambers. I'm surprised that they even let us hang about when they opened Thunderbird Two's hangar yesterday. I have no idea how they launch her from that hangar; her wingspan's too wide for the runway."

Virgil stood, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't get much sleep last night. I might go and see if my deckchair's more comfortable."

Lisa eyed his untouched meal. "What about your breakfast?" In full mother-mode, she folded her arms and glared at him. "You've got to keep your strength up."

There was a commotion at the door and a tide of Tracys surged in.

Virgil hesitated a moment, and then decided that he was hungry and sat down again. He topped up his glass from the water jug.

Butch looked surprised at his friends' unexpected return. "Tha' was quick."

"False alarm." Scott reclaimed his abandoned breakfast.

Lisa carried two plates to the table as Butch assisted Ginny into her chair. "Does that often happen?"

"It's not very often that a false alarm reaches Earth." John topped up his early morning coffee. "Normally Alan or I intercept them first. Thunderbird Five's filtering system is good, but there's nothing like the human touch to sort the stardust from the space debris."

Grandma entered the dining room. "Good morning, Everyone."

"Morning, Grandma."

"Morning, Mother."

"Morning, Mrs T."

Laying a gentle hand on Virgil's shoulder, she smiled down on him. "And how are you today?"

Unable to respond any other way, he smiled up at her. "Fine."

"Good." She kissed him on the top of head. "Has everyone got their breakfast?"

"I was about to get mine." As the breakfast bar was free, Bruce handed Mrs Tracy a plate. "So, what was the false alarm?"

"Some documentary about International Rescue," Alan told him, "with re-enactments of the disaster. Five picked up the 'distress call'." He nudged John. "Who do you think they've got to play us?"

"I don't know. I'll check it out when I get back to Five and if it's any good I'll send a copy down… Once I've adjusted the filter to ignore any broadcasts of the show."

Brains wandered in, offered everyone an absentminded morning, did a double-take as if he'd forgotten that Virgil was home, smiled, made his breakfast selection, and sat down.

"Is that how you pass the time on Thunderbird Five?" Lisa was asking. "Watching TV shows?"

Alan and John laughed. "There's enough going on that we don't often have time to watch TV," the younger explained. "There's monitoring, of course; there's usually something happening in the world that we want to keep an eye on. And maintenance."

"And R&D," John added. "It's a great atmosphere for developing new ideas and testing them in computer simulations."

"I thought you were above the atmosphere," Bruce quipped.

John responded with a genial smile. "We are. And that's why I also enjoy continuing my astronomical studies when I'm on Five. No atmosphere to get in the way."

"Wha' abou' ya, Alan?" Butch asked. "Wha' do ya do in ya spare time?"

"Like John said," Alan smiled at the Mickelsons as they entered the dining room. "Maintenance keeps us busy. And in my spare time I'm developing a new car body… Down, big guy!" He cautioned when he saw the excitement in Butch's face. "Being with International Rescue is more exciting and fulfilling than any race and have no desire to return to racing again. But I still like to keep my hand in."

"Oh." Butch looked disappointed. "Tha's good, I s'ppose."

"But… I guess… That if I do come up with something revolutionary, I'll have to test it somehow. And where's better than on a racetrack?"

"Yeah!" Butch's beaming smile brightened the whole room. "Primo!"

"What about the rest of you?" Lisa asked. "Do you ever work on Thunderbird Five, Gordon?"

Most of Gordon's brothers reacted with varying degrees of horror and mirth to the suggestion.

"Well, ya know," he drawled. "I'd like to, but that's the reaction I always get when I suggest it."

John snorted. "That's because we all know full well that if we were to unleash you alone, it would be a toss-up as to who would be in the worst state when I returned: You or Thunderbird Five."

"He's not happy unless he's mainlining a large body of water," Scott added. "And looking at the entire Pacific Ocean from 36,000 kilometres above it isn't a suitable substitute."

"How about you, Scott?" Lisa helped Ginny with her toast. "Do you ever do time on Thunderbird Five?" Scott and Alan laughed as John looked horrified. "Sorry. I think I phrased that wrong."

"I fill in on occasion," Scott admitted. "If these guys have to be dirtside at the same time."

"But not for too many days," Gordon chuckled. "He can't bear to be away from his brood for too long."

"You guys make it sound like I've got you monitored 24/7."

"Don't you?"

Breakfast continued in a convivial manner, with the group laughing and teasing one another, barely stopping when they were joined by Lady Penelope, Parker, and Tin-Tin. Their banter continued throughout the meal; all giving as good as they got.

With two exceptions.

Brains, as he had frequently been over the last few months, appeared to be wrapped up in his own musings.

And Virgil.

Scott noticed the lack of interaction. "You're quiet, Virg."

Virgil sipped at his water. "I'm tired. I didn't get enough sleep."

Scott looked as if he was unconvinced, but made no comment.

Finishing the last mouthful of his breakfast, Virgil collected his crutches. "If you'll all excuse me, I think I'll go and take a nap."

"All right, Darling," Grandma agreed. "Leave your dishes. We'll take care of them."

"Thanks." Virgil stood.

The scraping of his chair seemed to waken Brains out of his meditative daze. "Oh! Virgil!" He sounded almost surprised, as if his friend had materialised out of thin air. "I'll need to give you an examination when I've finished breakfast."

Virgil glanced at Bruce and then back to Brains. "I was going to try and catch up on some of the sleep I missed out on last night. Do you need to check me out first?"

"N-No," Brains admitted. "Not if you don't think it's necessary. Come and see me after you've slept."

"Okay," and with a "see ya", Virgil made his slow way towards the accommodation wing of the villa.

He wasn't surprised to discover that he wasn't the only one heading in that direction. As his door slid open he recognised the sounds of Scott's footsteps.

"Are you okay, Virg?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Virgil stepped into his room, Scott on his heels. "Aside from needing to check out Thunderbird Ten, I'm sure."

"Really?"

"Scott! Stop clucking!"

"Sorry…" Scott held up his hand to silence his brother's protestations. "Force of habit." He lowered the hand. "You do realise that there's going to be more than one mother hen clucking around you for the next few months?"

Virgil took a deep breath. "Don't think that I don't appreciate the fact that you all care, but I'm okay." He saw Scott's unconvinced expression. "Honestly, apart from being a little tired after yesterday, there's nothing wrong with me."

"Are you sure?"

"Scott! I'm fine!" Virgil told himself to calm down. "But, if it will make you happy, I'll make you a deal. If I ever do feel off colour in any way, no matter how minor, I'll talk to Brains about it."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Virgil saw Scott relax.

"Thank you."

"So long as you promise to count to four before you start clucking."

A surprised eyebrow was raised. "Only four?"

"You couldn't last till ten."

Scott chuckled.

"Don't worry about me, Scott. I've spent too long getting to this stage in my recovery to jeopardise it just because my pride won't admit that I'm not doing as well as I want. And don't forget that Brains is giving me daily check-ups."

Scott had to admit that that was a fair statement. "What are you going to do now?"

Virgil didn't know. "I guess I'll have a nap on the balcony. Recharge my batteries. I overdid it yesterday."

"Okay. If you need anything, call me. Don't forget that I'm closer than I have been for the last few months."

Virgil treated him to an honest smile. "You don't know how happy that makes me."

"See you soon."

"See you."

Scott left the room, closing the door behind him, but Virgil wasn't alone for long.

There was a knock before Bruce, cautiously, slid the door open. "Can I come in?"

"Sure. Grab a chair and set it up on the balcony. I'm just going to check out Thunderbird Ten."

"Thanks." Carrying a deckchair, Bruce did as was suggested. "Have you been getting the third degree?" he asked when his friend joined him.

Virgil chuckled as he settled into his seat. "Yes."

"I thought that might have been the case." Bruce unfolded his chair. "He means well."

"I know that. I just wish that sometimes he would give me some breathing space. Sometimes his clucking can get a bit much."

"It's his nature."

"I know." Virgil folded his arms and glared out to sea. "Boy! Do I know. I've spent my whole life knowing!"

"And it's not only you guys he's looks out for. There have been a few times over the last months where he's taken me under his wing…" Bruce sat down. "Why didn't you get much sleep last night? I didn't think it was that hot."

"Bad dream."

"Dream? What about?"

Virgil detailed his previous night's nightmare. "All the months that I spent in hospital and not once do I remember having a dream as bad as that, and then on my first day home…" He shrugged. "Mind you, I don't remember having any dreams while I was in hospital. I suppose I had so many drugs swirling around inside of me, that they numbed the dream sector of my brain. Either that or I forgot them as soon as I'd had them… I'm sure Frank and Stein would love to analyse that bit of information."

"Frank and Stein?"

"Timoti and Bryce… Or Bryce and Timoti. I haven't made up my mind who was who."

"Oh…" Bruce considered what had been said. "You've got a lot on your mind, plus a lot of sensory overload through finally coming home… That'll be why you had the dream."

"Probably."

Bruce gazed out to sea in a deliberate attempt to appear non-threatening. "You do realise that there is a way to stop most of Scott's clucking?"

Virgil knew. "Or increase it."

"Maybe. There's one way to find out."

Virgil, despite being comfortable on his chair, shifted uncomfortably. "It's too soon."

"Yeah. Okay." Bruce nodded. "Just so long as you don't leave it until it's too late."

"All that I know is that sometime, soon, there's going to be a whole heap of pain and I don't want that. It scares me more than amputations, or gangrene, or the idea that I might have to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair or trapped in bed." And for a fleeting moment Bruce saw Virgil's fear. "I'm scared that I know what's going to happen, without really knowing what's going to happen."

"What's going to happen, Virgil, is that a whole lot of people are going to support you. Including me." Bruce laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't ever forget that. You've just got to be open and honest with everyone. For their sake as well as yours. Talk to Brains. Or maybe you _should_ tell Scott, but swear him to secrecy? I'm sure that he'll gladly support you, especially when you decide the time is right to tell the rest of your family."

Virgil didn't comment.

"And it might stop me from getting into trouble."

Virgil frowned, staring at his friend. "You?"

"What's going to happen to me when your brothers find out I've known for months?"

"They won't do anything."

"Are you sure? Remember that joke I told you about? The one that I pulled on Alan, with his model of the Bloodhound SSC and the gelatine? I honestly thought I was going to end up in hospital in the room next to yours, he looked so furious. Scott had calm him down."

"Alan's a bit of a hothead," Virgil admitted. "But he wouldn't resort to physical violence. None of my brothers would."

"I hope you're right, because there's a lot of power there. I think even John could easily break me."

Virgil couldn't help, but laugh. "John!?"

"Yeah. You didn't see him take on the Skulz. All I could do was battle my fire extinguisher."

Virgil could have seen that episode. John had downloaded the various videos taken by the Tracys to the MI-book, but, remembering how painful it was to see himself getting beaten up on the Crump's wedding anniversary video, he'd decided against watching it.

"And my biggest concern," Bruce began, "is Scott. Will he be hurt when he finds out that you've been confiding your deepest, darkest secrets with me and not him?"

"No."

"I trust the guy, but," Bruce flexed one of his skinny arms, "I don't have his muscles."

"He's a pussycat. He wouldn't hurt you. None of my brothers would. They're International Rescue, remember? They save lives, not hurt them."

"Maybe not, but do you want to risk hurting them?"

Virgil was silent.

"Or does Scott already know?"

"He doesn't."

"Are you sure? I don't understand about this telepathy thing you two have got going, and I know better than to ask you all about it, but what if he…"

"Bruce."

"Yes?"

"Shut up." Virgil closed his eyes. "I was hoping to catch up on some sleep. The deckchair's more comfortable than my bed."

"Okay." Bruce obeyed.

But Virgil didn't sleep. Instead he sat there, running various scenarios through his head until he, finally, came to a decision. "I'll tell them after their next successful mission."

Bruce, who'd actually dozed off in the morning sun, woke with a start? "Huh…? What?"

"Next time they're back from a successful rescue, and they're all together, and they've just finished their debriefing, that's when I'll tell them."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Round up the rest of the family and send them into the lounge."

"And if the emergency's over before the Crumps and everyone else leaves?"

Virgil considered the question. "I suppose that 'now'," he mimed quotation marks, "is as good a time as any." Then he shook his head. "No. Not now. I don't want to upset more people than I need to, and I owe it to my family to give them time to get used to the idea before I tell the rest of the world." He closed his eyes again.

"Okay." Satisfied with the decision; or at least with the understanding that this was the decision that had been made and that nothing was going to change it; Bruce stood. "You need your sleep and I don't. I'm going to start snoring if I stay here too much longer, so I'll go and carry on with what I was doing before yesterday's celebrations. Gotta earn my keep."

Virgil looked up at him through squinted eyes and smiled. "Thanks, Bruce."

"No worries. You know where to find me if you want to talk."

"In the bowels of the Earth."

Bruce chuckled and left.

Virgil relaxed.

Or at least he tried to. Even now, with the decision made, he found it difficult to sleep. Deciding that he needed to do something to make himself more comfortable, he got to his feet.

He nearly pitched forward when the world swirled about him, forcing him to take a hurried seat back on the deckchair. Breathing deeply, he concentrated on steadying his view of the world.

The nausea-inducing spin slowed and stopped. The ocean lapped gently upon the beach; the palm trees waved gently in the breeze; and gulls flew overhead, unaffected by the motion Virgil had just experienced. Taking a deep breath and keeping his movements as slow and gentle as he could with his unstable legs, he stood, clinging to the back of the deckchair to maintain his balance.

Everything seemed well.

Taking it equally slowly, he crouched down to collect his crutches.

The world remained its unshakable self when he eased himself back upright.

Virgil was thirsty and hungry, but decided that before he took care of those problems, it was more important that he keep the promise made less than an hour earlier.

He didn't meet anyone on the way to the lab – something he was glad of. "Hey, Brains."

Brains looked up from his latest project and smiled. "Hello, Virgil."

"Have you got time for that check-up now?"

"O-Of course. Shall we go through to the infirmary?" Brains slid off his stool. Keeping pace with Virgil's slower footsteps he led the way through a door and into the medical wing. "How are you feeling?" he asked, locking the door behind them.

"About ninety percent and falling," Virgil admitted.

This was enough to ramp up Brains' concern levels. "Ninety p-percent? H-How do you mean?"

Virgil took a seat. "I feel unsteady and it's not because my legs aren't holding me. I stood up too quickly before and the whole world did a barrel roll on me. And I feel so thirsty that I think I could drink the whole swimming pool and then some. And I'm still hungry despite having had a full breakfast… Of course…" He gave a hopeful laugh. "That could just be that I'm glad to be eating proper food again."

Brains' non-committal "Ah" in response did nothing to ease Virgil's concerns. Instead he began to gather together some implements.

Virgil held up his right arm, which still held his well-worn monitoring bracelet. "Isn't this telling you anything?"

Brains checked his computer. "Only that your pulse is about point zero three faster than normal." He smiled at his friend. "I'd put that down to stress."

Virgil submitted to a variety of tests, telling himself that he didn't mind being treated like a pin cushion.

He knew he was lying to himself.

Finally, Brains set down his tools and turned to face Virgil. "What did you have for breakfast?"

"You were there…" Virgil thought. "Cereal… Fruit… Pretty much everything that was on the breakfast bar."

"And you had a lot to eat yesterday."

"Pretty much everything that was on offer," Virgil admitted.

Brains gave a knowing nod. "I think I know what's wrong."

"And that is?"

"Your replacement pancreas has yet to resume full function. The production of insulin has not returned to the levels of before your accident. Your blood sugar levels are higher than normal and, i-indeed, acceptable."

Shocked, Virgil sat back. "You mean I'm diabetic?!"

"Yes." Seeing Virgil's horrified expression, Brains hastened to be reassuring. "I would assume that it is a t-temporary condition."

"Temporary?! How temporary can diabetes be?"

"It can be managed. The hospital has been monitoring your food consumption carefully to ensure that there has been no stress to your healing body."

"And then yesterday I go and eat everything put in front of me. Is this going to affect my eyesight?"

"Let me check…" Removing his specialised ophthalmological equipment from its storage cabinet, Brains made some brief checks. "I c-can't see any degradation there."

"Not that that means anything if I've only just become diabetic." Virgil had a horrifying thought. "Diabetics aren't allowed to pilot planes, are they?"

"There are many restrictions in America," Brains admitted. "However, Diabetics who use insulin…"

"Insulin!"

"…can apply for a third-class medical certificate."

"Third-class!"

"There is no need to, ah, concern yourself, Virgil. You'll be the first to admit that in the short term piloting any aircraft isn't an option. You'll have to get a lot stronger before your father will allow you to take control of a plane."

"He let me fly home yesterday."

Brains showed his surprise. "All the way?"

"No. Not until we were in international airspace and well away from land."

"Ah." Brains relaxed.

Virgil told himself to get a grip. "Am I likely to have complications from other organs not being up to 'full function' yet?"

"Quite possibly. The pancreas is also v-vital in the digestion as it secretes enzymes that break down carbohydrates, proteins and lipids in the duodenum." Seeing his friend's downcast face, Brains sought to reassure him. "Don't worry. Any issues can be managed."

"Great." Virgil grumbled. "So, what happens now? Regular insulin injections?"

"N-No. If I thought that was necessary I would suggest that you see a specialist, but I believe that with careful monitoring of your food consumption, we will not only allow your healing pancreas to fully recover, but also prevent complications from the reinstatement of your other abdominal structures."

"How long will all this take?"

"I am sure that this is, ah, a temporary condition…. One I must blame myself for."

Surprised, Virgil stared at his friend. "You? Why? I'm the one who ate too much."

"I should have encouraged you to take more care." Brains gave a guilty grin. "I was s-so pleased to see you home, that I didn't c-consider the consequences of your… Erm…"

"Eating like a pig?"

Brains giggled. "Yes."

"Okay, so I've got to watch what I eat from now on." Virgil sighed. "What else can we do? Knowing what's wrong and how to stop it again isn't making me any less thirsty."

Brains got him a tumbler of water. "I can give you something to help bring your blood sugar levels back to normal, but you've got to make sure that watch what you eat until your pancreas is properly healed." He started collecting together the paraphernalia needed.

After a much-needed drink that nearly emptied the glass, Virgil nodded. "I've done that for the past year. I guess I can live with it for a bit longer. I can only see one problem."

Brains raised an eyebrow behind his blue horn-rimmed spectacles. "A-And that would be?"

"Grandma. She's determined to feed me up again."

"I will, erm, speak to your grandmother and Kyrano. As you know, there is no reason why you shouldn't have tasty meals. We just need to sure that you eat healthily and in moderation… Which isn't a bad thing for any of us. Since we have guests, Mrs Tracy is determined to prove her worth as a cook." Brains rubbed his tummy. "I've been eating like a pig myself."

-F-A-B-

The door slammed open to Jeff's study – Well… As much of a slam as was possible when it slid automatically in its tracks.

Startled by the sudden entrance, Jeff looked up from the work he was catching up on. "Mother?" Something had clearly got her hot under the collar and for one brief, quailing, moment, he wondered what he'd done to get her so angry. "What's wrong?"

"This!" He jumped when she dropped a pile of glossy magazines onto his desk. They cascaded across his paperwork; one sliding into his lap.

He picked up this copy, surprised to see that the cover showed a scantily-clad, very buxom, young woman, who appeared to be begging him to open and read the magazine so that she could reveal all. "Where did you get this?!"

"Virgil's room."

"Virgil's room?" Jeff flicked through the magazine, shocked by the content. "They're a bit more explicit than I remember them…" Remembering his relationship with the angry woman before him, he hastily added. "Some of the other guys in my flight left them lying about. You couldn't avoid seeing them."

Her angry snort made him think that she didn't exactly believe him.

"Where'd you find them?"

"Virgil's room."

"You said that, but where?"

"I was going to make his bed for him when I found them on the table. You know my opinion of this sort of… of… Filth!"

Jeff remembered. He also remembered something else. "Mother," he said gently. "Do you suppose they could be medical?"

Astonished by his supposition, she stared at him. "Medical? This…?" She indicated the lurid covers. "How?"

"I mean…" Jeff wondered how to phrase this. "Think about where he was injured."

"Oh! But…" She sank into the convenient chair. "I thought they'd reinstated… everything. At least that's what I saw."

"We know he's not one hundred percent yet. The hospital was reluctant to release him yesterday. Maybe there are some organs, ah, I mean systems that haven't reinstated themselves yet. Or maybe?" Jeff picked up another magazine and gave it a quick flick. "Maybe there's some interesting articles in here that he wanted to read?"

"Jeff…" she warned.

He dropped the magazine. "Let me talk to him. If they are for 'medical purposes', I'm not going to stop him reading them."

"And if they're not for 'medical purposes'?"

"There's always the furnace."

"Good!" She stood. "Let me know what he says." Then she hesitated. "Or maybe I'd rather not know."

"Let me decide that. Only please, Mother, don't read anything into it if I don't say any more on the subject. Virgil might find the whole, ah, topic embarrassing and would rather I didn't discuss it with you."

She nodded, part of her willing to do anything to help her grandson get better and part of her desperate to know the truth.

She left the room in a much more subdued manner than she'd arrived.

Jeff stared at the magazines, wondering just how he was going to handle the situation. Then he heard a familiar click-click of crutches in the hallway and decided that he'd play it by ear. "Virgil." He placed some papers over the incriminating magazines. "Can I see you for a moment?"

Virgil managed to avoid groaning out loud. He wasn't in the best of tempers after Brains' revelations and had planned on retreating to his room where he wouldn't inflict his bad mood on anyone.

"Come in and close the door. I don't want any interruptions."

This was usually a bad sign and, wondering what he could have done wrong in less than twenty-four hours; or worse, what bad news was he going to be told on top of that received quarter an hour ago, Virgil hesitated. "I was going to check out Thunderbird Ten."

Jeff gestured to the room off the side of his study. "You can use mine…"

Giving into the inevitable, Virgil entered the study and started walking across the thick carpet. "Thanks."

"Take your time."

Virgil did.

When he re-entered his father's office, it was with a smile on his face that felt false. "Why did you want to see me?"

"Sit down."

This was another bad sign. Unless his father was acknowledging his lack of strength and simply encouraging him to take the weight off his legs.

"I've just been talking to your grandmother. She was in your room…"

Virgil's jaw dropped. "She was what?!"

"…making your bed for you…"

This, on top of what he'd just learned, was the final straw. "How dare she?!"

"She wanted to help."

"Does she think I'm totally incapable?"

"No. But she was trying to make things easier for you."

"What right does she have to walk into my room when she feels like it!? That's my private space!"

"She's aware of that, Virgil." Jeff kept his voice low and non-confrontational. "She was trying to be helpful."

"Helpful? Helpful!?" Angry, Virgil would have launched himself to his feet if he had been sure he wouldn't have taken an embarrassing nosedive onto his father's desk. "One of the first rules we made when we moved to Tracy Island was that we don't invade each other's rooms. That's my sanctuary! Even if I am crippled, she had no right to enter my room without my permission!"

Jeff held up a calming hand. "You've made your point and it's a valid one, and you can discuss it with her later… But first I need to discuss something with you. She found these on your table." He removed the concealing papers.

Virgil's face, which had been red in anger, turned white. Then he flushed red again, this time in embarrassment. "She…"

"I told her that you probably had them for 'medical reasons'."

"She saw _them_?"

"Do you?"

Virgil, so embarrassed by the discovery, hadn't taken in his father's words. "Sorry. Do I what?"

"Have them as a part of your treatment?"

"Oh." Virgil shuffled forward in his chair, closer to the desk. "Yes." He picked up the top magazine, flicked through the pages until he came to one near the end, and then held it out for Jeff to see. Stamped on the page were the words _Supplied by Bearston General for the use of patient 2067161216_. "I told them you wouldn't approve, but they said they were 'an aid'."

"Ah…" One part relieved and one part saddened, Jeff found himself in a quandary. This information opened up a whole lot of other embarrassing questions that he wasn't sure that he should, or even could, ask. "Do they, um, are they, I mean…"

Virgil saved him from embarrassment "Do they work? No. I try to read them because the doctors said it might help and, and I know it's a cliché, but some of the articles are actually interesting. But I don't like looking at the pictures of the poor women. I feel embarrassed for them and that's not exactly conducive to…" He shrugged. "And it's not even as if the photos have any artistic merit. I think the Venus de Milo's more erotic. But then…" He paused for a moment as an idea came to him. "She's lost a couple of limbs too."

"Ah," Jeff repeated, trying to think of something non-awkward and intelligent to say. "I'm sorry I brought it up, but your grandmother was that livid I had to do something to calm her down."

"And does she still want to kill me?" Virgil queried.

"Either that or feel sorry for you. She doesn't know which…" Jeff shuffled his papers. "Would you mind if I told her?"

"Why not?" Virgil made a _what's the use _gesture. "It's not like it's a secret anymore."

"She's like all of us: worried about you."

"Yeah. And there's plenty to worry about."

Jeff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Brains has just given me a check-up." Virgil flopped back on the chair. "He told me I'm diabetic."

"What?!"

"It's been a great day," Virgil said with heavy irony. "My pancreas isn't working to specs, which means I'm not digesting my food properly and my blood sugar levels are going haywire and making me feel thirsty…"

"Would you like a glass of water?"

"Yes, please." As Virgil waited for his father to fill a cup from the room's water cooler, he continued. "And then you tell me that Grandma's been in my room, uninvited, and finds these!" He indicated the magazines.

Jeff held out the cup. "Is the diabetes permanent?"

"Brains doesn't think so, but we all know this is a 'highly experimental procedure'," Virgil quoted sarcastically as he mimed the quotation marks. "But, whatever the prognosis, it means I won't be piloting any time soon." He downed the drink and placed the cup down.

Jeff tidied the magazines on his desk. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Virgil massaged his left hand. "I thought I was finally getting somewhere."

"You are getting somewhere, Virgil. You've come home. A year ago, I doubted that that was even possible."

"I guess so."

"Is your pancreas the only organ that's not working properly?"

"Obviously not."

Jeff coloured a shade. "Aside from what we were discussing."

"Brains wants to do more tests, but he says it's probable that everything else is as far through the healing process as my pancreas, so I've got to be careful with what I eat from now on. No more party food like yesterday. Just healthy and boring."

"Talking parties…" Jeff leant on the edge of his desk, removing the physical barrier that had been between him and his son. "Did you know that ACE are holding a reunion?"

Virgil looked up at his father. "No."

"It's in a couple of weeks, to mark a year after the earthquake and see how everyone is and what they've been up to. Do you want to and, I guess, are you able to come?"

"I'm not an employee at ACE," Virgil reminded him.

"You were meant to be."

"That was a lie."

"You were employed by me and were working at ACE when you were injured. Isn't that close enough?"

"Are they," Virgil gestured in the general direction of where he'd last seen his friends and former co-workers, "going?"

"Yes. Didn't they mention it to you?"

"No."

"I suppose they didn't want to upset you if you couldn't make it. A few days ago, we weren't even sure you'd be allowed out of hospital for your birthday – let alone allowed home." Jeff patted his son on the shoulder. "Think about it and let me know. You don't have to decide straight away. I've put your name down just in case."

"You have?"

"Yes. I thought that, if it were possible, you'd want to see how everyone's getting on." Jeff managed a small smile. "And everyone would want to see how well you're doing."

"Not as good as I'd hoped." The right hand massaged the left.

"I know… But it's only one day. Tomorrow, after a day of eating healthily, and a good night's sleep, everything will be better." Jeff noticed the massage. "Problems?"

"Huh?" Virgil appeared surprised when he realised what he was doing. He examined his reinstated hand. "No. I used to have to massage it to get the blood circulating and warm the muscles up. It's developed into a habit."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It's one part of me that actually works as it should."

"Give it time… And I'll speak to your grandmother," Jeff promised, "and ask her not to go into your room without your permission."

"Thanks." Virgil managed a smile. "I know that she means well. And that I'll have to grovel an apology to her over these things." He gathered the magazines together and, awkwardly, tucked them under his arm. "If you'll excuse me…" he allowed his father to help him to his feet, "I'll take these back to my room. That's unless…" he smirked. "You wanted to 'confiscate' them."

Jeff held up his hands. "No thanks."

"There's an interview with one of your former astronaut colleagues in one of them."

This piqued Jeff's curiosity. "Really? Who?"

"Darren… someone, I think. His dates were around your time at the space agency, which is why I think you'd know him." Virgil held out the magazines. "Do you want to see which one?"

"I value my skin too highly and if your grandmother knew I'd kept one, even for only educational purposes…" Jeff realised a secondary interpretation of what he'd said and reddened a shade. "I mean, for the articles, I shudder to think what she'd do. At least she'll try to make your meals interesting. I'd be on bread and water for the rest of my life." He thought of something. "Do you want me to tell her about the diabetes?"

"It's okay. Brains was going to explain it all to her. Well…" Virgil tucked the magazines further up under his arm. "I'd better get this lot back before anyone else sees them." He indicated the magazines with a lift of his elbow and most of them cascaded to the floor. "Bother."

Jeff bent down to pick them up. "Do you want me to help you carry them?"

"No. I can manage. I've got to learn to stand on my own two feet anyway."

"Here…" Jeff took the publications from his son and put them into a folder, before tucking them under Virgil's arm again. "That should make it easier."

"Thanks." Hoping that he wouldn't run into anyone in the brief distance between here and his bedroom, Virgil exited his father's study.

"Hey, Virg."

Virgil, for the he didn't know how many-th time today, managed to avoid a groan. "Hi, Scott."

"What have you got there?"

"This? Oh. Nothing much." Virgil tried not to sound too casual. "Just some magazines. I'm taking them back to my room."

"Want a hand?"

"No. It's all good practise for me."

"Are you sure?" Eager to help, Scott reached out. "I could take most of them. That would make it easier for you."

"No. I'm fiii…" This time Virgil did groan as the magazines cascaded out of the folder and onto the floor.

Scott pounced on them. "Let me help."

"You don't need to…" Virgil scrabbled after those that he could reach. "I can…"

"What are they anyway? Engineering magazeee...?" Scott stared at the picture on a cover. "Holy cow! Whose are these?"

"Mine. Just help me pick…"

Scott flicked through the magazine. "Yours?! Father's gonna flip if he sees them."

"He's seen them." Virgil dragged one closer with his crutch. "Help me pick them up before anyone else does."

"Whoa!" Scott turned the magazine sideways to get a better view of the centrefold. "She'd never fit in a fighter jet…" Realising what he was doing, he slammed the magazine shut. "If Father sees these…"

"He knows all about them," Virgil snapped. "Help me take them back to…"

"Hi, Guys."

Virgil groaned again and wondered what he'd done to deserve such a bad day.

Hiding the magazine behind his back, Scott spun on his heel. "What are you guys doing here?"

Gordon gave an easy grin. "We wondered where Virgil was hiding."

"I'm not hiding anywhere!"

"And, as Ginny was wondering why her 'Uncle Virgil' wasn't with us on the beach," Alan elaborated, "we said we'd try and find him for her."

"Go back and tell her you've found him." Virgil nudged a magazine with his crutch, trying to hide it under a low cabinet.

Ignoring his brother's terse responses, John smiled. "And, as I have to head back to Thunderbird Five tomorrow, I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible too."

"And I'm sure Virgil will be willing to join you and Ginny as soon as he can," Scott stated, almost as keen to get rid of their siblings as that brother. "If you go back down to the beach we'll be there shortly."

"Having problems?" Seeing Virgil's attempts to shove things about with his crutches, John crouched down to help. He grabbed the corner of the magazine that Virgil had only just managed to conceal, pulling it out. "What's this?" He glanced at the cover and his eyes almost popped out of his head. "What the…!"

Intrigued by the reaction, Alan crouched down next to him. "What is it?"

There was a warning: "John…" from the eldest Tracy, and John quickly whipped the magazine behind his back. "Nothing you need to worry about."

But Gordon had heard the warning and seen the rapid response. Curious to find out what his eldest brothers were hiding and taking advantage of their preoccupation with Alan, he snatched the magazine from John's hand. "What's this, Joohhh…?"

"What!" Alan demanded, seeing an equally dumbfounded expression come over his closest brother. "What is it?" Seeing another magazine on the floor he dove on it, rolling clear when Scott made a dive for him. "What's with all the secrets?" Flipping the magazine over so he could see it the right way up, the centrefold fell free exposing everything. "Wha…?"

"Who…?" Gordon swallowed. "Whose are these?"

"They're mine," Virgil snapped.

"Yours?!"

Virgil scowled at the astonished three-part chorus. "Yes. Mine."

John shook his head slowly. "Father will skin you alive if he finds out you've got these."

"Never mind him," Gordon hissed. "Grandma will kill you!" His headshake was brisker than John's. "You've only been out of hospital one day. Are you trying to get readmitted?"

Alan, too busy scanning through his copy of magazine to take in what his brothers were saying, let out an affronted: "Hey!" when Scott snatched it off him.

"You're too young for that."

"Too young!?"

"For Pete's sake!" Sick of the way his morning was going, Virgil exploded. "Since I'm not allowed to have any secrets in this place, how about, instead of standing there like brain-dead idiots, you make yourselves useful and bring them into my room. And there are six of them and I expect to see all six when you get there."

No one moved. They just stared at him.

"Quick!" he urged. "Before Ginny sees them."

That appeal was enough to spur his brothers into action and, using the same sort of speed that they coaxed out of their Thunderbirds, all six magazines were rolled up, hidden beneath shirts, and spirited into his bedroom.

"Okay, Virgil," Scott demanded, when the slowest member of the group had arrived and the door was closed behind him. "What the heck were you doing, wandering around carrying these so anyone could see them?" He pulled three curled and dogeared copies out from under his shirt and dropped them onto a table.

"I wasn't carrying them around so anyone could see them. Father had given me a folder to hide them in while I took them back to my room. You made me drop them."

"He knows?!" His fingers suddenly as numb as the rest of him, John dropped his copies onto Scott's.

"Yes."

"And he's let you keep them?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Gordon added his copy to the pile.

"Why do you think?"

"Why didn't you hide them?" Alan asked.

"They were 'hidden' in my room until Grandma confiscated them."

"Are you telling us…" John shook his head in amazement, "…that both Dad and Grandma know that you've got these magazines, they've let you keep them, and you're not in worse shape than you already are?"

"Yes." Virgil decided that the best course of action – the one most likely to irritate his siblings since they were irritating him – was to ignore them. He opened a box. "Should be big enough." He walked away, leaving the lid open.

He heard Scott's voice behind him. "Virg…"

"If I remember rightly," Virgil muttered to himself, "there's a lock around here somewhere."

"Virgil…"

"Of course, I haven't been here for a year. Could be anywhere… Especially since people can't seem to leave my stuff alone."

"Virgil…" There was enough irritation and curiosity in the word to be satisfying.

Having hunted through some drawers, Virgil found the combination lock. "Good." He checked the lock's combination. "Zero, zero, zero, zero." Hanging the lock off his finger and leaning on his crutches, he approached the box again. "That will do."

"Virgil!"

"What?" Virgil fixed Scott with a level stare.

A concerned frown stared back. "You know the rules as well as the rest of us…"

"I wish Grandma did."

"…Why have you got these magazines?"

Alan snickered. "Do you need to ask?" He was ignored again.

Virgil picked up the magazines and counted five into the box. "Alan!"

"What?" Alan gave an innocent shrug as Gordon spotted a rectangular outline under his shirt and pulled the missing issue free. "The articles looked interesting."

Virgil accepted the magazine, dropped it into the box, slammed the lid shut and slid the lock's shackle home. But he didn't spin the combination.

"You haven't locked it," Gordon pointed out.

"I know."

"Anyone could get into it."

"I know." Virgil repeated. "I'm not trying to make them difficult to get to. I'm trying to stop Grandma from seeing them. If there's a lock on the box, she'll leave it alone. She might be infuriating, but she's not nosey. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go in here." He disappeared into his ensuite.

He was gone for several minutes and when he emerged, carrying his tooth mug filled with water, he wasn't surprised to discover that no one had left. He sat on the end of his bed.

"Are the articles as good as they're supposed to be?" Alan asked, his curiosity overcoming all inhibitions.

"Some of them are," Virgil admitted. "There's an interview with one of Victor Gomez's mechanics. The team's still claiming that they know nothing about the sabotage of your car, even after Gomez kidnapped you and Grandma. There's one about other nations who claim to have had controlled flight before the Wright Brothers. There's one on the history of the radio and the effect it had on the world. And an exposé on WASP. Something about them discovering new underwater life forms and not telling anyone."

Scott folded his arms. "That still doesn't explain why you've got these magazines. You can't tell me that you've bought them only for the articles."

"I haven't _bought _them," Virgil admitted. "They were given to me."

"Given to you?!" John gasped. "Who by?"

"Bearston General."

"Bearston General?" Gordon echoed.

"But why would a hospital give you…?" John's voice petered out in stunned disbelief when Virgil gave him a pointed look. "You mean you…?"

"Yes."

"Thunderbird Ten…"

"Yes."

"And these are to help…"

"Yes."

"Oh..."

"And before you ask. No. They don't work."

"Oh."

"We're sorry, Virg," Scott said softly. "We didn't realise."

"And that's why Dad and Grandma have let you keep them?" Gordon clarified. "Because you've got them on prescription?"

"Huh?" Alan frowned. "Prescription?"

"I don't know what the fuss is all about." Virgil swirled the water around in his mug. "My legs aren't working properly and everyone's okay about that. My left hand doesn't have a span of over an octave like it used to and no one worries. But everyone's treating this as if it's the end of the world! It's just another system in my body that isn't working properly yet."

"Prescription?"

"Another system?" Scott frowned. "What else isn't working?"

"My pancreas, apparently." After an ironic salute with his mug, Virgil took a drink.

"Your pancreas?" Scott's frown deepened.

"Uh, huh." Virgil sipped again.

John's forehead creased into a frown that matched their eldest brother's. "But that produces insulin."

"That's right. And enzymes that aid digestion."

But John had fixated on one point. "Your body's not producing enough insulin?"

"Yes. It's struggling to keep up with me, especially after everything I had to eat yesterday."

"Hang on." Gordon held up his hand. "Are you telling us you're diabetic?!"

"According to Brains."

"Which is why you're always thirsty?"

"Yep." Virgil drained his glass, setting it to one side.

"What's all the fuss about?" Alan asked, genuinely confused. "Being diabetic's nothing. One of the other drivers on the world circuit was diabetic and he was the healthiest one of the lot of us. We'd finish a hard days training, with no energy to do any cooking, and grab a burger. He always made sure he had something nutritious to eat."

"It's not nothing," Scott corrected. "Under American law diabetics aren't allowed to hold a pilot's licence."

John stared at him. "Is that a blanket ban?"

"No… Under some situations, when the diabetes is controlled by insulin, the pilot may hold a certificate…"

"Third-class," Virgil interjected, rubbing his left hand.

"Yeah… a third-class certificate which'll enable them to be a private pilot, an instructor, or a sports pilot. But the certificate will only be issued on a case by case basis. And diabetics are banned from being commercial pilots."

"How do you classify a Thunderbird's pilot?" John queried.

"What does it matter?" Gordon demanded. "Since when has International Rescue worried about dumb laws like that? We all know that diabetes can be managed. So long as Brains, Dad, and Virgil are happy that he's not a risk, there's no reason why Virgil can't still fly Thunderbird Two. Especially if I'm his co-pilot. I don't mind getting more action other than piloting Thunderbird Four."

"Need more water." Virgil vanished back into his bathroom.

By the time he had returned, John had thought of a pertinent question. "Does Brains say that the diabetes is permanent?"

"He doesn't know. He thinks it, and other issues, will probably disappear when my pancreas regains full functionality. But we all know that this is a…"

"Highly experimental operation," they chorused; that phrase having been drilled into their minds as much as Virgil's.

He sighed. "If I never hear those words again I'll be happy."

"I don't get it," Alan admitted. "What have a bunch of magazines got to do with Virgil being diabetic?" His four brothers stared at him. "What?"

Gordon snuffled a laugh. "Poor Tin-Tin."

"Huh? What's she got to do with it?"

"You'll be glad to know: nothing."

"Huh?"

"Alan…" John began slowly. "Virgil's pancreas isn't the only organ that isn't working properly."

"I get that, that's why he's got to watch what he eats, but…" Alan's brothers watched as realisation dawned. "You mean organ?"

"Yes," his brothers told him.

"As in 'organ' organ?"

"And it's not playing a tune at the moment," Gordon confirmed. "Sorry, Virgil."

"That's horrible!"

"No, it's not," Virgil corrected. "It wasn't an issue until everyone made it an issue." He sagged as his sleepless night and general lack of wellbeing overtook him. "Now everything's becoming an issue."

Scott placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Issue?"

"I think I kind of assumed that when I got home everything would be as it was. That I would be able to walk where I wanted, when I wanted; eat what I wanted, when I wanted; sleep where I wanted, when I wanted…"

"With whoever you wanted." Gordon visibly quailed when he received four dirty looks from his brothers. "Sorry. That was tactless."

Virgil massaged his hand. "Yes, it was."

Scott brought the conversation back on track. "How can we help?"

Virgil gave him a hopeful look. "Do what I've wanted all morning and leave me alone? Maybe if I can get some sleep, I'll be able to put things into perspective."

"You poor guy." And much to Virgil's and everyone else's surprise, Alan wrapped his brother up in what was meant to be a comforting embrace.

Comfort that he didn't want nor, Virgil told himself, need. "If you don't let me go, Alan," he growled through clenched teeth, "Grandma will have a real reason to kill me, because I'll kill you!"

"Let him go, Alan." Scott grabbed his youngest brother by the collar and belt and pulled him clear.

Alan straightened the creases out of his shirt. "I was only trying to be sympathetic."

"Virgil doesn't need sympathy. He needs sleep."

"Do you want us to leave, Virgil?" John offered. "Then, once you've had your nap, this afternoon will be better."

"Thanks." Virgil stood. "But first I've got to go and get my growling from Grandma. I'll come back here afterwards… That's if I'm still able to walk."

"She'll go easy on you," Scott promised. "Will you sleep in your bed or on the balcony?"

"Balcony."

"Right. We'll make sure that it's ready for you when you get back."

Virgil found his grandmother where he'd expected to find her; in the kitchen poring over recipe books; a plate of goodies close at hand. The Tracy matriarch seemed to think that it was her duty to ensure that her menfolk could never faint from hunger and you could always guarantee that if you were in her territory, that there would be something edible within reach; a fact that all the Tracys took advantage of. "Hi, Grandma."

She looked up and smiled, but he could see a touch of sympathy in her eyes. "How are you feeling?"

He shrugged, not really knowing the answer. "What are you doing?" He propped himself against a stool.

"Brains explained about the diabetes." She indicated the books and electronic devices before her. "That's what these are for. I'm trying to see if I can make healthier variations of your favourites."

"You don't have to put yourself out on my account, Grandma. We both know that your regular meals are healthy enough for me. I'm just happy to be eating, and being able to eat, anything you've cooked."

"And I'm happier knowing that I can help you get better, rather than making you sick again."

"You didn't do that. I did. I ate too much. I was so happy to be home again that I got carried away." As if in demonstration, Virgil's hand automatically stole out towards the goodies plate. Pulling his hand back quickly, he told himself to show some restraint.

"I spoke to your father about those magazines I found in your room."

"I know." Knowing that he couldn't run away and that he'd be better off facing the music, Virgil hung his head. "That's why I'm here. I want to apologise." He traced the outline of one of his crutches' grips. "I'm sorry that I had to bring those magazines into the house. I didn't want to, because I know you don't approve, but they insisted because they thought it might help with my recovery."

"You don't have to apologise, Virgil. Not now that I know that you've got a good reason for having them."

"It would be a better reason if they worked."

She frowned. "They don't?"

"No." Virgil examined the handgrip on the right crutch, his thumbnail tracing the grooves in the rubber. "The chassis' in reasonable shape, there's fuel in the tank, but the engine isn't firing."

Grandma looked down at her books. "I'm sorry."

"I don't know why everyone keeps saying that! At this stage of my life it's a redundant system that I don't have a use for. It's not as if it's vital to keep me alive." Letting go of the crutch Virgil's right hand massaged the left.

Grandma saw the action. "Is that sore?"

"Huh?" Finally, he looked back up at her. "Is what sore?"

"Your hand. You're rubbing it."

"Am I?" Virgil stopped the action. "I spent so long massaging it to get it working again, that it's become a habit. I don't even realise I'm doing it half the time."

Grandma smirked. "Like you don't realise that." She pointed to where the hand was sneaking back towards the bowl.

Annoyed with himself, Virgil made a frustrated sound and sat on the offending limb. "You'd better put that out of reach."

Grandma moved the bowl clear.

Virgil resumed his inspection of his crutch. "Grandma?"

"Yes, Darling?"

"Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course, you can. What?"

"I appreciate that you're pleased that I'm home and that you want to help me recover, but I've got to get used to do things for myself again. And having spent months in the hospital with people coming and going at all times, I'm enjoying having my own space and a bit of privacy. It's not that I don't appreciate your help, but I don't need it. And…"

"You'd rather I stayed out of your room?"

"Yes… Please…"

"Why?" Mrs Tracy's eyes twinkled. "What else are you hiding in there?"

"Nothing!" Alarmed Virgil looked at his grandmother, begging her to believe him. "Honest, Grandma. I'm not hiding anything else. I promise!"

She chuckled. "I was teasing you, Virgil."

"Oh." He relaxed.

"So, you'd rather I didn't make your bed?"

"I can do it myself… If it'll make you happier, I'll make you a deal. If you promise not to go into my room without my permission, I'll promise that if I need your help I won't hesitate to ask you."

Grandma gave a solemn nod. "That's an entirely reasonable request. I promise that I won't go into your room unless you need me to." She opened her arms. "Hug to seal the deal?"

"It would be my pleasure." Virgil slid off his stool and wrapped his grandma up in the hug. "Thanks for being so understanding." He yawned. "Time to try to have that nap I was going to have straight after breakfast."

"A good idea," Grandma approved, and watched him as he made his slow way to the door. "And Virgil?"

Her grandson turned back. "Yes?"

"Don't give up. I've haven't seen an engine yet that you couldn't get firing on all cylinders. If you need to read those maintenance manuals to help you get it started, then I'm not going to stop you."

"Thanks, Grandma." Chuckling, Virgil returned to his room. Once again ignoring his bed he made his way out onto his balcony.

His pillow and a lightweight blanket were lying on his deckchair, ready to be pulled up over him. Next to it was a chiller holding several bottles of drinking water.

Appreciative of his brothers' thoughtfulness, Virgil sat down and pushed his crutches under the chair, out of the way. There was an unexpected clang and he crouched down, pulling out the chamber pot that Gordon had somehow managed to find in this most modern of complexes.

He smiled. His brothers could be irritating, annoying, and infuriating; but, when it mattered, they could also be relied on to rally around and cheer him up.

Lying down on the chair, Virgil finally got his much-needed sleep.

-F-A-B-

He'd slept for an hour when he awoke again, deciding that, as so many people who were important to him were leaving tomorrow, he'd better be sociable.

Finding a cotton bag, one that he could loop over his neck and hang at his side leaving his hands free to operate the crutches, he loaded it with a couple of the water bottles and made his way to the lounge.

The moment he entered that most familiar of rooms, a warm feeling washed over him. This was where he was meant to be. Everything was right with the world. His father was working at the desk. Gordon and Alan were poring over something to do with International Rescue, but their state of dress and nearby towels told Virgil that this was a temporary state of affairs. And over by the windows was his beloved piano.

Gordon looked up from his work and, seeing who was standing there, grinned. "Oh, look! It's the Six-Million-Dollar Man."

"It was a bit more than that," Jeff admitted. Smiling, he glanced up from his desk. "But it was worth every penny."

Virgil began walking over to the balcony.

Gordon watched his slow progress. "What do you think, Alan? Pretty spry for a dead guy?"

Alan chuckled.

Virgil made a face at them and carried on his trek.

From the hall, the four men could hear music. It was growing louder.

"Sounds like Tin-Tin's ready…" Alan picked up his towel. "Finally."

Tin-Tin entered the lounge, her towel draped over one arm, a small portable TV in her hand. From its speakers, they could hear the last notes of the tune. "They are going to play _Infinite Music_ next," she announced. "I thought you would like to hear it too."

Virgil's brothers, keen fans of the tune, nodded enthusiastically, as their father, resigned to not being able to work for the duration of what was a long song, sighed and laid down his pen.

Virgil frowned. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he wasn't sure what. Then the first notes wafted out of the TV – and he knew… "Turn it off!"

"Huh?" Gordon turned to stare at him. "Why? It's a great song."

The feeling of warmth and familiarity had gone. Replaced by a kind of cold terror. "I don't want to hear it! Turn – it – off!"

"But Virgil," Tin-Tin protested, "I thought you enjoyed it."

"I don't!" Virgil felt as if he was going to scream. His voice grew louder. "If you don't turn it off, I will!" He took a step closer.

Tin-Tin took a step backwards.

"Hey!" Alan leapt to his feet in his girlfriend's defence. "You've got not right to speak to Tin-Tin like that!"

"Alan…" Jeff's admonition was quiet. He'd seen Virgil's expression, and the white knuckles clutching the crutches, and the slight swaying, and knew that whatever the problem was, it wasn't trivial. "Turn it off, Tin-Tin," he instructed.

Bewildered, she obeyed.

In the silence that followed, everyone stared at Virgil. He was breathing heavily; aware of his heart pounding in his chest.

Then he turned and raced as fast as he could for the balcony.

"Virgil…" Jeff followed him out into the sunlight. "Are you all right?"

Virgil had tried to prop his crutches against the railing, but failed. Ignoring the fallen supports, he'd folded his arms on the top rail and had buried his head into them. "I don't know."

"Son… What's wrong? I want to help."

"You can't."

"I can't if you don't tell me what the problem is."

"I don't know what the problem is," Virgil straightened and rubbed his face. "Maybe coming home was a mistake?"

Jeff frowned, concerned by the statement. "Do you think so?"

"Yesterday I would have said that, mentally at least, coming home was the best treatment available. Today…" Virgil shook his head and buried it into his arms again.

Jeff laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Today's an off day," he reassured his son. "You've got to adjust to being home and we've got to get used to you being here again. It took us a long time to adjust to your absence. I don't know how many times I walked in here and expected to hear your piano playing… And I won't tell you how much it hurt when I thought I never would again… Now I'll probably start complaining that I'm used to the silence and will demand that you stop."

It was patently a joke, but Virgil didn't react one way or another.

"Are you in pain?"

"No more than usual."

"Because if you think it's something medical, we'll fly you straight back to the hospital. If you need to get there sooner I'd even get Scott to take you in Thunderbird One, and hang the consequences."

"I know. But it's not medical. Not physical medical, anyway."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know what happened." Unable to face his father and massaging his hand, Virgil stared out over the Pacific Ocean. "I just knew that I couldn't listen to that song."

"But you used to love it as much as your brothers. I don't know how many times you played it on the piano." Jeff managed a light-hearted chuckle. "I always preferred your version to the original."

"I won't be playing it again. I never want to hear it again."

"I'll tell everyone. I'm sure they'll understand."

"Will they? Because I don't." Virgil pushed away from the balustrade. "I guess that I'm not in a good mood at the moment and that's making everything seem worse than it is."

Jeff pointed down to where the Crumps, Bruce, the Mickelsons, Scott, and John, were playing on the beach. They could hear Ginny's squeals of laughter. "Go down there and enjoy their company. I'm sure that'll cheer you up." He bent down and picked up the crutches.

"When I can't even run around like them?"

"A bit of sun will do you good. You've probably got a slight vitamin D deficiency. Brains told me that it can be a risk factor in diabetes."

"I guess that's as good a reason as any." Virgil accepted his supports with thanks. "Plus, I need to walk as much as possible. I want to give these," he tapped a leg with a crutch, "a good workout. And I want to get used to going over different terrain." He sighed. "And, it'll be better than moping in my room."

Jeff watched as his son made his slow way down the steps.

-F-A-B-

Virgil was in a better mood by the time lunch rolled around, although everyone noticed that Alan was a little standoffish towards his brother. They were also bemused by Jeff's decree that _Infinite Music _was only to be played within someone's private living area or through earphones.

Tin-Tin had all but forgotten about the morning when she settled down to do some work that afternoon. She was in the middle of a little inventing of her own, and hoped that what she had planned would be of use to International Rescue. She was therefore surprised when she was interrupted.

She treated her visitor to a warm smile. "Hello, Virgil."

He seemed less sure of himself. "Hello, Tin-Tin." He indicated her workstation. "Are you busy? We can talk later if you want. I don't want to interrupt anything important."

"I've only just started, so I have not had the chance to do a Brains and bury myself in my work."

Virgil chuckled, but Tin-Tin had a feeling that it was out of duty, not because he'd found anything funny in what she'd said.

She waited.

"I've come to apologise for the way I behaved earlier… And, I hope, offer an explanation for what I did."

"Oh, do not worry about that." Tin-Tin gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "You were probably out of sorts from learning about the diabetes."

"I don't think that helped," Virgil admitted, thinking of the other things that had also put him _out of sorts_, "but I think I've discovered the real reason… May I? Before I fall over?" He indicated a stool, and after a nod of assent from his friend, sat on it. "Thanks." He propped his crutches against the workbench.

Tin-Tin waited some more.

Virgil massaged his hand. "I decided after lunch that it was about time I took the stuff I had at the hospital out of my bags and put them away… I found these." He reached into his bag and, pushing aside a water bottle, pulled out a set of earbuds. "These are the ones that the hospital staff used to give me a connection with the world when I was in a coma and the family couldn't be with me. I haven't listened to them since I regained consciousness. After that I either had people about me to keep me entertained, or I was able to use higher quality headphones." He showed the earbuds to Tin-Tin, pointing out a tiny switch. "They're on single song repeat."

Not really understanding, Tin-Tin nonetheless gave an understanding nod as Virgil pulled a small speaker from out of the bag. He plugged the earbuds into it. "I was curious about what I had on there, since it's been nearly a year since I last used them, so, I listened to them."

Tin-Tin nodded again.

Taking a deep breath, Virgil appeared to steel himself. Then he pushed play on the earbuds. The music only lasted for about ten seconds before he violently silenced the tune; almost throwing the earbuds across the room in his haste to pull them free of the speaker. He was visibly shaking as he took a drink from a water bottle to steady his nerves.

But the recital was long enough for Tin-Tin to recognise the song. "Virgil?" She laid a consoling hand on his arm. "That was _Infinite Music_." She looked across to where the earbuds had landed. "And they were playing in an endless loop…? While you were in the coma?"

Snapping the lid of the water bottle back into place, Virgil replaced it into his bag, giving himself time to pull himself together again. "I think so. My hypothesis is that while I was unconscious I could only hear one thing; this song playing over and over again."

"You don't remember?"

"Not consciously. But I think that my subconscious remembered all too well and conjured up the feelings I felt at the time. Prior to when you played it I was feeling relatively happy. I was home and I was with my family and things were good. Then I heard that song and… And it was like I was being crushed all over again... Like I was drowning in a sea of negative emotions."

Giving him a moment to collect himself and his thoughts, Tin-Tin retrieved the earbuds from where they'd landed on the floor and handed them back to her friend.

Virgil switched them off and dropped them carelessly into his bag. "I felt frustrated… Frightened… Angry… Alone… Almost claustrophobic… I just snap…"

He wasn't given the chance to finish his sentence when Tin-Tin wrapped him in an embrace. "I understand," she whispered.

The hug felt good. Like a connection with the real world; not the subconsciously remembered universe of darkness and fear.

Tin-Tin didn't pull back until he released her. "Are you all right now?"

"I guess so. Now that I have a viable explanation and I know there's a probability that I'm not going mad." Virgil grinned. "That hug helped heaps too."

Tin-Tin smiled. "Good."

"What's really disappointing is that that _is_ a good song."

"Maybe you could try desensitising its effect on you. It was not you playing on that recording. You can create a variation that will promote good feelings and not bad."

"Possibly." Virgil slid off his stool. "I'll have to see what the future holds." He smiled. "Thanks for listening and understanding, Tin-Tin."

"You know that if you ever need my help, you only need to ask."

"I know."

Virgil left the workshop in a happier frame of mind.

-F-A-B-

By dinnertime everyone was in a better mood. Even Alan, after a telling off and explanation from Tin-Tin, was acting as if nothing had happened. By the time it was time to head off to bed, it was like the morning had been a mythical world that had never existed.

Virgil stood on the balcony, staring up at the night sky.

"Virgil?"

Virgil turned. "Hi, John."

"What are you doing?"

"Reminding myself what a fantastic part of the world we live in." Virgil indicated the stars above them. "Look at it!"

"I do." John chuckled. "Often… Let me put the light out and we'll be able to see much better." He did so and then removed something from his pocket. Switching it on, Virgil saw the beam of a red torch illuminate his brother's path. "Do you carry that with you everywhere?"

"I've got into the habit of getting it out of my room after dinner each evening. I don't intend to miss anything because my eyes haven't adjusted to the low light levels… And I don't intend to break a leg on something that I didn't see either."

Virgil laughed. "Show me something."

"Like what?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know. You're the expert." He pointed to a group of five stars visible halfway between the horizon and the zenith. "That's the Southern Cross. But it's not what you call it, is it?"

"Its proper name is Crux."

"And the two bright ones pointing to it are Alpha and Beta Centauri?"

"Well done." John looked at his brother gazing upwards in the dim light. "You've never shown any interest in astronomy before."

"I've never been trapped inside for a year before. I realise now what I've missed." Virgil pointed at an object. "What's that? The bright one."

"Vega."

"Can we see any planets?"

"Jupiter's in view, but the moon's so full it's stopping us from getting a clear view of it."

"Oh… What else can you show me?"

"Aren't you tired?"

Virgil was not ready to face his bed. "No."

"Okay." John indicated the loungers down by the pool. "If we sit in those, we'll be able to have a good look around without getting stiff necks."

"Right." Virgil took a step towards the downward-leading stairs.

"Whoa!" John stopped him. "Hold on, Virgil. I know you're keen to get plenty of exercise, but will you humour me and take the elevator? I don't want the guilt of knowing that I let you break your neck, when you're nearly better."

Virgil, reluctantly, agreed and turned back towards the lounge. Soon they were reclining in neighbouring chairs, gazing up at the stars, John pointing out constellations and individual stars and Virgil begging for more information.

They were still there when Jeff found them. He was about to suggest that, as John had to return to Thunderbird Five tomorrow… He checked his watch… today, and Virgil was still recovering, that it might be wise if they both headed off to bed. Then he changed his mind. Virgil could sleep in if need be, and John would probably be up this late anyway.

Besides, it would be a month before they'd be able to enjoy each other's company again. He'd leave them alone.

Decision made, Jeff retired to bed.

_To be continued…_


	60. Chapter 60

It was an hour after Jeff had gone to bed, leaving his two sons in quiet contemplation of the heavens, before both Virgil and John decided that it was in their best interests to head in the same direction themselves. It was therefore in the early hours of the morning when Virgil finally settled into down and tried to make himself comfortable.

It was impossible.

He'd been aware, as he'd laid on the lounger out under the stars, of a vague discomfort. Nothing to be worried about, and indeed his light-hearted interactions with John had all but driven the ache out of his mind. But now, as he lay on his bed and felt his gut seem to swell with an internal pressure, the pain was all that he could think about.

He had two options; three if he decided to try to ignore the discomfort altogether. But that, he realised, wasn't going to work.

That left the two options. The first was to take one of the hospital-prescribed pain killers and hope that that did the trick. The second was to honour his promise to Scott and tell Brains; something Virgil was loathe to do, knowing that his friend was either sound asleep or else buried deep in his latest project.

Deciding to leave the second option in case the first didn't work, Virgil sat up, intending to retrieve the pills from out of his drawer.

The pain sent him crashing back onto his bed.

Option one was no longer an option.

His abdomen feeling like it was about to explode, Virgil reached across to his bedside table, and scrabbled about for his watch. His searching fingers found it, nudged it, and pushed it off the table and onto the floor.

Suppressing a moan with his pillow that was part frustration and part pain, he reached up again, this time towards the head of his bed. Installed there, a recent addition in case of such an emergency, was a button. When he'd first been told of its purpose, Virgil had vowed that he'd never use it, but now he slammed his hand against it, before curling up in a ball.

Brains heard the alarm in his room. Instantly awake, he leapt out of bed, grabbed his medical bag, told a hoverstretcher to follow him, and ran down the hall.

He was surprised, and yet not surprised, to find Scott hovering outside Virgil's door. "Can I help?"

Brains nodded at the stretcher. "Bring that." Without knocking, he slid the door back and entered.

"Brains..."

Laying his bag on the floor, Brains knelt beside the bed. "What seems to be the trouble, Virgil?" He picked up his friend's arm to take his pulse.

"P-Pain."

"Where?"

Virgil tried to indicate just where the pain was exploding from, but a new wave of agony forced him to curl up into an even tighter ball, his pillow between his torso and his legs for padding.

"Your abdomen?" Brains guessed.

Virgil nodded. "N-Nine p-point five."

"I beg your pardon?"

"T-Tell Timoti and..." As the pain rolled over him, sending the reading up to eleven, Virgil buried his face into his pillow to stop himself from crying out.

"I'm not worried about that," Brains reassured him. "I just want to help you to feel better. I think I know what the problem could be, but I'll need to make some tests to make sure. Do you feel up to moving across to the stretcher?"

"We'll help, Virg." Scott moved forward to assist, and for the first time Virgil became aware that he and Brains weren't alone.

Unwilling to show weakness, even though weak was how he was feeling, Virgil nodded and attempted to lever himself up onto his arm.

With the goal of putting his arm about his younger brother to help him to sit upright, and no concerns about the translucent skin nor exposed veins, Scott threw the bedclothes off.

The hem of Virgil's nightshirt and his sheet were stained red.

"Brains!"

A quick glance added even more urgency to Brains' command. "Get him to the infirmary now!"

Scott didn't have to be told twice. Without asking for permission, he slid his strong arms beneath his brother's shoulders and under his knees and lifted the patient off the bed. Brains swung the hover stretcher around and Virgil was gently lowered down onto the gurney.

He immediately curled back into a ball.

"Get him to the infirmary," Brains repeated. "Meet you there." He hurried out of the room.

Unprepared to waste any time, Scott told the stretcher to retrace its path. He found Brains under the glare of the sickroom's lights, readying IVs and warming up the equipment required for the necessary scans.

It didn't take Brains long to make a diagnosis, and he crouched down so he was within Virgil's line of sight. "Can you hear me?"

Virgil whimpered out a yes.

"You already know that your digestive system isn't working properly. Your body isn't capable of breaking down the food you've consumed. This has created a, erm, obstruction in your lower intestine. If you can imagine that your healing internal organs are in a similar stage of repair as your skin, you can imagine the obstacles that this obstruction is being forced past. At least one blood vessel has ruptured and it's this, combined with the obstruction, that's causing the pain... Do you understand?"

Virgil, his eyes closed as he tried to fight the agony that the analgesic feeding through the drip into his arm was doing little to dull, nodded. Once again, he curled up on his side, struggling to protect his abdomen.

"It is treatable," Brains reassured him. "You've just got to trust me."

Scott spoke up for his brother. "He trusts you," he said. "We both do."

"The first thing that has to be done, is that the obstruction needs to be broken down into smaller particles that can pass through your gut without causing further problems."

"Do you understand, Virg?" Scott checked.

At Virgil's nod and after a: "I'll try to make this as painless for you as possible, Virgil," Brains moved around to the other side of the bed.

Scott pulled a chair up and sat down so his head was close to Virgil's. "Won't be long and you'll be feeling better," he promised.

Needing every bit of support available to him, Virgil clung to his brother's hand. "Is he gonna do what I think he's going to do?" he whimpered.

Scott thought that was highly likely. "Don't ask me," he responded. "Brains' mind works on a different level to the rest of us. He could be planning on sending the Mole in, for all I know."

Virgil winced.

There was a giggle from the other side of the bed, followed by an apology. "Relax," Brains advised. "I'm going to break down the obstruction externally with an ultrasonic wave generator. It will be a painless process."

As Virgil screwed his eyes shut, Scott attempted a reassuring chuckle. "I was right... He _is_ using International Rescue's equipment." Then he treated his brother to an understanding smile. "If you think you've got it bad, think about where Brains is going to be working."

It was half an hour later before Brains was satisfied that he'd done all he could and had encouraged Virgil to roll onto his back. "Is that more comfortable?"

Virgil, his eyes closed, nodded. Then he opened them. "Thanks, Brains. I hate to think where I'd be without you."

"We'd probably be calling out International Rescue to take you to the nearest hospital," Scott told him. "If you two can do without me for a short time..." he stood. "I'm going to let the old man know what's happened. He's not going to be happy with any of us if we wait until morning before telling him."

"V-Virgil will be ready for visitors by the time you return," Brains promised. "But only for a short time. He needs his sleep."

"I'll tell Father."

Scott made his way to his father's room and did the electronic version of knocking. He pushed a button and waited.

As his lights turned on and slowly intensified in strength, Jeff awoke. Aware that the brightening glow meant that someone wanted to see him, he sat up and checked the bedside clock. "Come in."

The door slid open.

"Scott? Look at the time." Jeff checked the clock again. "What's wrong?"

"We thought you'd want to know. He's okay now, but Virgil's in the infirmary."

"He's what?!" Jeff Tracy was on his feet and reaching for his robe. "Why?"

"Thanks to his digestive system not being A-One yet, he's had a major case of constipation that resulted in some bleeding. But Brains has treated him and he's going to be okay. I knew that you'd want to be told now, rather than wait for the morning, so that's why I'm here."

"Thank you." Jeff slipped into his slippers and hurried out into the hall and through the complex. "How is he, Brains?" he asked, as soon as he'd entered the sickbay.

"I'm fine."

"Virgil?" Jeff headed to his son's sickbed. "Are you sure?"

Virgil smiled up at him. "I am now; thanks to Brains."

Jeff acknowledged International Rescue's medical man. "Thank you, Brains."

"It was nothing. I was, ah, aware that something of this nature could happen, which is why I ensured V-Virgil was taking the appropriate medication and I was prepared. But I think Virgil should stay in bed for twenty-four hours at least. It will enable us to, ah, push the reset button as it were. Get him back to the state of wellbeing that he was in when he left Bearston General. Then we'll be able to proceed without any further problems. But," Brains warned, "that also means no solid food until he's ready for it."

Virgil had considered protesting, but had decided against it. As much as he was fed up with needles, and intravenous drips, and hospital rooms – even one that was a familiar part of his home complex, the knowledge that it all that would go some way towards nipping the diabetes and other digestive problems in the bud, was enough to make him willing to go along with any of Brains' suggestions.

His friends were disappointed to learn that he wouldn't be able to share their last hours enjoying Tracy Island with them.

So was John. "It hasn't been long enough, Virg."

Propped up against his pillows, Virgil smiled at his uniformed brother. "I feel the same. But at least we got to spend some time together last night. And you've got a full month to think about what you want to show me next time you're off duty. Things will be better then. I'll be fitter, and the stars will be in different locations."

John grinned. "I'll look forward to it." He checked his watch. "I'd better go. I may have some additional passengers on this trip."

-F-A-B-

"Edna?" Jeff Tracy approached his friends. "I have a proposition for you."

"Proposition?" Edna Mickelson smirked. "Just what do you have in mind, Jeff Tracy?"

Her husband chuckled. "When you two get your heads together it always spells trouble for someone... Usually me."

Jeff ignored him. "I have the power to let your husband do something he's long wanted to do, but never got the opportunity, through no fault of his own."

"You're being very mysterious." Edna raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What's the proposition?"

"If you agree to let him do it, you're welcome to join us."

"Join you to do what?"

Jeff turned to Edna's husband, who was standing there with a small frown on his face. "Hamish, John's heading back to Thunderbird Five shortly. Do you want to finally get the chance to be an astronaut?"

Hamish Mickelson's jaw dropped. "Be an astronaut? You mean, fly into space?"

"That's right. It's not International Rescue policy to allow our craft to be used for joyrides, but if you would like to come, both of you, I hope it will go some way towards repaying what is a very large debt that my family owes."

"You don't owe us anything," Hamish told him. "But...?"

"Will we be back in time?" Edna checked. "You were going to fly us out this afternoon."

"Plenty of time," Jeff reassured her. "If we leave now. Well, Hamish, do you want to fly above the Earth's atmosphere? See her as I saw her? Get the chance to do what you couldn't do all those years ago, thanks to some bureaucratic idiot who couldn't overlook one cross on your medical form?"

"Jeff..." Hamish pinched himself. "Yes... Yes, I would love to."

Smiling, Jeff turned back to the lady next to them. "How about you, Edna? Are you coming too?"

"If International Rescue will let me, then no one's going to stop me."

"Good. Make sure you're both wearing something comfortable, and meet us in the lounge in ten minutes." Jeff checked his watch. "We're leaving in T minus twenty."

"C'mon, Edna." Hamish took off at something approaching a run.

Edna laid a hand on her friend's arm. "Thank you, Jeff. This means the world to Hamish."

"His friendship," Jeff placed his hand on hers, "and yours, means the world to me. Now go!" He indicated the accommodation area with a flick of his head. "We're leaving in T minus nineteen."

"Does launch control actually say that?" Edna hurried away.

Chuckling, Jeff returned to the lounge.

John got up from where he was reclining on the couch. "Well?"

Jeff chuckled again. "Hamish was that excited he's nearly launched himself without Thunderbird Three. Edna's coming too."

"Good. I'm looking forward to the opportunity to show off Thunderbird Five."

Alan, also in uniform and sitting on the launch settee with his legs outstretched, pulled them in. "We'd better go and tell Thunderbird Three that she's got to compensate for three extra passengers in that case." He nodded his approval as John sat down next to him again. "We'll see you on board, Dad."

"F-A-B."

"Bye, Grandma." John smiled at his grandmother. "See you next month."

"Goodbye, John. Keep safe."

He winked at her as the couch began its descent into the floor. "Will do. I've got too much to look forward to, not to."

For Hamish and Edna, unaware of the hidden access ways to the Thunderbirds' hangars, the unexpected descent of the comfortable chair they were sitting on was as much of a surprise as Jeff's offer. He chuckled at their twin exclamations of astonishment. Exclamations that were echoed when the tall presence of Thunderbird Three slid into view.

"Buckle up," he advised when the couch came to a stop. "We'll be lifting off shortly."

"Flight deck to passenger hold." It was Alan's voice. "Are you ready for lift off?"

"Affirmative," Jeff confirmed, after a glance at his companions to confirm that they were prepared. "Lift off when ready."

"I seem to remember you saying that you were strapped in a lot more securely than this when you first went into space," Hamish began, but stopped when he heard the disembodied countdown of Jeff's youngest son.

"Lift off in ten seconds... Nine... Eight...

Edna gripped the side of her seat. "All this is happening so quickly, that I don't know whether to be scared or thrilled."

"There's nothing to fear," Jeff reassured her.

"Four... Three... Two... One..."

The Mickelsons were unprepared for the almost disappointingly gentleness of the thrust that pushed them off the ground. Hamish looked over at Jeff. "Surely we haven't got enough velocity for us to escape Earth's gravity?"

"We've got more than enough," Jeff reassured him. "Brains has created an artificial gravitational field in here and the control room. We don't feel a fraction of the forces inflicted upon Thunderbird Three."

"Launch complete," Alan's voice told them. "You are cleared to come on up."

Jeff led the way to the lift and a short time later the doors opened revealing the heart of International Rescue's spaceship.

It seemed almost disappointingly mundane when just a couple of control panels and some visual display units, along with Alan and John, greeted them.

Not that Alan thought it mundane when he welcomed his friends with open arms and a huge grin. "Well? What do you think?"

"Very impressive," Hamish told him, thinking about the way all the vast layers of technology had been condensed to such a small control area.

"How are you enjoying the flight?" John added. "Any problems?"

"None." Edna shook her head. "I've been in plane flights that have experienced more turbulence and g-forces than this."

John grinned at her. "Brains will be glad to hear that."

"How long before we get to Thunderbird Five?"

His grin widened. "Can't you wait to see a real Thunderbird?"

Alan snorted at the description. "A Thunderbird that sits in space doing nothing."

"And without that Thunderbird your Thunderbird, and the others, wouldn't get any action."

Jeff chuckled. "Ignore them. The boys are very possessive over their individual craft, but they all know that they operate as a complete whole. Lose one and International Rescue will cease being able to operate."

-F-A-B-

Propped up against his pillows in the sickbay, Ginny nestled into the crook of his arm, and feeling one hundred times better than he had during the night, although an occasional twinge reminded him that not all was well; Virgil smiled at his friends. "I'm all right, really," he reassured them for what seemed to be the twentieth time. "This is just until everything settles down again."

Bruce chuckled. "And to stop you from gorging yourself on your grandmother's cooking."

Lisa laid her hand on her poorly friend's arm. "I wish you were well enough to fly back with us. Your father's promised to take us home on Thunderbird Two. I would have liked to have seen you fly your Thunderbird."

"I'd have to get a few air hours with a normal plane before I'd consider flying something a bit more advanced," Virgil told her.

"Bet it's like riding a bike," Butch hypothesised. "Once ya ge' behind the wheel i'd be like th' las' year never happened."

"Control yoke, not wheel," Virgil corrected. "I'd like to think that you're right, but there's a bit more to flying a plane than steering and pedalling."

Ginny looked up at him. "Will you take me flying, Uncle Virgil?"

He tickled her and she doubled up in fits of giggles. "Course I will!"

"Will you come and see me, and Mama, and Daddy?"

This time Virgil gave the little girl a squeeze. "You won't be able to keep me away."

"Can me, and Mama, and Daddy visit you?"

"That won't be so simple," he admitted. "But we will make sure that you can sometime. When you're on vacation, and Daddy's on vacation and depending on what your Mama and little Windsor are doing."

-F-A-B-

Jeff pointed at a visual display unit that could have been a window. "There's Thunderbird Five."

The Mickelsons moved closer to the VDU and exclaimed in wonder at Thunderbird Five's appearance, as John watched on like a delighted father.

"Do you boys ever get worried about being up here all alone?" Edna asked.

"We're more likely to get worried about what trouble everyone else is getting into down on Earth," Alan responded. "And frustrated that we can't do more to help." The tone of his voice made everyone think that he was remembering one particular event.

John laid a reassuring hand on his little brother's shoulder. "But, as we were told once, sometimes just knowing that we're here, being a constant when everything down there's going crazy, is of more use to the rest of the team than actually being at the danger zone."

With an: "Approaching Thunderbird Five," Alan effectively squashed the discussion.

"Do you need us to be seated for this?" Hamish checked.

"No. But it you want to have a rest, you're welcome to a chair." Alan indicated the spare seating scattered about the cabin. Then he turned back to his brother. "Have you contacted Thunderbird Five yet?"

John had retreated to one of the other consoles. "Affirmative. She's ready and waiting to meet her guests."

"Making final approach. Open port."

"Port opening."

"Approaching port... Beginning docking procedure..."

"All systems green..."

"Docking complete... Sealing outer airlock..."

"Seal secure..."

"Sealing secondary airlock..."

"Seal secure... Thunderbird Five's atmosphere is green... External airlock is open..."

"Checking Thunderbird Three's pressure... Internal airlock is green... Artificial gravity is cycling..."

"All systems green..."

"F-A-B... Opening internal airlock..." A door slid open and Alan indicated the exit. "Do you want to lead the way, John?"

John's face filled with a beaming smile. "I'd love to. If our guests would care to follow me..."

Obedient to International Rescue's orders, Hamish and Edna, along with Jeff, followed him into the airlock.

Edna turned back. "Aren't you coming, Alan?"

"I will in a moment," he promised. "It's highly unlikely that I'll need to do anything as everything's working perfectly, but I'll stay here as a precaution until Thunderbird Five is fully on line."

She frowned, suddenly cautious. "Would it be better if we were to wait until John's checked Thunderbird Five over?"

"It's perfectly safe," Jeff reassured her. "As Alan said, this is just a precaution. And if we don't go now, John will think that we don't trust him nor Thunderbird Five."

Reassured, both the Mickelsons approached the airlock and felt no qualms in entering it.

Thunderbird Three's internal airlock door slid shut. There was a moment's pause as Thunderbird Three ran through an automatic checklist to ensure that all was well, before the exterior airlock cycled open revealing the first tangible link with Thunderbird Five.

"Walk through," John advised. "Because Thunderbird Three's control room is at a different gravitational orientation to Thunderbird Five's, you'll be walking through a helical corridor. You'll barely be aware of your change in orientation, but by the time you reach Thunderbird Five's control room you will have rotated through ninety degrees and you'll be the right way up."

The Mickelsons started walking. If John hadn't commented on it they would never have noticed that the floor had a slight camber to it, so gentle was the incline.

The found themselves face-to-face with another door.

John pressed his hand to a plate on the wall, and the door slid upwards, leaving a large circular hole behind. Beyond were the flashing lights and chattering voices of Thunderbird Five's control room.

John stepped through. "Allow me," he said, turning back to assist Edna across the port in the bulkhead.

Accepting his hand, she entered International Rescue's communications hub. "Wow!" Turning on the spot she gazed around. "Is this where you work?"

"It's where I live and work," he corrected. "And if you want to see what makes it so special," he pointed towards the words _International Rescue_ printed in mirror writing on the wall, "look over there." Leaving them to it, he approached his communications console and checked a few readings. "You have permission to enter, Alan."

"F-A-B. Leaving Thunderbird Three."

Hamish didn't hear his younger friends' words. He was staring through the windows and down onto the planet that hung below them. Lost, deep in thought, unable to fully comprehend that after all these years he was finally in space, he was barely aware of his wife's touch when she slipped her arm about his waist and leant against his shoulder. An automatic reflex made his arm creep up and around her shoulders, pulling her close.

"It's beautiful," Edna breathed.

"It is," he agreed.

Jeff stood back, allowing his friends to share in the moment alone. Then he stepped closer, savouring the view himself. "I've got to admit that it always gives me a thrill. I can still remember when I first saw it all those years ago. I found myself wishing that my friends could be there with me to enjoy it." He paused. "I'm glad that I can rectify that now."

Hamish struggled to pull his eyes away from the scene outside the window. "Thank you, Jeff," he said sombrely. "You don't know what it means to me to be finally given this chance, and..." he squeezed his wife, "to be able to share this moment with a couple of the people who mean the most to me."

"It's my pleasure, my friend."

Edna pointed into the middle of the vast ocean beneath them. "Where's Tracy Island?"

"It's too small to see with the naked eye from here..." Jeff turned back towards the two blue uniformed men bent over a console. "Can you show us Tracy Island, John?"

"Sure." John entered something into the computer. A red dot was projected onto the window.

Hamish peered at the spot, miles from any visible landmass. "I can see why you chose it."

"It suits our purposes," Jeff admitted. "Let us know when you're ready for John to give you the full tour. I know he's got more surprises in store for you." He moved away and had a quiet word with his sons.

It was a full five minutes of drinking in the sight that so few people had had the chance to enjoy before the Mickelsons declared themselves ready for the grand tour.

John led the way, showing them the living quarters, with only the quickest of glances into "the hazardous waste dump that's Alan's room." He showed them the leisure centre, the kitchen area, the hydroponics garden, the backup control room, the gym, the life support centre and, as a final reassurance, the backup life support centre. He finished up in the centre of the space station and announced that he was going to show them: "The most important room in Thunderbird Five." With a grand flourish, he opened the door, revealing his telescope and the astrodome. "Welcome to the second-best view in the universe."

He was more than a little gratified when both of his guests expressed admiration and awe.

Above them; without the light pollution from the reflective Earth and her obscuring atmosphere, and free from the even more reflective Moon, which was hiding on the other side of the planet; were millions and millions of stars.

John indicated his chair at the base of his telescope. "Take a seat, Edna." He pointed out some of the star clusters, nebulae, and planets that were only just visible from Earth, giving both visitors an opportunity to see them closer through his telescope.

"This is phenomenal," Hamish enthused.

"I think so," John agreed. "I only wish that Virgil could have come up here this time so that he could have seen some of what I was showing him last night, without having to deal with Earth's atmosphere."

"Sometime, when he's feeling better, you'll have to bring him up here."

"We're not allowed to use the Thunderbirds for joyrides."

"Your father's bound to make an exception this once." Then Hamish grinned. "Either that or I'm sure that boys as bright as you will be able to come up with a plausible excuse. A little engineering that needs doing?"

John chuckled. "The problem is that once he's back with International Rescue, Virgil won't want to stray too far from Thunderbird Two."

Edna shifted in her seat. "Has he ever manned Thunderbird Five?"

"Yes."

"Then he'll have to come up here sometime for a refresher, won't he? After all, I'm sure Jeff won't want one of his operatives working in the dangerous vacuum of space, alone and a little rusty about where everything is and what it does? Maybe the training will take a slightly longer than expected?"

She saw John's grin broaden. "I like the way you think, Edna Mickelson."

"Of course," Hamish added, "knowing Jeff, he'd probably think that that was exactly what he'd do and see right through your ploy."

"What ploy?" Jeff Tracy asked, causing them all to jump. "What would I do?"

Three guilty faces looked between one another.

"It's impossible to keep anything secret from him," John grumbled. "I'm sure he's got us all wiretapped."

Jeff chuckled. "If Virgil wants to spend a little time doing some stargazing with his brother, I'm not going to stop him. And, as you said, it wouldn't hurt for him to have a refresher on Thunderbird Five." He looked at his watch. "Sorry, folks, but if you want to get home today, we've got to get moving."

It was with palpable disappointment, and one last longing look back down at Earth, that the Mickelsons said goodbye to John and returned to Thunderbird Three.

The return journey was no more dramatic than the outward one.

-F-A-B-

"Do you want to wave your f-friends goodbye?"

Virgil, sketching something onto a tablet, looked up at Brains. "Huh?"

"I can't see why you couldn't sit, ah, in a hoverchair, on the p-porch, and wave your friends goodbye," Brains repeated. "A l-little fresh air and sunlight will do you good too."

"Could I?" Discarding the tablet to one side, Virgil sat upright. "Please?"

"I c-can't see it causing any harm... So long as you don't rush it!" Brains added hurriedly, when Virgil went to swing his legs off the bed. "Let's do this slowly and, ah, methodically."

Virgil remained patient as he was assisted from his bed and into a hoverchair (even though he thought that he could have done it without assistance), and his IVs were suspended from a carrier attached to the chair.

"Now," Brains warned, "I have two rules. One is that you don't try to move the chair yourself. I want you to rest your abdominal structures."

The lack of independent mobility was irksome, but Virgil accepted it as part of the healing process. "And the second?"

"You don't get out of the 'chair."

"Not even to get into another one?"

"No. I want you out of bed no more than half an hour at the most."

"Hardly seems worth it." The words were out of Virgil's mouth before he'd a chance to consider what he was saying.

Brains folded his arms and stared his patient down. A gesture that would normally inspire no more than an indulgent grin from its recipient, but this time his white coat seemed to have given the young man an unexpected authority. "Would you rather s-stay in bed, then?"

"No!" Virgil said hurriedly. "No, thanks. I'd love to get out of here, even if it is only for thirty minutes."

Brains' glare softened. "Good."

"I am trying to do everything you ask and stick to your rules, Brains," Virgil admitted, as a thin blanket was placed over his legs, "and I won't make this an exception to that pledge, but I've spent a year in hospital and I'm desperate to get a little freedom. This feels like a huge step backwards."

Brains, slipping his friend's feet into loose fitting slippers, looked up. "I know. That's why I'm giving you half an hour of freedom." Picking up his own tablet, he checked it. "They're almost ready to leave. Shall we go?"

The lounge was filled with bags of varying sizes and colours. Alan and Scott were loading them onto a trolley, prior to taking them to the goods lift that would lead to Thunderbird Two's hold.

"Hey!" Bruce beamed at the newcomer, "look who's arrived just in time for the ball."

"Is ya gonna come with us?" Butch checked.

"No." Trying not to appear negative despite the lack of positivity in his reply, Virgil shook his head. "I've got to get a little stronger before I'll be able to leave the building, let alone fly part way around the world. But I did want to say goodbye to you all." A little hand tugged at his.

"Goodbye, Uncle Virgil."

Butch lifted his daughter, so she was standing on the seat of the chair next to her honorary uncle and they were able to share a farewell hug.

"Bye, Virginia." Virgil could see tears in her eyes. "Hey, what's with the waterworks?"

"Miss you."

Virgil gave her another hug. "And I'll miss you. But I've got your flower on my windowsill and I'll look at it every day and think of you."

"Ginny's not the only one with waterworks," Lisa admitted, giving Virgil a hug as Butch lifted their daughter back onto the floor. "You take care of yourself, okay? And we'll see you soon?" She released her hold.

"I've got to visit the hospital for check-ups," Virgil reminded her. "I'll see you then."

"Don' go doin' anythin' silly," Butch warned, moving in for an affectionate handshake. "We wanna see ya in one piece."

Virgil grinned. "I'm not allowed to do anything silly. I've got too many people keeping an eye on me to even think about it."

It was Edna's turn to move in for a hug. "Look after yourself, Virgil."

"I will. How'd you enjoy the flight?"

Her eyes beamed, and Virgil could see the same excitement and delight in Hamish's as they shook hands. "It was wonderful."

"Out of the world, while a pun, is an accurate description," her husband stated. "I know it's not the way that any of us would have wanted it, but thank you for giving us the opportunity to experience something amazing."

Bruce clapped his friend on the back. "I'm flying out too."

Virgil frowned. "You're leaving already?"

"No. But I've got one or two things I want to do in Bearston..." Bruce winked. "So, I'm catching a lift. I'll be back on the return flight."

"Oh..." Virgil got the idea. "Give my best to Olivia."

Already in uniform, Gordon clapped his hands to get everyone's attention. "I'm afraid that as at least one of us is working to a schedule," he pointed at Virgil, "it's time to go." He grinned at the groans of disappointment.

After their final goodbyes, Virgil watched as his friends took the "public" monorail that would deliver them down to the regular aircrafts' hangars. He allowed Brains to wheel him out onto the balcony that looked down over the swimming pool. They were joined by Grandma, who placed a gentle hand on her invalid grandson's shoulder, Tin-Tin and Kyrano.

It was an excited, chattering group who disembarked in the hangar, which was emptier than it had been two days ago, as Lady Penelope and Parker had flown out that morning.

Jeff stepped up to the shelving unit and slid it back to reveal Thunderbird Two's bay.

As they all walked across the larger hangar that held the transporter and her pods, Hamish fell into step with his friend. "Aren't you concerned that we now know how to get to the Thunderbirds?"

"No." Jeff's response was light-hearted and carefree. "Not only because we trust you, but also because it takes more than having the right fingerprint pattern and knowing where to grasp the shelving to know how to break into Two's hangar this way. As for Thunderbird Three; most people, even an experienced astronaut, wouldn't be able to work out how to board her, let alone fly her."

Hearing the conversation, two of his sons fell into step. "That's one way that Thunderbird Two's different to Thunderbird Three," Gordon explained. "A good pilot would be able to fly her. Probably not to the full extent of her capabilities, but enough to cause trouble."

"And Gordon knows all about causing trouble," Alan snickered.

Gordon ignored him. "So, Two's got several more layers of security than Three, and... speaking of which..." He hurried forward and turned to face the gathering. "We'll ask you all to stop here... Scott..."

Scott Tracy stepped forward. "Remembering that this is as much for your safety as ours, we'd rather that you didn't see how we actually accessed Thunderbird Two, so it's blindfolds all around." He handed out small rectangles of material.

Gordon held out his hand. "Do I get one too?" He winked at Ginny, who giggled.

"Since you're the pilot," Scott reminded him, "I'm sure that all your passengers will agree that they'd rather you were able to see what you were doing."

"Aw, gee. And I thought we were going to play with this overgrown piñata."

With no complaints, nor discussion, all the visitors, including Bruce, put their blindfolds on; Lisa ensuring that Ginny's couldn't slip before she donned her own.

"Come on, Munchkin." Gordon swept Ginny up into his arms. "Ah, ah, ah," he cautioned, when she tried to dislodge her blindfold. "How we get there's a secret. Even I don't know where we're going."

Ginny giggled.

"I'll take you to your cocoon and have you snug as a bug in a rug by the time everyone else arrives."

"Everyone Else" thought that was entirely probable as they were led, one by one by Gordon, Jeff, Scott and Alan, through the mighty transporter. When they were escorted to a seat, told that they could sit down and remove their blindfolds, they were all disappointed to realise that they were in the belly of the aeroplane and couldn't see anything.

Finally, everyone was sitting comfortably.

"This is where I say goodbye," Scott announced. "I have got to stay behind in case International Rescue's needed and I have to fly out in Thunderbird One, but Alan and Father will take you up to the flight deck when you're no longer a security hazard."

He was followed out of the passenger hold by a chorus of _Bye, Scott_s and _Thank you_s.

His father spoke into Thunderbird Two's intercom. "When Scott's clear, Gordon, you're free to launch."

"_F-A-B."_

It wasn't a long time after those listening had heard Gordon's voice when they felt vibrations filtering through Thunderbird Two's hold, but whether they were moving or the mighty craft was warming up, they couldn't tell. At one point, there was another strange swaying vibration, as if their orientation had changed slightly, but other than that there was nothing to tell them if they were still on the ground or airborne.

"_Gordon to passenger hold."_

"Passenger hold," Jeff responded.

"_We're airborne. Come and enjoy the view."_

Once again, an excited chatter filled the hold and spilled out into the passageways and lifts that led up to the flight deck.

Bruce was the first to arrive after Alan. "Do you want us sitting down, or can we look out the windows?"

"You can look out the windows and then sit down." Gordon grinned, gesturing forward and to their right.

Bruce peered out the cockpit window and looked down onto the Tracy villa. "Hiya, Virgil!" He waved at the seated figure waving back.

-F-A-B-

By the time they'd got to Barduq, everyone was commenting on how the flight was one of the smoothest they'd ever been on.

Alan chuckled. "Come out in a category four hurricane and see if you still think like that."

Jeff stood. "Sorry, everyone, but I must ask you to return to the passenger hold. It's just as important that we keep Barduq's secrets as secret as Tracy Island's."

There were no complaints as everyone willingly returned to their seats, Jeff lifting Ginny into her cocoon with an "Upsa-daisy."

The only way that they could tell that they had landed was when all vibrations stopped.

"_Flight deck to passenger hold. You are cleared to disembark."_

Once again, the blindfolds were donned and everyone, Ginny carried in Gordon's arms, were led outside and into the early evening sunlight of Barduq.

When they were finally told that they could remove their blindfolds they looked around, seeing nothing that appeared to be big enough to conceal the mammoth-sized Thunderbird Two.

The doors to the conventional hangar opened to reveal the Odonata, which trundled out on its flatbed trailer and sat, ready to accept its crew and passengers.

"And this is where we love you and leave you," Gordon announced. "Alan and I are staying with Thunderbird Two in case her services are needed. We have Thunderbird Four and the Firefly on board."

"But you'll still be in the hands of one of the best pilots in the business." Alan pointed at his father. "Dad."

All eyes turned to Jeff. "I hate to rush everyone," he said as everyone's bags were wheeled to the Odonata and his sons started loading them into the aircraft, "but I don't like having Thunderbird Two away from base for too long. So, if you wouldn't mind boarding..."

No one minded and with murmurs of agreement, everyone moved forward and climbed into the plane.

"Bye, Ginny." Gordon gave the little girl a big hug. "Be good for your Mama and Daddy."

She gave an emphatic head nod. "I will."

Laughing, Alan leant into the craft. "Bye, Ginny. Bye, everyone. See you soon, I hope."

"Only, please, not professionally," Edna begged.

"And not because one of you've hurt yourselves," Lisa added.

Gordon and Alan stood back, waving madly at Ginny's small hand waving with equal enthusiasm from the Odonata's window.

Then they returned to the hidden hangar. Just because they weren't at home, it didn't mean that they didn't have work to do.

_To be continued..._


	61. Chapter 61

The buzz of celebrations hadn't yet begun.

The tables were set out in a U-shape facing a smaller one with seating for three that sat in front of large video screens. The bar was on one side of the room and the empty buffet stood out from the wall on the other.

Bruce Sanders collected a drink from the bar and wandered across the room to a small knot of people. "Hi, guys."

There was a general chorus of "Bruce!" before Louis Fleming slapped him on the back. "You look like you've survived the last year all right."

"I have," Bruce grinned at his workmate, reflecting that Louis had lost some weight over the intervening months. "How's your leg, and shoulder, and everything?"

"Finally come right." Louis gave a big, and obviously false, sigh. "I've had to put up with my mother fussing over me for the past year, but I should be able to move into my new place within the next few weeks."

"Are you still on ACE's books?"

"Yep. Once I got mobile again I tried looking for work, but there are so many unemployed after the earthquake that it's almost impossible to find a job... And how about you?" Louis smirked. "I hear you're more than on ACE's books. I hear you're on Mr T's."

Realising that, if he were to say that he'd been filling in for Virgil, questions about why his friend had started work at ACE on that fateful day might be raised, Bruce fudged the truth. "Mr T needed some work done on the island and he asked me to do it as a filler until ACE is fully operational again. Now that Virgil's back home, and once he's regained his strength, he'll be able to take over from me when I start back here."

"He's not coming back to ACE?"

"He's never discussed it with me."

"I've been hearing all sorts of conflicting stories about him," Burt Challis told his colleagues. "That he'd died, that he hadn't died, that he was in a coma, that he's some kind of cyborg, that he was a vegetable, that he was making a full recovery. Which is it?"

Bruce sipped his drink, wondering how much he should say. "All of the above, except for being a vegetable."

"Even the cyborg bit?"

"Most of that's gone now, although I think some of the framework's still in place until his own tissue can grow back."

Burt made a face. "It sounds like something out of a Sci-Fi horror movie."

"It think it felt like that to him, at times. But it's given him a chance for a normal life, which he wouldn't have had otherwise. Assuming that he survived, I think the standard treatment probably would have confined him to bed forever, or at least a wheelchair."

"He's lucky his dad had the money to pay for his treatment."

"Virgil was lucky," Bruce agreed. "And because he was lucky, other people have been lucky as well, because they were able to piggyback on his cure. He was the guinea pig."

"What about the dying bit?" Paul asked. "If he's back home and getting better, he can't have died."

"The family were told he died the first night he was in the hospital," Bruce told him. "But that was a clerical error. Then he did die on the operating table. I understand it was a fight to save him."

Louis had latched onto one statement. "How come the family were told that he'd died when he didn't?"

"You must remember what a madhouse the hospital you were airlifted to was when you got there?" Bruce reminded him. "Bearston General was just as bad. If not worse."

"I can't remember," Louis admitted. "I was that spaced out on painkilling drugs that I could have been on the moon for all I knew." He changed the subject. "I've been hearing a lot about you too, Buzz." He leered. "Or more correctly about you and Olivia."

Bruce shrugged. "We get along well." The truth was that, on the trip that brought his friends back to Bearston, as soon as he'd arrived he and Olivia had fallen into each other's arms and it had taken Jeff Tracy banging on the door to get him to leave again.

"What was it like being trapped in the furnace room?" Paul asked.

This wasn't something that Bruce was that keen on remembering. "Hot and stuffy."

"How were Butch and Mega?"

"They struggled with the heat as much as I did, especially Mr Watts. But he's got a lot more strength than I give him credit for. Neither of them were prepared to leave Virgil until they had to."

"Did you get to talk to International Rescue?"

"A little. From what I heard, you guys probably saw more of them than I did. They broke into the furnace room, got me into the Firefly, and flew me out in Thunderbird One before I had enough time to even say thanks. They were too focused on freeing Virgil to worry about me."

"Is it true he was crushed under a concrete beam _and_ the furnace?" Burt seemed to have, in Bruce's opinion, an unhealthy fascination with Virgil's injuries.

"Yes."

"And they had to amputate his legs?"

"Yes."

"What about the rest of him? How much was crushed?"

Bruce had seen someone he'd much rather be talking to. With an: "Excuse me for the moment," he left the nosey trio. "Hi, Sunbeam. Love the dress. Is it new?"

"Bruce!" Olivia wrapped him in a huge hug, which didn't go unnoticed by the three men he'd just escaped from. "You made it!"

Bruce chuckled. "I didn't have much of a choice with the boss being my taxi driver."

"I haven't seen Mr T yet. He's here?"

"He's booked out the penthouse suite. I could have stayed with them, but I can't afford those prices."

"Wouldn't Mr T have paid for you?"

"He offered, but I decided that I'd rather mix it with the menial workers than isolate myself with the ruling classes." Bruce laughed. "Which floor are you on?"

"Third. The same as the Crumps."

"Same here."

Olivia smiled. "Good."

"Where are they?"

"Butch is trying to talk Lisa out of the room. She reckons that with the pregnancy she's getting fat. I can't see any difference."

"No. Neither could I. Butch would probably say that it's the _hormons_ acting up."

Olivia laughed. "He's a sweetheart, really."

Bruce grinned. "Not a description I'd use."

"Really. What would you say?"

"Pussycat."

Olivia giggled. "Talking about the pussycat." She nodded over Bruce's shoulder. "There he is now."

Bruce turned and saw his friends. Butch looked relatively handsome in neat, but not overly formal clothes, and Lisa was wearing an outfit that made Olivia feel positively frumpy. A light squeeze about her waist reminded her that she was appreciated for who she was.

Bruce braced himself for the now familiar punch of greeting and took it without flinching. "How are you guys?"

"Good," Butch told him.

"Fat," Lisa stated.

"Ya're no' fat," Butch remonstrated.

"I don't think so," Olivia confirmed.

"I haven't seen you for over a week, Lisa," Bruce reminded her, "and I haven't noticed any difference."

Lisa made no response, and no one knew if she'd been mollified or had decided to sulk in silence.

Bruce decided to encourage her out of her shell. "Who's looking after Ginny?"

"My mother's got her for the weekend."

Remembering Lisa's determination that her daughter shouldn't be exposed to any more aftershocks, Bruce wondered where. "In town or back in Bearston?"

"They're staying in our unit at the Trace Base."

More ACE employees entered the conference room. Exclamations about how good everyone was looking and how great it was to see them all again were heard. Mr Mickelson entered out of a room off to one side, talking to someone in a uniform polo shirt that proclaimed that they were part of the catering team.

"Where's Mrs M?" Bruce asked.

"I think she was going to come down with Mr T," Olivia told him. "She told me that if she came down any earlier she'd only make herself an enemy of the caterers, so she thought she should keep out of the way of the preparations."

Talking of Mr T, brought another Tracy to mind. "'ow's Virgil?" Butch asked.

"Doing a lot better." Bruce saw the twin expressions of relief on the Crumps' faces. "He got up the day after you left. He's only on a restricted diet and supplements, but at least he can potter around and isn't trapped in the infirmary."

The Tracy in question wasn't anywhere near the infirmary. In fact, he was upstairs in the penthouse suite. He was also in a similar frame of mind as Lisa when she'd arrived. "Why'd I agree to attend this thing? It's not even as if I'm an employee."

"Because," his father reminded him, "it reinforces that you were working at ACE and not with International Rescue at the time of the earthquake; you want to see how everyone at ACE is getting on; and they all want to see how you are."

"I don't want to be paraded in front of them all. Look, Father, they don't even know I'm here. I could stay in these rooms with Brains, and no one down there would care. Brains and I can find plenty to talk about, can't we, Brains?"

Brains, keeping well out of the discussion, made no comment. His medical bags were stashed in his room in case they were needed, even though he doubted they would be. He'd brought plenty of things along to keep himself occupied and was prepared for an evening of solitude.

Jeff remained calm in the face of the trenchant opposition. "Bruce would care. I'm sure he'd like to share the evening with you."

"Bruce gets to see me every day."

"See you in a different environment. With your friends. Away from work."

"Away from work? It's a work function. You're going to be telling them all about the new and improved ACE."

"Well," Jeff checked his bow tie in the mirror and smoothed down his hair. "I'm going to collect Edna and go down now. I won't tell anyone you're here, but do you really want Bruce to think you've chickened out?"

As he thought he would, he'd struck a nerve. "I don't have to stay all night?"

"Of course, not. No one would expect you to. Even if you decided to leave before dinner, that would be fine. I'll arrange for your meal to be sent up to you."

Virgil reflected that it wasn't going to be much of a meal. Jeff had got the caterers to send through the menu and Brains had gone through and decided how much of each item could be safely consumed. By the time he'd rejected the fatty, starchy, sugary, and overly fibrous dishes, there wasn't a lot left that was edible.

Virgil hitched the braces that were holding his trousers up higher on his shoulders and did up his jacket. Nothing he was wearing was capable of constricting his healing body. "Do I look all right?"

"You look a darn sight better than you did this time a year ago," his father reminded him. "Relax," he ordered, when Virgil responded with a pained look. "You look fine. Now..." He took a step towards the door. "Are you coming?"

"I guess so." Getting a firmer grip on his crutches, Virgil started walking.

"Order whatever you feel like from room service, Brains," Jeff called.

"Th-Thank you, Mr Tracy."

The conference room had filled up with most of those who'd accepted the invitation to attend the function. People who hadn't seen each other since the earthquake were meeting up, renewing their acquaintances, and discovering what they'd been doing over the past year.

"We've been all right. Our house wasn't badly damaged."

"We've been fighting with the insurance company. They still haven't paid up."

"Has Mr Tracy arrived yet?"

"I won't be coming back to ACE. We've moved to another city and the family's settled now."

"There's Greg... And Mega. They're actually talking to one another!"

"I met this man... He'd been evacuated to the same centre as I was. We've been living together since Christmas."

"My wife and I split up. The aftermath of the earthquake put too much strain on our marriage. I thought we were solid, but I guess not. She's got the kids."

"I've been working part time. It's boring and I'm not earning much, just enough to keep the family going until I can start working at ACE again."

"I never realised how much I appreciated working at ACE, until I wasn't able to do it anymore."

"Who's that with Mrs M? The one with the crutches."

"Doesn't that guy look familiar? Who is he?"

"Isn't that Virgil Tancy?"

"Isn't that Virgil Tracy?"

Lisa's exclamation of "Virgil!", and the way that she and Butch hurried over to greet the newcomer, left the rest of the attendees with no doubt as to the identity of the gaunt man, standing in the shadows, propped up by his crutches. She stepped back and examined him critically. "You've lost weight."

"I haven't had a lot to eat since you last saw me."

"Don' worry abou' her, Pal," Butch advised, shaking Virgil's hand. "She's go' a fixashun abou' weight at th' momen'. I's her hormons."

"Butch!" Lisa scolded. "Would you stop saying that!"

Virgil Tracy had been a popular and respected member of ACE when he'd worked there six years ago, and as one his former workmates pushed forward to say hello and hear how he was.

"It's so good to see you, Virgil."

"I've been following your progress on Winston's web site. I'm glad you're out of hospital."

"You must be glad to be home again."

"I'm so glad you're okay."

Her place next to her friend usurped by the crowd as Virgil tried to think of an all-encompassing response, Lisa stepped closer to Edna. "Ready to enjoy the evening, Mrs M?"

"I'll be glad when it's all over. Hamish has been a nervous wreck over it all."

Lisa, unable to picture Hamish Mickelson as a nervous wreck except when under the influence of certain painkillers, giggled. "I'm sure that's not the case."

"Have you heard from Ginny tonight?"

"We phoned her before we came down. She's happy and enjoying her time with her nana."

"That's good... Where are you all planning to sit?" Edna pulled a cushion out from where she'd been hiding it behind her. "This is for Virgil."

"We hadn't thought about it. Close to the buffet, I suppose. So, he doesn't have to walk too far for his food."

"He's on a restricted diet, so his meal's going to be brought out to him. Maybe somewhere closer to the exit, in case he decides to leave early?"

"In that case, we'll sit over here." Lisa led the way to the end of the U-shaped table setting.

"Boys..." Jeff Tracy pulled Butch and Bruce clear of the scrum. He slipped a friendly arm about each of their shoulders. "I'd like you to do me a favour."

"Fava?" Butch gave a small frown. "Doin' wha' Mr T?"

"Keep an eye on Virgil for me."

Bruce smiled. "Be glad to."

"I'd do it, but I've got other things to worry about. I've arranged for his meal to be brought to him, so you don't need to worry about that. I'm sure he'll be sensible enough to not try to eat more than he should, but I'd appreciate it if you'd watch that he or anyone else doesn't sneak anything extra onto his plate. You know what he's been having, Bruce."

"Yep."

"Also, we'll be standing up a few times during the evening and I don't want him exerting himself unnecessarily. And, finally, he's probably going to get tired before the evening's over. Don't let him stay up for longer than's good for him. You're his friends. He'll listen to you."

"Do you think so? He can be pretty stubborn when he wants. He takes after his old man." Bruce grinned as Jeff chuckled. "Don't worry, Mr T, we'll keep an eye on him."

"Yeah," Butch agreed. "It'd be our pleasha."

"Thank you." Jeff rubbed his hands together. "I guess it's time to get this show on the road. I hope you're going to like what you're going to hear. You've both had a big input into it."

Virgil, finally freed of most of the mob who'd surrounded him, greeted Winston and Rex. "How's married life treating you?"

Winston admired the gold band on his finger. "Every day I feel like I love him more than ever," he admitted. "I keep pinching myself to see if I'm dreaming. I'm dreading the day that I wake up."

"I feel the same," Rex agreed. "It makes me wish that we hadn't waited so long to formalise our relationship."

"Are you coming back to ACE, Winston?"

"Of course!" Winston seemed affronted that anyone could suggest anything else. "If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times, I'd follow your father and Mr M to the ends of the Earth."

Virgil grinned. "Let's hope it never comes to that."

"And..." Rex had a quiet grin of his own. "As my accountancy firm has closed down and moved out of town, I've got myself a new job."

"Really? Where?"

"ACE." Rex pointed to an older man talking to some of the clerical staff. "The previous accountant has decided to take early retirement, so I applied to fill the vacancy."

"That's great!" Virgil enthused. "I'm happy for both of you." He spied someone almost unexpected. "Angela!"

Angela Eagles was standing back from the group, waiting for Virgil's conversation with Winston and Rex to finish. She stood tall and strong, and without any aids to keep her upright.

She accepted Virgil's hug. "How's it going?"

He made a face. "Way too slowly. How are you, Freddy?" He shook the younger man's hand.

"I'm good."

"Are you returning to ACE?"

Freddy grinned. "Yep. I can't wait to see what Mr T and Mr M have got planned. I gave them some ideas and I want to see if they've used any of them."

Virgil turned back to Freddy's sister. "And how about you? Still under Frank and Stein's control?"

She laughed, having learnt Timoti and Bryce's nicknames from him months ago. "No. I'm now an autonomous being." She tapped her thigh. "It's all mine."

"And it works?"

"As good as a bought one." She laughed. "It works so well that I keep forgetting that it's a replacement model."

"And you're back at work?"

"Have been for months. If any of my clients start moaning about how hard it is to lose weight, I tell them that the way I did it, losing weight's the easy bit. It's getting it back that takes the blood, sweat and tears."

"Tell me about it..."

Jeff Tracy strode up to the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen... If you'd all like to take a seat, we'll get started... Thank you."

There was a lot of scraping of chairs and chattering as people decided who they were going to be sitting next to and how close they wanted to be to the buffet. Jeremy Willard and Christine Wing were sitting at opposite ends of the table, which told everyone that their earthquake-inspired romance had been short lived.

Virgil found himself directed to a cushioned chair with Bruce seated on his left and Butch on his right, their respective partners next to them.

It was a full ten minutes before the room was relatively silent.

Jeff stood at the head table and surveyed his past and, in most cases, present, workforce. "It is wonderful to see so many familiar faces before me and I must say that it's good to see you all again. I know we've all got our own stories of what we've been doing over the past year, but firstly I think we should take a moment to remember the one person connected with Aeronautical Component Engineering who, sadly, didn't make it. Keegan Clark wasn't an employee of ACE, but he was known to some of you from his regular deliveries..."

Nancy, who'd always been willing to give the friendly truck driver some cheek, withdrew a tissue from her bag.

"...And, of course, members of our team did their best to save him, risking their own lives in the process..."

Lisa gave a quiet sob and accepted Butch's handkerchief. Greg looked sombre as Mavis took his hand.

"...If it wasn't for their efforts and," Jeff gave a quick glance over at Virgil, "International Rescue's, "Keegan wouldn't have made it to medical help as soon as he did. But, as we know now, his injuries were too severe. I think it would be appropriate if we had a moment's silence to remember Keegan Clark, along with all those who lost their lives that day, and in the days afterwards."

As one, with one exception, the gathering stood. Virgil tried to get to his feet, but with Bruce's hand on his left shoulder and Butch pinning him down on his right, he realised that he wasn't going to be given that option. Bowing his head, he remained seated.

After a short period of silence, Jeff spoke again. "Thank you."

Chairs scraped as people sat down.

"It's been a year since we were last together," Jeff made an all-encompassing gesture, "and I'm sure we'd all like to know what everyone's done in that time, and whether or not we've made the decision to stay at ACE or move onto bigger and better things. So, we'll go around the room, one by one, and if you wouldn't mind giving us your name, for the benefit of our new employees, and the highlights of your past year, it will enable us all to come up to speed with everyone's lives quickly and simply. However, if you don't wish to go into your personal lives, a simple acknowledgement as to whether you'll be joining us when ACE opens its doors will suffice.

"I suppose," he continued, "as I'm the one trying to encourage you to speak, I should begin. My name is Jeff Tracy. I own ACE. And, yes, in a previous life, I was an astronaut. But you don't want to hear about that now."

Some of the newer members of the team, who did want to hear exactly that, shifted in their seats and were disappointed when he continued. "You can probably guess how I spent much of the first couple of months after the earthquake..." This glance towards Virgil was longer. "And since then I've concentrated on rebuilding ACE, so it will be bigger, stronger, and even more resistant to natural disasters." He turned to the man sitting next to him. "Hamish."

"Thank you." Aeronautical Component Engineering's General Manager got to his feet. "I'm Hamish Mickelson and I'm proud to oversee a company that employs such a wonderful group of people. And this," He smiled down at the lady seated by his side, "Is my wife, Edna... As some of you know, I injured my shoulder going back into my office on the day of the quake; an injury that necessitated surgery, but one that is now completely healed. Edna and I have been living in Bearston in a complex with several other members of the team, but we are hopeful that soon our home here will be ready for us to move back into and the first sod will be turned at ACE." He nodded across at the young lady at the end of the first table. "Miss Hardy?"

Alaina Hardy got to her feet and stated her name. "After my experience with the earthquake and having met the people of International Rescue, I've decided that I want a change in career. I'm in training to become a paramedic, and I won't be returning to ACE."

"We shall miss your services, Miss Hardy," Mickelson acknowledged, "but I know that those services will be appreciated by a good many others... Mr Walker..."

One by one ACE's team, past and present, gave a brief potted history of their past year. Some merely stood and said that they were, or were not, returning to ACE when the complex was completed. Some new members stood, gave their names, and added a little about their home situation and previous employment.

Then one, whom Bruce hadn't noticed until now, stood. "My name is Cole..." the man said and, stunned, Bruce looked at Jeff Tracy. His boss glanced back, grinned, and winked. "...At present I am living in Bearston and working for an engineering firm called Kruse Applied Products, but I was asked to apply for the role of welder at Aeronautical Component Engineering. I'm told that the culture here is much better than at KAP, so I decided that when ACE is ready for me, I'll make the switch." Cole sat down again.

"Welcome aboard," Mickelson greeted him, and moved onto the next person.

Winston told everyone how happy he was to be married to Rex and how their honeymoon in Paris had been "très superbe", and reiterated his loyalty to ACE and its management, before Rex, much to many of those present's surprise, also stood and said how he would be starting work at ACE even before his husband did.

When it was Freddy's turn, he spent about ten minutes telling everyone about Angela's accident, with many gushing thanks to the Tracys for their part in her recovery. As usually happened when he was caught up in one of his monologues, he was good naturedly told to sit down and shut up by his colleagues. "Oh." He sat down. "Sorry."

"Thank you, Mr Eagles," Jeff responded. "And it's gratifying that my family was able to help yours in some small way. But there's one thing you haven't told us."

"Yes, Mr Tracy?"

"Will you be returning to ACE?"

"Yes, Mr Tracy!"

Greg Harrison said that he'd worked most of his life at ACE and that he had no intention of changing. Like everyone else who'd been staying at the 'Trace Base', he didn't mention that he and his wife had been living there in comfort – thanks to the generosity of the Tracy Family.

Expecting the private Max Watts to say that he was continuing at ACE and nothing else, everyone was surprised when he launched into a monologue about how he'd lost contact with his family after the earthquake and how it was thanks to Jeff Tracy's sons that he, Ashley, and George were reunited.

It was Olivia's turn. She stood, and in a quiet voice, said how she'd continued working for ACE in a limited capacity during the past year and how she was looking forward to increasing that workload. Then she added how she'd met someone very special... Smiling at Bruce, she picked up his hand.

And sat down.

A murmuring filled the hall.

"My turn?" His hand still holding hers, Bruce stood. "My name's Bruce Sanders and I'm a chocoholic... Oops, sorry. Wrong meeting."

The assembled gathering chuckled.

Bruce smiled. "But I do have an admission to make, and that is that I've found someone special too." He redirected his smile to Olivia. "And I nearly lost her due to my own stupidity."

"Bruce..." Olivia hissed, embarrassed.

He continued. "Like many of you, my finances were getting low this past year, and so I took what would have been the unthinkable step before the earthquake of quitting ACE. I joined a firm in Bearston called Kruse Applied Engineering." He raised his glass of water to the newcomer at the other end of the table. "Good to catch up with you again, Cole." He replaced the glass and became serious. "It was the biggest mistake of my life. Not only did I receive a brutal reminder that that ACE is a brilliant company to work for... I nearly lost my someone special in the process." He squeezed Olivia's hand. "Because of this I would like to offer you all some advice. If you are leaving ACE to work in a similar situation, think carefully before you commit to it. Do some research about the company you're planning to work for. Talk to its employees. Make absolutely sure that you are making the right decision before you go." He looked back up at the top table. "May I say one more thing, Mr T?"

Jeff gave a regal nod. "Of course."

"Thank you. You may have heard how Kruse Applied Products was involved with a near disaster at the Tyler Gorge Suspension Bridge construction site, where, fortunately, once again International Rescue saved the day."

Cole squirmed uncomfortably, but Bruce had no intention of mentioning any names. "I was on the spot when it happened and this time I was able to talk to International Rescue. I thanked them for what they did at ACE. But I think you should be aware that my thanks to that amazing organisation, wasn't only from me. It was from all of us." He sat down.

"Thank you, Mr Sanders," Jeff acknowledged. "And I suppose that I should add that I also happened to be there when International Rescue was at work. Like Bruce I took the opportunity to thank its operatives for saving the lives of so many people who are important to ACE and me." His eyes fell on Virgil and a small smile played across his lips. "Next?"

Grabbing his crutches, Virgil attempted to get to his feet, but once again Bruce's gentle touch told him that he wasn't allowed to, while Butch's grip felt like it was drilling him into the ground. "I'm afraid that I'm not going to be able to stand like everyone else," he admitted, leaning his crutches back on the table, "so I hope you'll bear with me... My name is Virgil Tracy. And for those of you who don't know, or have forgotten; I'll happily admit that, yes, he is my father." He pointed at the man at the top table, who chuckled. "I worked at ACE for a little over a year six years ago, and was injured in the earthquake on the first day that I was working at the company since then. I've spent the past year recovering in Bearston General Hospital and was finally released last week. And as confirmation for those of you who were wondering, I did have both legs amputated, along with my finger and thumb. All have all been reinstated using a highly experimental, and ultimately successful, procedure." He grinned across the room. "Right, Angela?"

Angela Eagles nodded. "Right."

Virgil continued. "It's thanks to the efforts of many people, and the support of my friends, that I'm close to making a full recovery. And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who sent me your good wishes, who remembered me in your prayers, and who sent me emails of support. Every reminder that I wasn't battling alone was appreciated and gave me the strength to continue my fight to get better. Thank you." Unable to sit back down, he contented himself with just sitting back.

"Thank you, Virgil," Hamish said. "And I know that I'm speaking for everyone here when I say how pleased we are that you are well enough to join us tonight." He smiled at his young friend and then looked at the man next to him. "Mr Crump."

Butch lumbered to his feet. "M' name's Butch Crump," he mumbled. "An' I'm married t' Lisa Crump." He fidgeted and remembered something else. "An' m' daughter's Virginia Crump. She's named afta him." He jabbed a finger in Virgil's direction and thought for a second. "Guess tha's all I gotta say." He sat down with a thump.

Lisa sighed. "Oh, Butch." She got to her feet. "I'm Lisa and I'm Butch's wife and have been so for ten wonderful years. We've both been proud to work for ACE and Butch is going to continue to do so. However, I won't be..."

There were confused and disappointed mutterings from most of those listening.

"...I won't be able to," Lisa continued, "because I'm pregnant with our second child, whose name will be..."

As the room erupted into a cheer of delight that drowned out the child's intended name, Virgil was amused to see that Bruce had hidden his face in his hands and was intoning: "Please don't tell them... Please don't tell them..."

Lisa, deciding that she'd said all that needed to be said, sat down.

When things had quietened down enough that he could be heard, Jeff stood. "Mrs and Mr Crump, please accept ACE's congratulations. That is wonderful news, even if it does mean that we're losing our best welder again." He looked at his watch. "That went on for longer than I'd intended, so I think we should eat now and then get down to business afterwards, if it's all right with the caterers."

The caterers had no complaints with the plan and the buffet stand was quickly filled with two rows of aromatic food.

"I think the easiest way to do this," Jeff said over the clanking of the serving dishes, is for those at the table closest to the food to get up and get their meal first and the rest of us will follow."

Bruce stood and stretched. "That means we're last and we can take as much as we like," he said.

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil thanked the waitress who placed a plate with its meagre rations before him. "That's all I'm allowed. And this is the entree." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small vial of pills and swallowed a supplement, downing it with a drink of water.

"At least you don't have to do battle with the rest of them," Bruce told him. "Would you mind if we...?"

"Go and get as much as you want," Virgil told him. "These things always fill me up anyway." He swallowed another pill.

"Is that all you've got?!" They all looked across the table to where Louis was standing, his plate piled high with mouth-watering, but at present indigestible food.

"It's all I'm allowed," Virgil repeated.

"You're kidding!" Louis looked around to check they weren't being watched. "Go on," he offered, lowering his plate to Virgil's eye line. "Take a little bit extra. I can go back for seconds."

"No, thanks, Louis."

"One little thing won't hurt ya."

"I'm fine."

"Go on. You know you want to."

If Virgil had been going to abandon all reason and do as Louis suggested, which he had no intention of doing, he lost the chance when Butch reared up and over the table. "Leave m' pal alone."

"But..."

"Virgil knows what he can and can't eat, Lou," Bruce advised. "Go and enjoy yours before it gets cold and then you'll still have time to go back for seconds."

"Oh." Louis looked down at his own plate. "Okay."

"Are you looking forward to coming back to ACE, Louis?" Virgil asked, trying to make amends.

"Of course, I am!" Then Louis smirked. "Do you think I'm that much of an idiot that I'd say otherwise to the boss's son?"

Bruce looked at Virgil. "Will you give me the pleasure of answering that one?"

Virgil couldn't help grinning. "Be my guest."

"Yes, Lou, we think you're a…"

Louis held up his hand with a genial smile. "I get the picture. I should get out of here and leave the poor guy to eat his meal in private."

Virgil picked up his fork. "Thanks, Louis."

"I suppose we should go and get ours." But Bruce was reluctant to step away from the table.

Virgil looked at him from over his, as yet, untouched plate. "Yes. You should."

"Don't wait for us and let your food get cold," Lisa told him as she edged past. "And don't worry, I won't be having much either. I'm getting too fat."

"Liesel!" Butch complained as he followed Bruce into the queue. "Ya're not fat!"

Seeing that his son was alone at the table, Jeff Tracy wandered over. "How's it going?"

"Wonderful," Virgil growled, indicating his plate.

"I wish it could be more... If it would make it easier for you, there is a room over there," Jeff pointed behind Virgil, "where you can eat alone."

"I'm supposed to be here to catch up with everyone, aren't I? I can't do that if I'm banished to another room." Virgil saw the queue get shorter. "Hadn't you better get in line? You'll want to get yours before the gluttons head back for seconds."

Bruce was back a short time later, his plate piled high. He placed it on the table out of Virgil's direct line of sight. "I managed to get a couple of words with Cole."

"Did he say anything about joining ACE?"

"I don't think either of us thought it was the time to be discussing that. But he said that Wallace is recovering…"

"That's good."

"…And that he'd quit KAP to try to find something less stressful: aka non-life threatening."

"Sounds like he's made the right decision."

"I hope so for his sake. And I'll bet that Kruse doesn't even understand why he's done it."

Despite his fears that he'd be left as a hungry island in an ocean of food, Virgil barely had time to think about it as those who'd eaten and finished first, came across to catch up with him. He was grateful that most of them had the tact not mention the events of that day a year ago. His friends were grateful that they were able to eat without feeling guilty.

Finally, Mickelson rapped the table. "Ladies and gentlemen... If you'd like to take your seats again, we shall start what you've all been waiting for. The revelation of the new, improved, Aeronautical Component Engineering."

The wait staff hurried around, clearing away the last of the plates and replacing them with tablet computers; one per employee.

Mickelson did most of the talking. He explained that the company that had been housed next to ACE had decided to vacate the premises and that Jeff Tracy had bought the land, enabling ACE to cover a wider footprint and move further away from the troublesome creek. "The foundations will be built on vibration dampening isolators to minimise the effects of any future earthquakes." He pointed to the big screen, whilst the same image appeared on the tablets, enabling those following his dissertation to zoom in and see the detail. "The factory's ceiling will still be two to three stories high, to enable us to work on larger items. There will be gantries running along the ceiling as before, but there will be no second storey nor mezzanine floor offices."

There was a: "Thank heavens for that," from Winston.

"There will be a larger parking area and this will be where the furnace used to be... in line with the end of the road." The unspoken addendum was that this meant that all buildings would be out of the way of runaway vehicles.

The explanation went on, of more interest to those who were going to be working at ACE, than those who weren't. The furnace room was to be isolated from the rest of the complex, as was the 3D printer room. The locker area and social club room would be bigger and brighter and would open out onto Patillo Park. The offices would be closer to the factory, enabling a smoother exchange between administration and production. What equipment couldn't be salvaged was being replaced with newer more efficient models...

Bruce glanced at his companion. Virgil's eyes were closing, and his head was slowly drooping. After a brief debate with himself over what was best to do that would cause the least embarrassment and disruption all round, Bruce pushed a button on his watch.

Feeling his watch vibrate, Jeff looked across at his nodding son. He had a quiet word with his friend and then stood. "I think we've given you enough to think about in the short term, so I propose to have a coffee break to enable you all to have a discussion amongst yourselves..." He smiled. "And to give those of you who have been bored out of your minds an opportunity to make your excuses and leave. When we come back we will throw the floor open for any questions or comments you may wish to make."

For the third time this evening, Bruce laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "Virgil..."

"Huh?" Virgil forced himself awake.

"Do you want to head back to your room?"

Virgil rubbed his eyes and then looked at his father who was standing opposite him. "Sorry, I..."

"That's okay, Son," Jeff soothed. "Go and get some rest."

"Here," Lisa held out one crutch to Virgil, who got a good hold of it before accepting his second.

"We'll take ya," Butch offered.

"Brains is on his way down, and he'll make sure that Virgil gets safely back to his room," Jeff told him. "You can stay here and discuss our plans with your colleagues. You may hear things that are important, or we didn't think of, that your associates may not be willing to tell us."

"'Kay, Mr T," Butch agreed. "See ya t'morrow, Pal."

"Yes." Virgil managed a tired nod. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Jeff escorted his son out of the conference room and across to the lift. It pinged open just as he was reaching up for the up button, revealing Brains.

The younger man smiled. "H-How are you feeling, Virgil?" The response was a huge yawn. "Ah. I see."

"I don't know what time I'll be finishing here, so I'll see you both in the morning," Jeff promised.

Virgil followed Brains back into the lift. "Night, Father..." he said, as the doors closed before him.

-F-A-B-

Virgil's brothers found themselves closeted away in a secluded room in the bowels of the complex.

"Right, Alan." Scott made himself comfortable on a hard stool. "What's this, 'important'," he mimed the quotation marks, "meeting for?"

Alan looked at Scott, Gordon, and then up at John's video link. "Virgil."

"Virgil? But he's miles away at that ACE thing. Why do we have to hide from him when he's not here?"

"And why," John added, "when we've had hundreds of meetings about him; when we don't need to have any more meeting about him; are you calling a meeting about him?"

"I didn't want anyone else to worry and I wanted to know if you fellas are thinking what I'm thinking."

Gordon stretched out his legs and tried to get comfortable. "I think that's highly unlikely that anyone could think what you're thinking."

John leant closer to the monitor. "Okay, Alan, I'll play. What are you thinking?"

"Think back over the past month. What hasn't he done?"

"Eat," Scott offered.

Alan ignored him. "What's the one thing that we'd expect him to do as soon as he returned home after being away for a year?"

"Eat," Scott repeated. "He'd be hanging out for Grandma's cooking. And when he did eat it, look what happened to him."

"I'm not thinking about food."

"Scott always is," Gordon teased.

"But what hasn't Virgil done? Something that we all expected him to, because he hasn't had the opportunity to do so for ages? Something that the rest of us take for granted."

John looked vaguely disgusted. "We said all we need to about that the other day. Can't we leave the poor guy _some_ dignity and not discuss it behind his back?"

"I'm not talking about... erm ... _that_," Alan protested. "I'm talking about Thunderbird Two. He hasn't seen her since he came home!"

"Yes, he has," Scott corrected. "He saw her when he arrived home."

"And then claimed he was tired and went into the house."

"He was tired, remember? When I went to tell him about lunch he was dead to the world. After that we never gave him the time to go visiting. We were too busy celebrating."

"And he saw her when he waved goodbye to everyone before I flew them back to the States," Gordon added.

"Not up close."

"And after that he was in bed for over twenty-four hours," John expanded. "Even if he'd wanted to see Thunderbird Two, he wasn't allowed to."

"And since then he's had the freedom of the island," Alan reminded his brothers. "Has anyone seen him go into Thunderbird Two's hangar? Or go anywhere close?"

Scott bit his lip. "No..."

Gordon frowned. "No..."

"No." John entered something into his computer logs. "And... according to this, he hasn't tried to access her hangar either."

"Right." Triumphant, Alan sat on the edge of a bench. "Why?"

"Because he's not allowed to fly her yet?" Scott suggested.

"This is Virgil, not you. Even if he couldn't fly her he'd want to see if he can do some maintenance on her."

"There's not a lot he could do. We've kept the maintenance up-to-date, and he gets tired too easily to do anything constructive." Scott held out his hands. "Don't forget that he hasn't been home a month yet!"

"Maybe that's it?" John suggested. "He knows that he's not ready to work on her, and he feels that he's letting her down."

His brothers, who felt the same way about their own Thunderbirds, made no comment about his anthropomorphising of an aeroplane.

"Can we find some little jobs for him to do?" Alan asked. "Nothing to strenuous, but something worthwhile."

Scott folded his arms with a warning glare. "And nothing that would make it obvious that we're humouring him."

"You're her stand-in pilot, Gordon..." Temporarily side-tracked, John entered some numbers into the computer. "Can you think of anything?"

Gordon scratched his cranium. "Probably, although not off the top of my head."

Alan brightened. "How about a bit of painting? Are there any scratches that need touching up?"

"That's not his type of painting," Scott reminded him.

"Doesn't matter. We're trying to make him feel useful, not pander to his talents."

"There's been a rattle in Thunderbird Two's cabin," Gordon remembered. "It's been there for months."

Alarmed, Scott sat upright. "There's been a rattle and you haven't done anything to find out what's causing it?"

"Of course, I have." Gordon scowled. "It's a bit of trim on one of the signs. It's not critical and it's not hurting anything. But I could say that I can't find it while I'm in flight, I can't hear it when I'm on the ground, and I need him to help me take care of it."

Scott gave a nod of approval.

They continued brainstorming for the next half hour, each of them coming up with a small task that they knew that Virgil could handle, and would give him the feeling that Thunderbird Two needed him.

When they went their separate ways, each of them was convinced that they knew what the problem was and had worked out how to treat it.

_To be continued..._


	62. Chapter 62

"_You're exciting..._ I am? Oh. They've used the wrong 'your'."

"And that sums up the competency of this outfit in one word."

"_Your exciting underwater experience will begin the moment that you step out of your car. At that point one of our highly-trained valets..."_

"Fresh from the training that only a stint in jail for car conversion can provide."

"Or with his driver's license so new the ink hasn't had the chance to dry yet... _will take your vehicle and park it under..."_

"A holey tarpaulin."

"_...cover enabling you to enjoy your evening, secure in the knowledge that when you return it will be waiting for you in the condition that you left it..."_

"But with a few miles on the clock after the aforementioned valet has taken it for a burn around the countryside."

"_You will then be escorted..."_

"By someone who's already been sampling the wares at the bar."

"_...to your gateway to an unparalleled evening's entertainment. Your escort will lead you to..."_

"The first of many chances to get seasick."

"_...your table, from which you will be able to see, and taste, the many delights that will be placed before you. As you and your table travel along the travellator within the access tunnel..."_

"Feeling the nausea building as you are shunted out of control through a plastic tube that's no bigger than a straw..."

"_...you will be given the opportunity to experience the first of many wonders you will see tonight. Delicate seaweeds..."_

"As thick and tall as the Great Wall of China."

"_...will wave gently in the lightly fluctuating waters."_

"And, along with mats of algae coating the tunnel's surface, ensure that you can't see a single thing as they thrash against the walls of the tunnel and try to rip themselves out of the seabed."

"_During this time our helpful bar staff..."_

"Who have also been on the turps."

"_...will aid you in your selection from the finest range of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks."_

"This side of your local supermarket and so long as you have a limited palate."

"_Take your time to enjoy these refreshments and watch the sea world go by as you are taken five hundred metres off shore to..."_

"Your tomb."

"Chad! _...the restaurant. Once you are there, there will be no need to vacate your seat, for our ingenious system will detach your chairs and tables from the entrance portal..."_

"Assisted by staff and a dirty great hammer"

"_...and lock you..."_

"Literally."

"_...into the travellator that orbits the rich sea life of this area."_

"Including the scavengers who are hanging about waiting for the scraps from patrons' unpalatable meals, or the bodies of patrons who don't survive."

"Don't be morbid... _You will barely be aware that you are moving..."_

"Aside from the rocking of the whole contraption as waves slam against it."

"_...as you gaze through the tunnels' transparent walls..."_

"Made opaque by the corrosive salt and sand wearing away at them."

"_into the crystal-clear waters..."_

"Filled with silt stirred up by the storm."

"_...and sample the freshest of seafoods..."_

"Only caught last week."

"_...and other delicacies, cooked in our cordon bleu-standard kitchens..."_

"On land, so your meal's cold by the time it gets to you."

"_...to a backdrop of the stunning colours of the rejuvenating coral reefs..."_

"Those stunning colours having been painted onto dead coral reefs by the PR department that wrote this codswallop. I'm sure I saw some with the paint flaking off."

"_...that abound in this area. Look above you and, if your timing is right, you may see the glow of the full moon penetrate the waters..."_

"And if your timing is wrong, you'll get to see a raging cyclone trying to smash you to smithereens."

"_...in a romantic journey that has no equal."_

"Except maybe in your local slaughterhouse."

"_As you relax and enjoy your repast, you have no fears, for the ten-centimetre-thick walls of the Plasticrete corridors that you will be passing through are unbreakable."_

"The feather pillows they hit it with during testing didn't leave a scratch. They weren't game enough to try it with anything heavier."

"_As an extra level of security, each segment of the restaurant can be secured by watertight doors. In the unlikely event of a breach, these can either be deployed automatically, or manually by one of our capable staff members."_

"That's if you can find the one staff member who was deemed capable enough to have been given the training."

"_When you come to SeaSee restaurant, you will enjoy an experience unparalleled for flavour, views, enjoyment, and safety."_

Chad Connolly sat back. "What a load of twaddle."

His partner for what was supposed to be an anniversary celebration, his wife Dana, read the last paragraph in the upbeat brochure. _"Want to experience something unique? Just say SeaSee."_

"Want to live another day?" Chad griped. "Just say NayNay."

"Don't!" Dana dropped the brochure. "They said that help is on the way."

When they'd both heard about this restaurant; one that stretched out and beneath the waves into the ocean and treated you to an ever-changing scene of indescribable beauty as your table moved through the clear-sided tunnel; they'd both agreed that it sounded like the perfect spot for the promised romantic evening. An evening that hadn't boded well when they'd left their car with a spotty teenager and made a dash for the entrance portal through the thundering rain and seas splashing over the sea wall.

After taking a lift down to five metres below sea level, they had been escorted to their table and asked what they'd like to drink while they'd made their 500-metre journey out to the restaurant proper. Mindful of the waves crashing down on them, both had chosen sparkling grape juice.

They'd been told that such a drink wasn't available at the establishment.

Neither was pineapple juice, grapefruit juice, apple juice, nor tomato juice. In the end, they'd made do with a high-priced lemonade and a forced smile from the bar help.

When they'd reached the restaurant, having seen next to nothing in the gloom outside, their table had jammed, necessitating a swift kick to the mechanism by a member of the wait staff who appeared to know exactly the place to strike and how much force to use.

Admittedly, their first journey around the loop that described the restaurant area wasn't too bad. Neither was the food when it arrived on the third trip around. It wasn't too good, but it wasn't too bad either.

It was after they'd finished their main course and were waiting for their desserts that things took an unexpected turn.

Each time they'd looked upwards towards the promised moon, they'd seen nothing other than a ferocious cauldron of water boiling above them and an occasional flash of lightning. It had to be their imagination, they'd told themselves and then each other as the storm had continued and intensified, but the whole structure was shaking. Not only that, but the seabed was being stirred up until even the famed multi-coloured coral, picked out by carefully placed spotlights, was obliterated from view.

They'd just started their fifth trip around the loop when a mundane evening became unique.

Dana had been looking up at the crashing waves when she'd seen one that seemed much larger than the rest. She told herself that it was an illusion as the wave seemed to suck all the water from above them and then slam it down directly onto the tunnel. She'd been aware of the screams of other patrons, before the automatic doors rammed home. She and Chad hadn't had a chance to marvel that something at SeaSee actually worked, when the tunnel was knocked off its supports and onto the sea floor. It rolled down the seabed, crushing dead and bleached coral skeletons in their path, before falling further and deeper into an oceanic trench.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they were still.

Still in the blackness.

They didn't know how, but Dana and Chad were astonished and relieved to discover that, aside from some bruises, they were unhurt. They were equally astonished when the emergency lighting, after a moment's indecisive flickering, came on and stayed on. With the solid doors between them shut, and no intercom to call on, they had no way of knowing if others had been so lucky.

That was an hour ago. They, and those trapped in other sealed compartments, had been reassured by some disembodied, and probably automatic, voice that they were in no danger and that help was on the way.

With nothing else to do but wait, sitting on the curved roof of the tunnel, Dana had taken the opportunity to read SeaSee's advertising pamphlet out loud, and Chad had taken the opportunity to critique it.

With that source of entertainment gone, Dana screwed up her serviette. "How long have we been here?"

Chad stared at his watch. "A little over an hour."

"How long did they say it would be before help arrived?"

"They didn't say. I guess they don't know. It's not as if the rescue services can just pop down and pull us out. There must be a cyclone brewing up there!"

"Why didn't they close the restaurant?"

"I'm sure that someone will be asking that question sometime in the future."

"I wonder how deep we are..."

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five responding."

"Am at danger zone. It's like being in a washing machine here!"

"The anemometer's reporting wind speeds of over one hundred kilometres an hour. I'm not surprised."

"How far out's Thunderbird Two?"

"Last report is a little under fifteen minutes."

Scott missed Virgil's ETA predictions down to the fraction of a second. He didn't know how his brother did it, but it was nearly always right. "Any word from those trapped?"

"Negative. There is no way to get communications to the victims. Gordon may have to use the teletype."

"How far down's the tunnel?"

"Twenty, twenty-five metres?" John's attention wavered. "Ah, good. I've got the plans for the tunnel and a map of the seabed, Scott. I'll send them down."

"Thanks, John." Scott watched as an image flashed up on screen. At the same moment, a flash of lightning streaked across his bow. "Tell Thunderbird Two to watch out for lightning strikes."

"Already have. The meteorological maps are a mess. There's a low directly north of you."

"What directing is it heading?"

"Due south."

"Are we in the eyewall?"

"Close, but not quite. I'd say you've got about twenty minutes before that hits."

Scott fought against the increasing winds. "How long till we're in the eye?"

"Depends on the speed of the storm. Maybe an hour?"

"Keep tracking it and give me a reading when you have more data."

"F-A-B."

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two." Trying to keep his craft's nose into the wind and flying on an even keel, Scott examined the blueprints of the tunnel. "You're going to have to lift the tunnel in segments, Gordon. It's not strong enough to hold together, even if you were able to lift it in one piece."

"How do I separate them?"

"Each segment is connected to the adjacent one by a waterproof seal running around the circumference. You're going to have to use the laser to slice through those seals."

"And there's no chance that I'd let water into any of the compartments if I do that? At that depth, the pressure's going to be intense enough that I probably won't have time to seal any breaches."

"There's a five-millimetre gap between each door. It's designed that if water does get in there, it will warp the door enough to add pressure on the seal on the inward side. In theory that should make it even more watertight."

"In theory. Have they tested the theory at these depths or deeper?"

"I don't know, Gordon. I'm only going off the information I see before me. What's your ETA?"

"Any second."

Scott squinted through the darkness. Suddenly, reflected off the torrential, yet horizontal, water, he could see a beacon of light. "I have a visual on you."

"Good. I was worried that I was going to overshoot and wind up in Timbuctoo."

Scott permitted himself a small smile at the joke.

Inside Thunderbird Two Gordon glanced over his shoulder at Alan. "Ready to take over?"

"F-A-B."

"Okay... On automatic pilot." Gordon slid out of the pilot's seat on one side, while Alan slid in from the other. "The sooner Virgil takes over the better."

"Yeah," Alan agreed, disengaging the autopilot. "It'll be good to have the full crew available again." He heard an unexpected sound. "Hey! There is a rattle!"

"I told you. See if you've worked out what's causing it before I get Virgil in here to fix it."

Alan glanced over his shoulder. "It's that bit of trim on the sign over there." Through the control yoke, he felt the mighty aeroplane buck beneath his hands. "Be careful down there."

"I will. Make sure you close the pod door as soon as I'm clear. We don't need to take on any more water than we have to."

"Understood." Alan waited until he'd had confirmation that Gordon was safely in Thunderbird Four before he brought Thunderbird Two closer to the foaming waves. Only when he was convinced that to go any lower would mean that the pod door would be unable to be opened, did he release the pod.

He remained in a low hover above his aeroplane's mid-section until he received word that Thunderbird Four was clear. The door had barely closed before he was collecting the pod again.

-F-A-B-

It was dark above the waves and even darker below.

Gordon, Thunderbird Four's own powerful spotlights doing their best to penetrate the darkness, motored towards the tunnel's assumed resting place.

"Any sign of them, Gordon?"

"Negative, Scott. The silt's too thick to see anything. I was joking about overshooting when I was in Thunderbird Two, but there's every chance I could do it now."

"Are your scanners operational?"

"Affirmative, but they're not reading anything. Have we heard from the victims?"

"Negative. And I don't need to tell you that cell phones don't work under water."

"Normally I'd be pleased about that, but I wish they would now."

"Me too."

"Hold on! I think I've seen something!" Rather than looping around and potentially missing the spot of brightness that he'd seen out of the corner of his eye, Gordon put Thunderbird Four into reverse. "There..."

"What is it?"

"Some light, I think. Yes! There it is! I've found it."

"Good. Can you get a visual on the victims?"

-F-A-B-

"Dana!" Chad grabbed his wife's arm. "Did you see something out there?"

Dana strained to look upwards in the direction he was pointing. "Like what?"

"Like a light?"

"No..." Then Dana saw something yellow reflecting in the dim emergency lighting. "Yes!"

"What is it?"

"Some kind of submersible... I think."

"Who'd be mad enough to try to rescue us in weather like this?"

Chad's question was answered when a yellow submarine with the words _Thunderbird_ _Four_ painted along its flanks swam into view. "It's a Thunderbird!"

"Thunderbird Four!"

The couple started a frantic waving in the direction of their potential saviour.

Gordon had slowly, but steadily, motored along the length of the tunnel, getting readings and scans, and a good old-fashioned look at what he was going to be up against. "Everything seems to be intact. I can't see any breaches."

"How many are trapped?"

"Um... Two... Four... Six, no seven... Nine, ten... Eleven people."

"Anyone hurt?"

"I don't think so. They're all waving at me." Then Gordon had an idea. "What's the buoyancy like in these things? Will they float when I cut them free?"

"I'll check with Brains... Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five. Can you put me through to Brains, John?"

"F-A-B."

"And send him through the same information you sent me. I need his opinion."

"S-S-Scott?"

"Brains, have you received the plans and blueprints for the tunnels?"

"I-I have, Scott, give me a moment to examine them." _A moment_ had equated to almost exactly a minute when Brains returned to the radio. "How can I help you?"

"Gordon's going to separate each segment and lift them separately. Are they likely to float of their own volition?"

"I would have my doubts. The density of the Plasticrete is very high. It was made in this way as an aid to reduce u-upward stresses on the tunnel."

"So even the large air pocket inside each segment isn't enough to counteract it?"

"No. It will make lifting easier, but you can't rely on it to help you with this r-rescue."

"Okay, Brains. Thanks... Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four."

"That's a negative. The density of the structure of the walls is enough to negate any buoyancy caused by the air inside."

"Understood. I've been evaluating my options. Those at the northern end are more vulnerable. If they go, there's nothing to hold them back. The ledge is wider at the southern end, so I'll release them last."

"You're the man on the spot, Gordon. You do what you think's best."

Gordon moved in and lined up Thunderbird Four's laser with the seal. "Wish me luck," he announced and began cutting.

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Four. I'm standing by to receive the first section."

"Good. This one's got four people on board. Three guests and a staff member at a guess."

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two. I've been onto the rescue team on the shore. There's a school nearby, and if you can let the victims out in the playing field, they'll be able to shelter in the gym. Once they're released move the section to the other end of the field out of the way."

"F-A-B."

"Making final cut."

"Will Thunderbird Two's grabs reach that deep, Gordon?"

"Negative. I'll have to bring it to the surface. I'll want to steady each section against the action of the waves anyway."

"It's no smoother up here."

"I still want to do what I can." Gordon had made the final cut. "Moving into position for lifting."

Alan spun Thunderbird Two around, so her nose was into the wind. "I'm on a nor 'east heading, Gordon."

"Understood." With nothing of the cylindrical surface available for her to hang onto, Thunderbird Four unfolded two flat arms. Sliding these underneath the tunnel, and angling her body so that her tail was lower than her nose and the section was rolling slightly towards her, she began to rise. "Ascending."

Scott heard Gordon's announcement. "Any issues?"

"Negative. There's enough buoyancy to make this not as difficult as I thought."

Dana and Chad watched as the powerful spotlights of Thunderbird Four and the less impressive emergency lighting of the first section rose upwards and towards safety.

"They can't be worried about us," Dana remarked. "Either that or someone's hurt, and they can't waste any time."

"Or else we're so trapped they don't know how they're going to rescue us."

"Chad!" Dana snapped. "Don't say things like that!"

"I wonder how long the oxygen will last."

"Chad!"

Thunderbird Four and the first section were nearing the surface as Gordon aligned his ship with her sister craft. He could feel that both International Rescue's submarine and her precious cargo were being buffeted by the waves. "Send down the grabs, Alan."

"Descending."

Gordon couldn't see the giant claw dropping down from Thunderbird Two's underbelly. Not until they broke through the waves. "Stop there. I'll get into position."

"Understood, Gordon."

"Okay. You can take hold."

Alan watched his control panel until sensitive sensors told him that the grabs had made contact. "Taking up the weight... I have control."

"Affirmative, Thunderbird Two. Thunderbird Four releasing." Gordon allowed his submarine to drop down a metre and was relieved to see that the section of tunnel remained firm. "Returning to danger zone."

"Lifting clear." Pulling back on the control yoke and feeling the extra weight drag Thunderbird Two down, Alan hoisted the tunnel out of the water. "Clear. Heading to rendezvous point."

"Try to make it quick, Fellas," Scott advised. "The cyclone's eyewall is almost upon us."

"Almost?" Alan exclaimed as the grabs swung beneath him, sending Thunderbird Two rocking. "Are you sure we're not in it?"

"I'll double check. Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

"Receiving you, Thunderbird One."

"How close is the eyewall?"

"About five minutes out."

"And the cyclone's eye?"

"About twenty-five. It's nine kilometres in diameter. The cyclone's shrinking in size and ferocity as she hits land, Scott. Is there any chance that you can delay the next rescue until you're in the eye?"

"I'll check with Gordon."

Alan was already hovering over the playing field. Losing height, he allowed the tunnel beneath him to touch the saturated grass. It sunk into the mud and rolled slightly to one side.

Fire crews left the warm, dry sanctuary of the gym and swarmed out towards the tunnel.

It was then that they discovered a problem. "Calling International Rescue."

John acknowledged the call. "International Rescue, receiving."

"How do we break into these things?"

"Just one moment... Brains... Are you reading me?"

"I-I can hear you, John."

"How do the fire crews get into the tunnels?"

"Similar to opening a tin of beans."

John stared at the image on screen. "Huh?"

"G-Get them to use the, ah, jaws of life on the edge of the tunnel, as if they were going to use a tin opener on it. A little pressure and the door should pop open. I would advise no one to stand in its path though. I have no idea of the amount of force that will be behind it."

"Is there any chance that it could _pop_ inwards?"

"Unlikely. The seal is in the way."

"Thanks, Brains." John paraphrased his friend's suggestion and received the acknowledgement from the fire crew. Leaving the channel open he listened as commands were given and the tooling put into place.

Over the never-ending sound of falling rain he heard a small pop and an exclamation of surprise. "Well, whaddaya know. It worked!"

-F-A-B-

Bruce found Virgil standing on the balcony outside his bedroom looking out over the ocean in quiet contemplation. "They're on a rescue."

"I know."

"Have you heard how they're going?"

Virgil shook his head.

"Odds on they'll be successful. After all, they are International Rescue." Bruce managed a light chuckle. "They work miracles. I should know."

Virgil couldn't manage so much as a smile.

"Are you trying to work out what you're going to say?"

"No." Virgil shook his head again. "I've rehearsed it so many times in my mind that I could say it in my sleep."

"What can I do?"

"Just get the rest of them to the lounge when I give the signal."

"Okay." Bruce had yet to work out how he was going to do that. "You're doing the right thing. You know that?"

This time Virgil nodded. "I know. It doesn't mean that I have to look forward to it though."

They were silent for all of five minutes.

Bruce pushed himself away from the balcony. "Why don't we go and find out how they're getting on? You may at least get an idea how much time you've got."

Virgil had to admit that that wasn't a silly idea.

They entered the lounge. "Hi, Father."

"Hey, Mr T."

"Hello, Boys." Jeff Tracy looked relaxed. A good sign under most situations.

It was Virgil who asked the first question. "How many have they got to rescue?"

"Eleven, according to Gordon. He's already released the first four."

"That's good."

Jeff smiled at his son. "He was saying that it will be easier when you're back at Thunderbird Two's controls. Alan had to take over when they got to the danger zone, so that Gordon could operate Thunderbird Four."

"Alan could have flown all the way there and back."

"He could, but Gordon takes his role as Two's co-pilot seriously. He won't relinquish her without good reason."

"Does he still think of himself as only her co-pilot after all this time? He's been her pilot for the past year and will continue to be so for the indeterminate future."

"Not for too much longer, we hope."

"Is the team foreseeing any problems?" Bruce asked.

"Not as yet. The cyclone's weakening, which is always a positive."

"So, they'll be home..." Bruce looked at his watch. "Before dinner?"

"Hopefully. But dinner will be late. We'll want to have the debriefing first." Jeff Tracy chuckled. "That's if Mother lets us. She's always convinced that everyone will faint from hunger if we don't eat at six on the dot."

"I know that I can't attend the main debriefing," Virgil began, "but could I sit in at the end? After the dissection of the rescue and when everyone's remembering the unimportant bits."

Jeff's smile broadened. "Of course, you can. With you present it'll feel like old times."

-F-A-B-

Alan deposited the second section of the tunnel next to the school's gymnasium and waited until he could lift it clear and place it somewhere where it wouldn't cause any more trouble.

Now that they knew how to break into the cylinder, the fire crews had made short work of releasing the next three victims and were hustling them inside. Alan gained some height, carried the tunnel a short distance away, lowered it into the mud, released the grabs, and returned out into the bay. "That wind's getting stronger."

"I know." Scott had spent the entire time being knocked about by wind gusts that seemed to come from all directions. "We'll be through the wall and into the eye soon."

"That'll please our victims. The last three we released were looking decidedly green by the time I got them to the gym. How many to go?"

"Four. Two in the first section and two in the last."

"How's the air situation?"

"Shouldn't be any issues, so long as there aren't any breaches."

"So, are we going to wait until we're in the eye?"

Scott made his decision. "Yes. There's no point making it more difficult or more uncomfortable for anyone... Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four."

"Unless you see a reason to hurry, take your time on this next one. The eye's nearly upon us and the transfer will go more smoothly if Thunderbird Two doesn't have to deal with the winds."

"There'll still be a heavy chop."

"True, but nothing that an aquanaut of your calibre can't deal with."

"Sweet talker."

Scott chuckled.

Gordon cruised up and down the line of remaining tunnels, trying to see if there was any need for speed. He wasn't planning on going slowly, but could see no need for unnecessary haste. Far better to take his time and do the job properly.

He approached the seal between the section that trapped the next two victims, pointed the laser, and started cutting.

-F-A-B-

"This is like a roller coaster ride!" Alan yelled as Thunderbird Two dipped and rose in the heavy cyclonic winds of the storm's eyewall.

"Too much like one for my liking." Without Thunderbird Two's bulk and less streamlined profile to give her some stability, Thunderbird One was bucking at the edge of Scott's control. "I'm going to have to fly out of the wall." He switched to open communications. "Gaining height!" Turning away from centre of the storm and following a clockwise path that worked with the winds instead of against them, he climbed, ducking beneath the outflow, until he was able to pop free into the calm above the storm. "In clear air."

He heard John's voice in response. "Are you going to stay there?"

"No. I'll fly into the eye and follow its path while we finish the rescue."

"Okay, Scott, I'll let everyone know.

It was still dark, and Scott was relying on his instrumentation to tell him where the eyewall was and how far away Thunderbirds Two and Four were. There wasn't a breath of wind and above him he could see stars. But he knew that only metres away were winds of such ferocity that they could down a regular aeroplane.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird One. How's the weather up there?"

"Lovely and calm." Scott saw a blip on his radar. "I see you're below me."

"Me too." That was Alan in Thunderbird Two. "Ready to pick up section number three."

"Ascending," Gordon told him.

Scott, in Thunderbird One, stood clear, his spotlight playing on the stormy waves where Thunderbird Four would surface and hand its cargo over to Thunderbird Two.

He was pleased to see that the transfer went without a hitch.

Then there was one. "How fast is the cyclone moving, John?" Alan asked. "I don't want to enter the eyewall with my passengers dangling below me."

"You're about two hundred metres from shore," John assured him. "Keep moving at your current speed and you'll keep pace with the eye."

"I'll drop and run with this one. We want to pick up the last section before the eye closes on us."

"You're not going to have a lot of time."

"I know. So long as Gordon's releasing the last section now, we should be able to do it with no problems."

Gordon was anticipating that it would be easy to release the last section. Cut away the tunnel to the right of the Connollys; cut away the tunnel to the left; and they'd be home free.

Chad and Dana watched as the International Rescue submarine moved closer to their underwater prison. Then they looked away when a bright light beamed out from the nose of the craft and began passing through the partition between their section and the one next to them. They felt the whole structure move when the empty section fell away and were shocked when there was a loud bang from the vicinity of the door.

"Chad!" Dana clung to her husband. "What happened?"

"I don't know, do I?" he protested, trying to pretend that he was unperturbed by the noise.

The yellow submarine moved from their right to their left and the blindingly bright beam shot out again.

Once again, they felt the whole structure shift.

"Chad..."

Whatever it was that Dana was going to say was forgotten when, Gordon's cut only three quarters of the way through, the join bent, tearing the remaining seal out of its housing.

Climbing quickly to get out of the way of the tube that threatened to roll over him and send him crashing to the seafloor below, Gordon watched as both tubes began to slide deeper into the ocean trench. With no time to think of any other plans, he dove, jamming Thunderbird Four's light trough against the occupied tunnel.

Its speed and momentum were such that he couldn't hold it.

Four's light almost blinding them, the Connollys slithered around the curved walls of their prison, rolling and bumping against one another and the two tables that had been trapped with them.

"Thunderbird Four's descending," John informed everyone who was listening.

"Descending?" For a moment, Scott didn't believe him. "Four shouldn't be descending. At what rate?" He checked his own computers. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four!"

The intercom switched on and they could hear their brother's ragged breathing over the airwaves. "Last tube's falling. Can't hold it."

"Hang in there, Gordon," Scott instructed, an unflappable voice in a stressful situation. "Can you slip under it?"

Gordon had a brief glimpse of two terrified faces as the tube rolled before his eyes. He checked his radar, imprinting a topographical map of the seafloor in his mind. Then he threw Thunderbird Four into reverse, raised her tail, pointed her nose at the bedrock ten metres ahead of the out of control tube, and pressed a button.

Two long spears shot out of Thunderbird Four's cannons and embedded themselves in the rock. The Connollys' tube slammed into them, rose up their length, threatened to roll over the top and...

Slid back down to come to a rest on the seafloor.

The unoccupied tube reached the lip of an underwater cliff. It spun off, rotated vertically, and dropped nose first into the abyss beyond.

Gordon took a second to get his breathing and heart rate back under control. "Stopped it."

He heard Scott's congratulatory words. "Good work, Gordon. We knew you could handle it."

"The question is: how do we get them out of here?"

"Balloon lift?"

"No. The surface is too curved and there's nowhere the balloons could hold onto. The doors are flat, but I'm not willing to trust them." As he was speaking, Gordon nudged Thunderbird Four closer to the Connollys' tube.

"How are our victims?"

"Distraught."

"I don't blame them after the ride they've just had."

"It's not only that, Scott..."

Everything had happened so quickly that Dana and Chad had barely been aware of what was going on around them. The world outside their tube was already pitch black and gave them no clues as to the horizontal direction they were travelling. Gravity, however, and the frightening speed that they met up with the tables again and again made it quite clear that they were falling. The bright lights from the Thunderbird craft blinded them, giving them no chance to avoid hitting anything... Not that they had any control over where they were going.

And then the lights had vanished almost like magic. They felt their rate of descent increase and then they were falling back the other way, landing in a crumpled heap on top of each other and unable to believe that they had stopped moving.

"Dana...?" Chad reached out for his wife. "Dana!"

"Chad!" She grabbed him, aggravating his many bruises as well as her own, and clung to her husband for the support and reassurance that he was unable to give her.

He howled at the injustice of it all. "This was supposed to be a celebration!"

"Chad..."

"I'm sorry, Dana, I'm so sorry. This was my idea. It was supposed to be a party."

"Chad, shush..."

"All I wanted was to make you happy."

"And I have been happy these past eighteen years."

"I wanted tonight to be a celebration!"

"And it is. We've survived eighteen years; we'll survive tonight; and we can survive over eighteen years more."

"Dana..." Chad put his hand down on floor and felt something unexpected. "Water?"

"Water? It's probably from the carafe."

"No." He sniffed his damp hand, before cautiously licking it. "It's salty."

Dana looked about her. Water was pooling in the curved surface below them. She remembered the bang from earlier and looked towards what was supposed to be a watertight door.

Water was trickling in...

_To be continued..._


	63. Chapter 63

Dana Connolly stood and took an unsteady step towards the door that was supposed be forming a watertight seal between their life raft of air and the cold, dark, unforgiving ocean.

She slipped on the slippery, curved surface and fell with a cry.

"Dana." Her husband, Chad, crawled closer, scooped her up, and cradled her in his arms. "Dana!"

"I-I'm all right," she told him, pushing him away so she could sit upright. She took his hand and held it tightly. "I'm all right," she repeated.

"Are you sure?" His hand caressed her face. "You're bruised."

She mimicked his gesture. "And so are you. But we're both alive... Right?"

His arm slipped around her shoulders. "Right."

She snuggled closer. "And we're going to stay alive... Right?"

Chad was less sure of his answer this time.

"But we've got to let International Rescue know that," she held his hands tighter and willed him to remain calm, "the tube is leaking."

"It is! Where!"

She nodded over his shoulder. "The door."

Gordon already knew that their life raft had sprung a leak. In the glare of Thunderbird Four's spotlights, he'd seen a steady stream of bubbles rising from the right end of the tube. "Their section's breached."

Thunderbirds Two and Five remained quiet, allowing Scott to voice what they were all wondering. "How bad is it, Gordon?"

"Not bad... At the moment. But at this depth and this pressure it's going to get worse mighty quickly."

"We're going to have to get them out of there ASAP."

"It's not going to be that straightforward, Scott. As the pressure equalises they're going to have to deal with the decompression sickness."

"How old are they?"

"Bit hard to tell. Middle-aged?"

"A couple? Okay, John, get onto the authorities and let them know that we've got a middle-aged couple who are going to need hyperbaric oxygen therapy amongst other treatments. The restaurant may have a bookings record and be able to supply them with their name and contact details, etc. From that the authorities will be able to ascertain age, medical history and next of kin."

"I'm contacting them now."

"Thanks, John… You're the man on the scene, Gordon. What's your plan?"

"I'm sealing the breach as we speak." Gordon had Thunderbird Four's nose towards the source of the bubbles and was applying a sealant through a nozzle extending from the same port as the cannon. "If it doesn't rupture elsewhere, I should be able to carry them to the surface."

"Gordon…" It was Alan. "If you can get them to the surface quickly, the eye's still over us and we'll be able to make the transfer…"

"Negative, Alan. If I ascend too quickly they'll be guaranteed to get the bends. Plus, the change in pressure is likely to rupture the doors away from my seal. Once they're no longer on the seabed, I'm not going to be able to stop off and seal any other leaks."

"We're not going to be able to affect a transfer within the eyewall of the cyclone."

"Find us a rendezvous point, Scott, and I'll meet you there. It will be safer and more comfortable for our victims if we travel underwater…"

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbirds One, Four, and Two."

Once again, Gordon and Alan let Scott answer for them. "Go ahead, John."

"I've got a probable name for the couple. By a process of elimination, the restaurant thinks it could be the Connollys; Dana and Chad Connolly. It's their sixteenth wedding anniversary."

"We'll make sure they see a seventeenth," Gordon said firmly. "How's that location coming, Scott?" He reversed and eyed his repair critically. Bubbles had stopped rising and he hoped that meant that the immediate danger had passed.

Scott rechecked his workings. He was still keeping pace with the eye and had to keep up a forward momentum in order to maintain his position in relation to the eyewall. That was keeping one segment of his brain occupied while he worked out the cyclone's path, speed, and trajectory. Any transfer would have to be made well away from the eyewall. The further from the centre, the gentler the winds, but the greater distance would need to be travelled by both Thunderbird Four under the waves and a tunnel-carrying Thunderbird Two.

He spotted a likely location. "I'm sending the coordinates now." He received Alan's, closely followed by Gordon's, and then John's confirmation that they'd received the data.

John examined the readout. "Are you sure, Scott? I know you've got to take the cyclone into account, but that's miles away."

"It is," Scott agreed, "but it's got three advantages. One is that Thunderbird Four can ascend at a shallower angle, reducing the chance that the Connollys will get the bends, the second is that the winds won't be as strong, and the third is that there's an island close by. Alan and Gordon can make the transfer and then Thunderbird Two can offload the tunnel on the island and bring the couple on board. They can travel back to the mainland in Two's hyperbaric chamber."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Gordon agreed. "Once I've got the tunnel under control. Coordinates locked in."

"I'm climbing already. I'll fly over the storm and meet you guys at the rendezvous. Thunderbird One can handle those wind speeds."

"I don't have the speed you do," Alan pointed out. "I'm going to have to punch through the eyewall to get to them."

"You can do it, Alan."

"Just watch out for Virgil's 'bird," Gordon warned. "He's going to want her back unscratched."

"Don't worry. He'll get Thunderbird Two back in one piece. I'm not going anywhere near the outfall."

"He'll be glad to hear that." Gordon switched to two-way. "Are you receiving me, Scott?"

"Affirmative."

"I won't attempt to pick up the Connollys until after Alan's through the eyewall. If he miscalculates and has to bail out…"

"He won't, Gordon. He knows his limits and Thunderbird Two's." But then, as Scott watched the thick, angry, wall of grey cloud pass by his viewports, he had to admit that, even if it had been Virgil piloting, his younger brother had a point. "But it's a good idea. Better to be safe than sorry. Don't tell Alan though. He'll think we don't trust him."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

Alan was staring down that same angry wall. Matching the clockwise rotation of the screaming winds formed by the low-pressure eye, he followed their course for one complete rotation.

"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbirds Five, One, and Four. Going in."

Adjusting Thunderbird Two's flight path so that her turning circle straightened by one degree, Alan took her into what seemed to be a solid, grey, barrier.

Thunderbird Two's port wing, the first part to make contact with the eyewall, was driven downwards. With no option other than to let the rest of the craft follow suit, Thunderbird Two lost altitude.

Fighting against the control yoke, Alan kept his speed and his turning angle consistent with the angle of the winds. The body of the craft pushed through the eyewall and he felt the greater pressure bear down on them, threatening to tip them sideways and down to the waters below.

Then the rains contacted the starboard wing, the pressures equalised, and he was back in control. "I'm through."

Scott smiled, relieved that his confidence hadn't been misplaced. "Well done, Alan. I'll meet you there.

-F-A-B-

Dana and Chad huddled together, the cold of the sea leaching all warmth out of their haven. They seemed to have been trapped for hours and the lack of any obvious peril was helping to numb their fear.

Trying to share some heat, Dana shifted closer to her husband. "How far down do you think we are?"

"I don't know. I can't see anything to get my bearings. This emergency lighting's useless and that spotlight's not showing us anything."

"At least it's been turned down. Whoever's piloting must have realised that it was too bright for us."

"I almost wish they'd turn it on again. The lights might warm us up."

They were silent for a time.

"This is romantic," Dana said.

Horrified and concerned that she was suffering from some psychological problem; Chad leant back so he could look at her. "Why would you say that?"

She snuggled in closer. "What could be more romantic than spending the evening of your anniversary alone, cuddling your man?"

After a moment's befuddled thought, he agreed. "Except that we're not alone." He pointed to what he assumed was Thunderbird Four's bridge. "We've got a chaperone."

Dana giggled. "Better not get too frisky then."

"Yeah. We'd better not." Chad thought for a short time. "I'll tell you what's better than spending the evening of your anniversary alone, cuddling your man."

"Yes?"

"Spending the evening of your anniversary alone, in bed at home, cuddling your lady."

"Next year."

"Yes," he promised. "Next year."

They were only words, they knew. Words that meant nothing when they were in danger. But they were still words that offered comfort.

-F-A-B-

His brothers heard Gordon's next announcement. "Moving in to get the Connollys now."

"How are they holding up, Gordon?"

"No issues, John. The section's holding together, and they don't appear to be suffering any ill effects, except for the cold temperatures, but at least they've got each other to hold on to for warmth… Of course, they might just be celebrating their anniversary…"

"Gordon!"

"Just sayin'. There's something about the way that they're sitting that makes me think they're doing more than only trying to get warm."

"Well concentrate on getting them to the surface on not on intruding into their private moments. They are supposed to be celebrating their wedding anniversary."

"I'm sure their celebration wasn't meant to be like this." Gordon checked the thermometer. "They'll be warming up once we start ascending. What's the surface temperature, John?"

"My readings are showing about thirty degrees Celsius."

"Warm enough to keep the cyclone's engine firing," Gordon commented. "Okay… Moving in."

This time he approached the tunnel from the other side, hoping that the spears that he'd driven into the bedrock would offer some purchase and stop the tube from rolling away from him.

The Connollys shielded their eyes when his bright spotlights broadsided them.

"Sorry, folks," Gordon told them, "but this is going to get a lot more uncomfortable before you'll be comfortable again." He slid the twin flat arms back under the tunnel and gently pushed. As the tunnel slid up the spears, he slipped closer, raising his nose so the tunnel rolled away from the temporary barrier and against Thunderbird Four's light trough.

Aware of the blinding nature of the lights he switched all but one off, reducing the output from the sole remaining bulb.

Taking his time and keeping a wary eye on the precariously balanced tunnel, Gordon dropped Four's tail lower than her nose and ascended until he was sure that they were clear of the spears. Then, moving just as slowly and carefully, he turned to face Scott's coordinates. Only once he was facing in the right direction did he push on the forward throttle…

"Thunderbird Four's moving," John told all who were listening.

Scott acknowledged the report. "Is he ascending?"

"Not so you'd notice. His upwards trajectory's about point five of a degree. He should be at sea level by the time you rendezvous."

"Minimising the risks of decompression sickness. Good. Keep in contact with him, John."

"F-A-B."

"I'm in position. How far out are you, Thunderbird Two?"

"Roughly five minutes. Didn't you say the winds weren't as ferocious here?"

Normally, the lack of an accurate ETA was irksome, but this time Scott didn't complain. Nothing could be done until Gordon arrived with the Connollys. "They're less ferocious than the eyewall."

"I'll wait to see the telemetry before I'll agree with you on that. Where's the island?"

"Ten degrees nor-nor-west."

"I'm seeing it. I'll scout it out for a landing area."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Two… Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four."

"Reading you strength four, Scott."

Scott frowned at the lower than optimum reading. "I'm not trying to hurry you, but how far out are you?"

"Just as well that you're not hurrying me, because I'm not prepared to go any faster. Say… an hour?"

Another lack of an accurate ETA and one that put Scott on edge. "You're still ascending?"

"Affirmative. I'm concerned that if we meet any strong underwater currents it'll unbalance the tunnel and she'll slip. As the water temperature's rising so's the water activity."

"All right, Gordon. So long as the Connollys aren't in any danger, we won't push it. We're not working to a timetable here."

"Only that we're going to miss lunch."

"_Miss_ it! It's gone. It's dinner I'm more concerned about."

"Maybe that's what I need; an energy boost. I'll grab a snack." Gordon entered something into his computer, a nearby drawer opened, and a robotic arm collected an energy bar and extended it out towards him. "Can't we get Brains to invent something that will unwrap them too?"

"And eat it as well?"

"It'd make life easier."

"I'll leave you to make that suggestion to him, Gordon."

-F-A-B-

Virgil looked at his watch and then launched himself out of his seat. "How much longer are they going to be?"

Bruce looked up from the other side of the chessboard. "Keen to get it over and done with?"

"Yes!" Virgil snapped. Then he sagged. "And no."

"We both know that these things can't be rushed." Bruce sat back. "Would something else take your mind off it? How about giving me a hand with some maintenance?"

"What were you working on?"

"Replacing a couple of panels on the Firefly's heat shield. You could operate the gantry crane."

Virgil looked at his watch again and decided that there was nothing else that he could do. "Yeah. Okay."

-F-A-B-

Gordon checked his scanners. They were within a kilometre of the rendezvous point. He was pleased to see that his trajectory was sending them on a heading that would intersect with Thunderbird Two's grabs, just below the waves.

He looked across to his two patient victims.

Dana and Chad weren't sitting so close now. The waters around them were hovering a fraction below 30 degrees Celsius, heating the air inside their cylinder like a pressure cooker. It was the sea's high temperature that was fuelling the cyclone above them.

"I'm hot," Chad complained, pulling his tie free of his neck.

Dana giggled. "I always said that. Even when I first met you."

Chad barked out a laugh. Then he held out his hand, squeezing hers when she took it. "I know this isn't a great way to spend an anniversary, but I can't imagine spending it with anyone but you."

"If you weren't with me, we wouldn't be celebrating our anniversary."

"That's not what I meant. What I meant is that so many people would have been a panicky mess after all we've been through. But you've remained calm. You've always been a steadying influence on me, Dana Connolly."

"And it's because you're with me that I have the strength to not collapse into a 'panicky mess'. I can't imagine being so calm if you weren't here."

He looked across to the submarine, hidden behind the muted spotlight. "I wonder how much longer we've got to go?"

"The family must be frantic by now."

"If they've told them. They may not know who we are. Just that we're a couple of poor suckers who believed SeaSee's online reviews."

"And they sounded wonderful, didn't they?"

"They did. I was really looking forward to tonight; the food; the scenery…" Chad looked at his wife and caressed her face. "The company."

She actually blushed.

Then she gasped. "Chad!"

"What?"

She pointed over his shoulder. "Water!"

-F-A-B-

Gordon had been trying not to watch the loving couple's interaction, but he couldn't help but see the way that Dana's expression changed and where she was pointing. He looked that way but couldn't see anything in the dark. Turning on a side spotlight illuminated everything…

Including the stream of bubbles heading for the surface. "Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird One! They've sprung another leak!"

"Bad?"

"Not yet, but it has the potential to be."

"You can't take that risk, Gordon. You're going to have to surface now. Thunderbird Two will have them in the hyperbaric chamber in no time."

"It's not that simple, Scott. This tunnel's only just balancing on Thunderbird Four's arms. It wouldn't take much to knock it off and a thing this size and shape won't be that easy to catch."

"Do what you think best, Gordon. And keep me informed."

"F-A-B." Slowly, Gordon increased their rate of ascent. "She's holding so far."

"I'm flying parallel to you," Alan told him. "As soon as you're ready to surface, I'll be ready to grab them."

"Good to know. Increasing rate of ascent by point two…"

The leak was bigger now. Water was running down the ruptured door and pooling at its base. Frightened by this intrusion into their sanctuary, Dana and Chad retreated…

"NO!" Helpless, Gordon watched as the unbalanced tunnel teetered toward the end that the frightened couple had fled to. The tunnel slipped on Thunderbird Four's arms and then overbalanced.

"Gordon...!"

Battered by the increasing pressure against its weakened seal, the rupture lengthened and widened…

"I'm losing it!"

Water continued to pour in. It followed gravity's path and pooled around the Connollys' feet, adding more weight to the already heavier end. The tunnel tilted up further and then slid out of Gordon's sight.

-F-A-B-

"_NO!" _

Gordon's desperate cry tore out of the airways.

Alarmed by the emotion shown, Scott was on the radio. "Gordon...!"

"_I'm losing it!"_

"You're losing what?"

"The tunnel! I'm going after it!"

Scott decided that the last sentence was spoken in present and not future tense. There was no way that his younger brother would have let that couple plunge to their doom without immediately going to their aid.

Gordon had. Putting Thunderbird Four's thrusters on full, he dove down, past the vertically descending cylinder, until he was beneath it. Then he rose, banging the roof of Thunderbird Four's hull against the heaviest end of the tunnel, close to where its occupants struggled against the rapidly filling water.

The cylinder slowed.

Another shunt and it stopped descending.

Briefly.

Then it began falling again.

This time when Gordon made contact it was with more care, nudging the tunnel closer to the horizontal and balancing it against Four's tail fin. "I've stopped its descent."

"Good work, Gordon."

"But we can't waste any more time. The tunnel's holed. Alan, be ready to collect them. Don't spend any more time than you have to getting them to the hyperbaric chamber."

Alan's response was a quiet: "F-A-B."

There was no time to try to judge where the fulcrum of the tunnel might be. Gordon allowed Thunderbird Four to drop down yet again, extended the arms, and raised the light trough above the level of his viewports.

Then he moved in, sliding the arms under the tunnel and lowering the light trough so the tunnel was grasped between them both.

He held his breath and waited to see if it would hold.

It did.

"I've got them and I'm ascending."

But he was ascending blind. The light trough was sending out its beams at an angle unrelated to Thunderbird Four's path. It was also conspiring with the tunnel to block his view ahead.

Gordon pushed onwards and upwards. One thing that he could see was that the Connollys were trying to keep their heads above water; feet slipping on the concave surface of the tunnel. He wondered how long it would be before they were too exhausted to swim any more, the tunnel imploded, or they succumbed to decompression sickness.

He was at first dismayed, and then delighted, when they both stopped their fight to remain upright and floated on their backs in the water. They lay there, allowing their natural buoyancy to keep them above water, and holding hands. _They've got some brains, these two._ "Ten metres to the surface."

"We're waiting, Gordon."

"Eight metres."

"I'm tracking above you."

"Five metres."

"I'm lowering the grabs now. Can you see them?"

Gordon could see an obstacle ahead of them in the water, but only on radar. He pushed on.

Something loomed above him, lit by Thunderbird Four's misaligned lights.

But they still weren't home free. The very process that had brought Dana and Chad within metres of safety, was stopping them from being lifted out of the water. Thunderbird Four's light trough was in the way of the grabs, and if Gordon were to release them, the tunnel would instantly start descending again.

"I can't pick them up while you're there, Gordon."

"I know." Gordon had already decided what needed to be done to make this rescue a success. "Be prepared to close the clamps as soon as the section's within them."

"F-A-B."

Gordon released Thunderbird Four's hold on the tunnel and backed clear.

It immediately started descending again.

Diving underneath and using Four's hull as part battering ram, part jack, he pushed the tunnel up and into the grabs.

"Got them!"

"Well done, Alan!" That was Scott. "Get them to the island and into the hyperbaric chamber ASAP."

"On my way."

"Well done, Gordon."

"Thanks." Gordon surfaced. He had assumed that as soon as the tunnel was safely clamped within the grab's jaws, that the Connollys' crisis would be over. That was until he saw that the storm was still raging.

Thunderbird Two lifted the tunnel clear of the water and turned towards the island. A gust of wind hit both the aircraft and its suspended cargo, sending the latter swaying and threatening to destabilise the former. Compounding matters, waves were sweeping over the Connollys' life raft, threatening to knock the tunnel clear or destabilise Thunderbird Two even more. "Alan! Get more height! Get above the waves!"

The tunnel was swaying like a pendulum; the water inside, and the Connollys, sloshing about from one end to the other. If one of the doors popped off…

"Move, Alan! Get to the island!"

"I'm trying! It's like doing battle with a metronome!"

"Pretend you're Virgil and keep tempo!"

"I'm not Virgil! I'm not that much into music!"

But Thunderbird Two's computers were. The same programme that had dampened the sway brought on by the aftershocks and swaying buildings of a year ago, was firing into action now.

Alan gained height.

"Set the section down on the island!" Scott commanded. "I'm already down and I can release them while you come into land."

Alan's reply was ground out through clenched teeth. "F-A-B."

The island loomed on the radar.

Turning Thunderbird Two so her nose was facing into the wind, Alan carefully descended, waiting for his scanners to tell him the moment when the tunnel section settled onto the saturated sands. _At least_, he thought, _the tunnel should sink and not roll…_

With fingers crossed he set his cargo down.

Scott, running through the pouring rain whilst carrying International Rescue's version of the Jaws of Life and two pure oxygen cylinders, could do nothing when the jarred landing caused the seaward door to pop open. Water gushed out, taking Dana and Chad with it as it hunted out the fastest way to re-join the heaving sea. Dropping the Jaws, he dove for Dana, stopping her before she was washed away in to the ocean. Knowing that Chad was in as much, if not more danger, he dragged her further up the beach and then slipped one of the oxygen masks over her face.

She breathed in the healing gas.

There was more, much more, that he could and should do, but at least Dana, now absorbing the pure oxygen that would aid her breathing and help slow the effects of decompression sickness, was getting some help. Chad had to be found before help would be of no use to him.

Skirting the large cylindrical tube, Scott went hunting for the man who'd been expecting nothing more than a romantic evening. Training his torch in a systematic scan of the beach and the waterline, he strained his eyes; peering through the rain and darkness.

A shape, softer than the lumpy rocks and lumpier than the compressed sand, flashed pale in his torchlight. He returned the beam to the same location, slowing its hunting pace.

He held a welcome voice shouting out of his watch. "Don't worry about her, Scott. I'm getting her onto a hoverstretcher. Any sign of him?"

Maybe.

Scott needed his breath to reach the unidentified sandy shape. He skidded the last two metres on his knees, dragging the oxygen cylinder around off his back and starting it in one smooth, efficient motion. Placing the mask over Chad's face, he was relieved to see if fog up. "Found him. He's alive."

"Good," Alan responded. "Send a signal and I'll send a hoverstretcher over to help you."

The requested signal was sent, and Scott wrapped Chad in survival blankets and rolled him into the recovery position while he waited.

A quiet beep, one that wouldn't have been heard over the pelting rain if he hadn't been listening out for it, told him that the hoverstretcher had arrived.

Rolling the unconscious man onto the stretcher, Scott raised one side of the bed to support the limp figure on his side. Then after strapping Chad in, he told the hoverstretcher to head for the hyperbaric chamber. Jogging along behind it, he slipped on the wet stones a couple of times before they both made it to the shelter that was Thunderbird Two.

They met up with Alan and Dana in the sickbay. "How is she?"

"Not as bad as she could be." Alan looked down at the figure that they were squeezing into the decompression chamber alongside the other patient. "How's he?"

"Alive." Scott pulled on a pressure suit to protect him against the increased atmospheric pressure of the hyperbaric chamber. "I didn't have time for a full examination." He jerked his finger in the approximate direction of Thunderbird Two's flight deck. "I can look after them while you fly them to hospital care. We can pick up Thunderbird One later."

"And Thunderbird Four?"

"If he has no issues, we'll come back for him."

"Right." Alan took off for the flight deck at a run. He slid into the pilot's seat and, after the briefest of checks, fired the VTOL jets. "Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four. How are they, Alan?"

"Safer than they were. Both were unconscious when I left the sickbay. I'm flying them out."

"How long till you can get them to hospital?"

"Approximately ten minutes?"

Gordon was about to make some comment about ETA accuracy, but decided against it.

"We'll pick you up on the way back."

"Okay. I'll start heading to calmer waters and I'll meet you there."

"F-A-B. See you soon, Gordon."

Isolated in the sickbay, Scott was unaware of the moment that the mighty transporter defied the pelting rains and took to the skies. He crouched between the unconscious couple doing what he could to give them the best chance of survival.

There was a moan from his right.

He smiled down at the pale face through the visor of his pressure suit. "How are you feeling?"

Dana grimaced. "Terrible."

"What's your name?"

"Uh… Dana Godfrey… No. That's my maiden name. Dana Connolly. We've been married for eighteen years."

"Eighteen? We were told sixteen."

"Trust that restaurant to get it wr…" Dana's eyes suddenly opened wide. "Chad! Where's Chad?"

"Whoa! Lie back and relax," Scott instructed when she struggled to sit up. "He's here. See?" He moved slightly to one side, allowing her to see her unconscious husband.

Although she remained lying down, she still looked frantic. "How is he?!"

Scott double-checked and smiled. "Waking up."

Chad moaned.

"Chad…" Dana coaxed. "Wake up, Chad."

"D-Dana?" Chad blinked in confusion. "Where are we?"

"Thunderbird Two," Scott told him.

"Oh…" It took a moment for the name to penetrate Chad's waterlogged mind. "Thunderbird!"

"Remember?" Dana begged. "Thunderbird Four was saving us."

"Thunderbird Four…? From that stupid restaurant. I remember."

Scott relaxed. "How are you feeling, Mr Connolly?"

"Stomach's bit queasy. M' shoulders are sore."

"Muscular or joints?"

"Erm…" Chad made an effort to think about the question. "Joints."

"Thanks." Scott turned back to the other patient. "Mrs Connolly?"

"Oh… Ah, the same?"

"Your shoulders are sore?"

"Yes."

"Any other joints? Any other aches and pains?"

Chad managed a smile. "Only from the bruises."

"We're flying to a hospital and they'll soon have you checked over," Scott promised. "We'll be there in," he checked his watch, "about five minutes."

Now that he was more awake, Chad was regarding him critically. "Why are you wearing that outfit?"

"It's a pressure suit to keep my body at the atmosphere found at sea level. You're in a hyperbaric chamber as a precaution against the bends. We had to haul you out from quite a depth, and the current pressure in here is about one point seven five atmospheres." The couple looked confused. "Don't worry about it now, the hospital will explain it to you. For now, I'll leave you both to rest."

Keeping low, so he wouldn't bump his head on the roof of the cylinder that was the hyperbaric chamber, Scott scrambled out of the inner chamber, sealed that to maintain its internal pressure, and then, flipping his hood clear, climbed out of the unit.

Then he looked back in through a viewport.

Dana and Chad were holding hands.

"How are they?"

Managing, through years of brotherly training, not to jump at the unexpected intrusion, Scott turned. "Have we landed?"

"Yes. The hospital staff are hustling out here. Anything to tell them?"

"Both the Connollys are complaining of joint pain in their shoulders."

"So, they probably have the bends."

"Either that or they hit something at some point."

The transfer was made with no fuss, aside from the hospital staff being overawed at having a Thunderbird in their grounds and International Rescue in their presence.

Finally, the Connollys felt safe, even if they were housed in separate hospital rooms on their eighteenth wedding anniversary.

Thunderbird One's pilot travelled back to his craft with Alan in Thunderbird Two's cockpit.

Scott looked over his shoulder towards a sign. "How has he managed put up with that rattle? I would have had to fix it as soon as I started hearing it."

"Yeah. But Gordon's not you, and that's not a major. And it will give Virgil a chance to reconnect with Thunderbird Two."

Scott grunted his disapproval but made no further comment. Instead he removed his right boot and tipped it upside down. Sand, scooped up as he'd skidded to Chad's side, poured out of it.

"What are you doing?" Alan asked, hearing a sound other than the rattle. "Hey! Virgil's not going to like you messing his 'bird."

Scott smirked. "Nothing stopping you from cleaning up when we land." Removing his other boot, he poured out an equal amount of dirt.

"Or we leave it for Gordon. He's the caretaker pilot."

Scott chuckled and went in search of a small vacuum cleaner.

He wasn't chuckling when he had to, once again, battle the remnants of the cyclone as he dashed from Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird One.

Removing his jacket, he hung it in its locker. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four."

"Thunderbird Four. Are you guys back already?"

"We are. Alan's heading in your direction as we speak."

"About time. You took so long I've nearly made it all the way home."

"Oh, well." This was Alan's voice. "If you're that close I could carry on and leave you to complete the journey alone if you wish."

Gordon's reply left his brothers no doubt what he thought of that idea.

-F-A-B-

Knowing that dinner would have to wait until after the debriefing, Grandma had delayed cooking the meal.

The meeting, as usual, was held around a large, low table in the lounge. "When you boys feel ready to include him, Virgil said he'd like to join us."

"Yeah!?" Scott grinned. "The rescue went well; I've got no criticisms about anyone's performance, and I can't see any reasons why he can't sit in on all of it."

Alan sat up. "I'm with Scott. It was a positive experience all around and I can't see why he shouldn't hear that."

"And having Virgil with us," Gordon added, "will make it like old times."

"And start to reintegrate him into the team," John finished. "Want me to call him, Dad?" They saw his video image in the frame on the wall start to enter something into the computer.

"If you're all agreed?" Upon seeing four nodding heads, Jeff gave a nod of his own. "Tell him he can join us when he's able, John."

Virgil arrived a lot sooner than any of them had expected. He was greeted by five beaming smiles.

Scott pulled a chair closer to the group.

With a word of thanks, Virgil sat in the chair, placing the bag that he now habitually wore over his shoulder on his lap. "Was it a success?"

His eldest brother was in an upbeat mood. "The short answer is: it was. We got everyone to land safe and sound, and the Connellys to medical attention in time. The long answer starts now." He began to detail the rescue.

Virgil sat back and listened to the full debriefing without comment; preferring to say nothing. Not even when he was brought into the conversation with jokes about Thunderbird Two.

Finally, the debriefing was over with some comments from Gordon about the Connellys obvious affection for each other.

Jeff checked his watch. "Dinner must be nearly ready. Does anyone having anything else to say?"

"I do."

Five pairs of eyes turned to Virgil as he reached into his bag, withdrawing something white and rectangular. He'd sent his message to Bruce about five minutes earlier and had hoped that his friend had carried out his part of the plan by now. Still, maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to break his news to his next of kin first…

"This…" He held the envelope out to his father. "Is my resignation from International Rescue."

_To be continued…_


	64. Chapter 64

"This is my resignation from International Rescue." After handing the envelope to his father, Virgil withdrew something yellow from his bag and placed it on the table before them.

His sash.

"Don't think that I haven't thought about this, because I have. I know none of you were expecting it and that you were all looking forward to when I'd be fit enough to re-join the team, and I'm sorry that I'm disappointing you, but I have to be honest to everyone: especially myself. I can't do it anymore. Being a member of International Rescue's dangerous and I can't and I don't want to take that risk. I made my decision months ago, and I've had plenty of time to consider my options. Maybe I should have told you earlier, but I held back, because I didn't think that the hospital was the place for this discussion."

With no interruptions, Virgil felt the freedom to continue his speech as he'd rehearsed it.

"Perhaps you're thinking that I'm being selfish. But you've got to remember that I've spent the last year learning to be selfish. My focus had to be on me and getting better. My room at Bearston General was my entire world and I was squarely at the centre of it. The only time that I saw beyond that room was when International Rescue was called out and then I was terrified that one of you would be injured or worse… And all too often my fears were justified and you were. If never wanting to see someone I care about be hurt again means that I'm selfish, then I'll happily hold up my hand and admit it." He raised his hand.

No one else moved a muscle.

"I've been on both sides of the divide, and I can't go through that again. I don't want any of us to go through that again. I've seen the pain that you all went through when I was injured, and I've felt that pain when it's happened to someone I care about."

Gordon shifted uncomfortably.

"What I want; what I really want; what would make me happy…" Virgil focussed his attention on his brothers. "…would be if you were to leave…" (He'd had made a conscious decision to not say quit) "…International Rescue too. I need to know that you fellas are safe. But I could never ask any of you to do that, because I know that you all feel that your work is bigger than us. I used to think that too; but I don't now. You're all much more important to me."

Strangely, Virgil realised, he wasn't finding this as difficult as he'd thought he was going to. Perhaps that was because his brothers had been struck dumb by his announcement, or because his father was staring at the envelope as if it was a carrier of an infectious disease and he wasn't sure if he was about to catch it.

"That day in February I said a lot of things because I had no control over what I was saying. But not everything I said was a lie. I don't care about Thunderbird Two. You're all more important to me than some plane."

Even more stunned, no one made a sound.

"And so, I feel that it's best if I tell you now, to give you time to find someone to replace me. Not that I want to put anyone else through the pain that we've experienced." Turning his attention towards his father, Virgil pushed his sash closer. "I've been proud to work with International Rescue, but I can't do it anymore. I hope you understand." When Jeff didn't move, Virgil withdrew his hand from the sash, his fingers briefly brushing the logo as he did so. "I know that you've got a lot to discuss, including thinking about how you'll find someone to replace me, so, as my last act as a member of International Rescue, I've asked Bruce to send the rest of the team in here." Gathering his crutches together, he stood. "I'll leave you to it and… And I'll see you at dinnertime."

He hesitated, feeling there was one more thing to be said.

"I'm sorry."

Virgil left the room and made his way down towards the beach.

There was silence for a full minute after he left.

"Will someone please tell me that I'm asleep and I've just dreamed that?"

Alan looked at Gordon. "Only if you'll do the same for me."

"At least we now know why he hasn't visited Thunderbird Two... He did get counselling at Bearston, didn't he?"

"Of course he did," John reminded his younger brother. "You know that."

"Then what's brought this on?"

"I thought you might know."

"Me?" Gordon looked startled. "Why me?"

"Because you've at least got some idea what he means by _both sides of the divide._"

"I do. But that doesn't mean that I understand why he's made this decision."

Alan turned on his eldest brother. "You must have known that he felt this way!"

Scott was looking as shocked as everyone else. "I didn't. I wish I had, because maybe I could have nipped it in the bud and talked him out of it."

"So, what do we do?"

"Simple," John proclaimed. "We tell him that we're not going to accept his resignation. He'll feel differently when he's back to full fitness."

"And that's exactly what we're not going to do." Alan fixed his elder brother with a meaningful look.

"We're not?"

"No. That year before we started International Rescue, when Dad decided to give us all time to make the decision about whether or not we wanted to be part of the team, I seem to remember that one of us declared that he was going to make use of every second offered to him before he made that decision."

"Ah." John coloured slightly. "Yeah."

"The rest of us had a meeting to discuss this. The rest of us decided that, since we 'knew best', we'd tell Dad that we didn't need time to think about what we were letting ourselves in for and that International Rescue was a go. The rest of us decided that we'd just tell the one of us that he was to stop being an idiot, accept that he was going to be a part of the team, and be happy about it…"

"You did…?"

"The rest of us except for Virgil. It was Virgil who stood up for the one of us. He reminded the rest of us that it was over to each of us to make the best decision for us. It was Virgil who said that; if the rest of us didn't respect the one of us's right to take the time he needed to decide if he wanted to be a member of International Rescue; that if the rest of us pushed the one of us into that decision; then there was a chance that the rest of us might push the one of us away from the family. Virgil also said that if any of us tried to force the one of us into joining, then, he, that is Virgil, would quit International Rescue immediately. If Virgil was willing to take that stand for one us," Alan finished, "then I think the rest of us should do the same for him."

John had been staring at his youngest brother as he tried to make sense what had been said, and thinking that "one of us" was getting a headache trying to get his head around what "the rest of us" was saying. But now he looked sheepish. "Point taken."

"Okay," Scott agreed. "So, if telling Virg outright that we're not going to accept his resignation isn't going to happen, what do we do?"

"You're the man with the plan," Alan told him.

"Not this time. I've been completely broadsided."

"Then talk to him!"

"About what? I don't understand what's brought this on either."

Alan lightly hit Gordon on the arm. "Then you talk to him."

"Why me?" Gordon repeated.

"Because you understand."

"_I_ understand?"

"You know what it's like to go through a horrendous accident and spend months in hospital."

That was the moment when Gordon snapped. "I'm fed up with this! Right though it's been: _This is just as it was like with Gordon. _Or: _I remember that happening with Gordon._ Or: _Gordon knows what he's going through_. Well, newsflash! This is nothing like what happened with Gordon! For one thing, I'm on _this_ side of the divide, as Virgil so aptly put it, not the other. This whole experience has been new, and weird, and frightening, and confusing to me. It's you guys who have been through it all before. Not me! … Plus, what Virgil's been through and I went through were two totally different experiences. He was injured working for International Rescue. I had already planned to leave WASP… He's always known that he's had a good chance of regaining some quality of life. Initially, as far as I knew, I had nothing to look forward to… I could feel nothing, so I never had to deal with the pain that he did – and still does… I didn't have to deal with the fear of the unknown for as long as he has… AND, while I can't state this with certainty, I'm ninety-eight percent sure that he never fell as far into the abyss as I did!"

Everyone stared at him. "Abyss?"

Scowling, Gordon folded his arms. "Never mind…"

"But…" John began.

Gordon ignored him. "I don't know what's going through his mind. I'd like to think that after all this time if I was shown a hydrofoil I wouldn't freak out, but maybe Virgil knows full well that that's what's going to happen to him. Maybe that's the risk he's really afraid of taking?"

"But he didn't freak out when he saw Thunderbird Two," John reminded him.

"He didn't hang around either," Scott recollected.

"He was tired."

"He said."

"Why would you freak out over seeing a hydrofoil, Gordon?" Alan asked. "You've been in faster craft since then."

"Submarines, rockets, and planes, but not a hydrofoil; nothing designed to ride on top of the water. I honestly can't say if someone put one in front of me, told me to sit in the pilot's seat, and made me put the hammer down, that I could do it without turning into a pile of sludge. I've never been forced to face that situation. But Virgil's got to live every day knowing that here at home, a place where he should feel safe and secure, he's got to face the Firefly, Thunderbird Two..." He indicated the sash. "...his uniform…Even _us_! International Rescue! It might not be a roofing beam or a crucible furnace, but we're still a constant reminder of what he's been through."

"Do you have any evidence for your theory, Gordon?" John asked.

"No."

There was a sound at the door.

Completely unaware of the disaster that had befallen International Rescue, and happy in the knowledge that the organisation had successfully completed another rescue with no injuries, Grandma, Brains, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano entered the room.

"Bruce said that Virgil had something to tell us," Grandma told her boys.

"Bruce?!" Alan stared at her. "Bruce knew?"

"Yes." She lost her smile when she saw his scowl. "What's wrong? Where is Virgil?"

"Sit down, Mother." Jeff indicated the seat that her grandson had recently vacated.

As she did so, the other three collected seats of their own and joined the group, slightly bemused that none of the Tracys offered to get them chairs.

"What is wrong, Mr Tracy?" Tin-Tin enquired.

Jeff held up the envelope. "Virgil's given us his resignation from International Rescue."

-F-A-B-

Bruce found his friend sitting on a conveniently-sized rock on the beach. "Is this where you are?" He sat down on a nearby piece of driftwood. "How long have you been here?"

"Couple of minutes." Virgil looked at his friend. "The others took longer than I expected to join the meeting, and I'd run out of things to say, so I left before they got there."

"I'm sorry." Bruce, after much agonising over what excuse he was going to use, had decided to stick to the truth and had informed his friends that Virgil had something to tell them. "I tried to keep track on where they all were, so I could corral them when the time came, but Brains had the do not disturb sign on the lab's door, Tin-Tin was doing something feminine in her room, Mrs T was in the middle of something tricky for dinner, and Kyrano was miles away in his glasshouse. I ran a marathon just to get between them all. And even when I got hold of them…" He indicated his watch, "…they didn't seem to be in a hurry to head to the lounge. Of course, I might have been in such a flap that they seemed to take forever." He paused. "How did it go?"

"No one said anything. So, I said my piece and got out of there. I thought they'd probably want to discuss everything without me anyway."

"No one tried to stop you?"

"I think they were all in shock."

"I can imagine… How are you?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know what I'm feeling. I'm just… numb, I think."

"Any regrets?"

"No."

"Good."

After a further five minutes of silence, Bruce looked at his watch. "How'd you get down here?"

"Took the cable car." Although less used and slower than the island's monorail system, since his months in hospital, Virgil preferred this form of transportation as it offered a panoramic view of the world and not the claustrophobic view of the inside of the mountain.

"Ah…" Bruce looked at his watch again. "How long do you think they'll take? I'm starving!"

"If you're starving, Scott must be famished." Virgil chuckled. "Sorry, Bruce. I've kind of got out of the habit of thinking about mealtimes. Why don't you go and get a snack?"

"I don't want to spoil my dinner. Whatever your grandmother was cooking smelt so delicious that I almost forgot what I was going to say to her. I hope it doesn't burn."

"That'll depend on how long it takes them to dissect me and my decision."

-F-A-B-

"H-He's what?" Brains clarified.

"Quit International Rescue," Alan told him.

"V-Virgil?"

"Yes."

"What was his reason for resigning?" Tin-Tin asked.

Jeff looked uncomfortable at making the revelation. "Because he's not prepared to face the risks involved in being an operative."

"Ah." Tin-Tin understood.

"And he doesn't want to see us take those same risks," John expanded.

Kyrano gave a slight frown. "Mister Virgil asked you to close International Rescue?"

"No. Because he knows that we'd never agree to it."

"Is there anything we don't know about his recovery, Brains?" Jeff asked. "Anything that's he's not telling us, that might make him reluctant to commit to International Rescue?"

Brains shook his head. "N-No."

Kyrano's face had reverted to his usual serene countenance that gave no hint of the gravity of the news he'd just received. "What will you do now, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff tapped the envelope on his thumb. "I'll ask Lady Penelope to start looking for a replacement operative. But it won't be easy. We can probably find someone with a suitable skill set. It's finding someone with that skill set _and_ the personality to fit in with the team and earn the boys' trust that will be the hard task."

"That's unless we can convince Virgil to tear up his resignation," Alan said.

John stared at him. "I thought you said we weren't to force him to do that."

"I don't mean that. I mean remind him what he's missing out on."

"The danger? The dirt? The distress?"

"John…"

"The smells? The sights? The stress?"

"John."

"The failures? The fatigue? The fear?"

"John!"

John grimaced. "That's going to be an easy sell."

"Shut up, John, before I start writing my own resignation!"

"Calm down, Boys," Jeff instructed.

Grandma looked at her grandsons. "When was the last time any of you had anything to eat?"

Gordon shrugged. "Breakfast; if you don't count energy bars."

"No wonder you're all looking at this so negatively." Grandma got to her feet. "You'll all feel better after something to eat, and dinner will be spoilt if we leave it too much longer. Don't worry about it now. Sleep on it."

Despite his hunger, Scott didn't move. "There must be something we can do about Virgil."

Jeff stood, towering over those still seated. "Support him: that's all. If he changes his mind, then good. If not; that's his choice and no one's going to tell him that he should do otherwise."

"Agreed." Alan stretched. "But I still think that Gordon should talk to him."

Gordon made an exasperated noise. "All right, I'll talk to him. I'm not going to say that I know what he's going through, though."

-F-A-B-

Both Bruce and Virgil's watches beeped.

Virgil dismissed the pattern of lights on the bezel. "Didn't take them long to have their discussion."

"They're probably hungry."

"And Grandma will have told them not to let dinner spoil and that they'll feel better after they've eaten."

Bruce chuckled. "That sounds like your grandma."

Virgil approached the dining room with a modicum of nervousness. Nervousness that was quickly dispelled when Grandma gave him a brief hug, a kiss on the cheek, and told him that she was proud of him. If Grandma was on his side, then no one would dare take the opposing view.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Not that it was awkward, just that no one felt like talking.

Afterwards, Virgil returned to the quiet openness of the beach and the setting sun, wondering who'd be the first to join him and what they'd have to say.

He was surprised to realise that it was Gordon. "I'm a delegation."

"A delegation?"

"Yeah. A delegation of one. I've been deputised to come and ask you to consider changing your mind, since I 'know exactly what it's been like' for you."

"Which you don't."

"Which I don't," Gordon agreed. "They've said that so many times, especially in the early days when you were in the coma, that there've been times when it's felt like I've been trapped in a cracked record. But, so that I can say that I've tried, is there anything I could say that would encourage you to at least reconsider?"

"You could say, 'I respect your decision and, while I'm not happy about it, I'm not going to try to change your mind, because I know you've thought for a long time about this'."

"Which is pretty much what I was planning on saying." Gordon regarded his brother. "I suppose that it's also a waste of time saying that none of us want you to resign."

"I know."

"And that what we want most of all is for you to be happy."

Virgil smiled. "Thanks."

"And if you ever feel the need to talk…"

"Since you know what it's been like for me."

Gordon laughed. "Yeah… But seriously, if you do ever want to talk, you know where to find me."

"I'll remember."

"And if you ever want to give me any advice about Thunderbird Two, I'll be glad to hear it. I've been flying her for the past year and I still think she's got secrets she's hiding from me."

"All you have to do, Gordon, is listen to her. She'll tell you everything that you need to know."

"I'm not sure that she's ready to take me into her confidence yet." Gordon thought for a moment. "Virgil…?"

"Yes…?"

"Can I ask a question?"

Virgil chuckled. "Can I stop you?"

"Nope." Gordon responded with a cock-eyed grin, before becoming serious. "We were commenting a couple of days ago that you haven't been to see her since you returned home. Why? Are you feeling disloyal or something?"

"Disloyal…" Virgil bit his lip and thought. "Yes. I suppose that's part of it."

"You know, neither of us will mind if you do a bit of maintenance on her. I'm sure that just because you've resigned, it doesn't mean that your knowledge of our systems was amputated with everything else." Then Gordon frowned. "That's something else I need to ask. Do you mind us; and by us, I mean me; making jokes about what you've had done to you?"

"I don't mind at all. I don't even mind being known as Frank and Stein's monster."

Gordon was surprised by the statement. "Really? I thought that upset you. It sounded like it… that day."

"No. I think I was just trying to find something to hurt people with. And, Gordon…"

"Yes?"

"John was right. I appreciate the fact that you were still willing to act normally and joke with me, even when we both thought I was dying."

This time Gordon gave Virgil a sideways look, unsure if they were on the same wavelength. "Which joke?"

"When I was trapped and you said: 'Don't go anywhere.' That was funny."

"No, it wasn't."

"Well, maybe not, but your intentions were well meaning."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"Thanks." Gordon looked out towards the sea. "I needed to hear you say that," he admitted. "I could have kicked myself almost as soon as the words came out of my mouth. I threw up instead."

"You did?"

"It was right after…" Gordon felt a slight feeling of unease well up. "No. I don't want to remember that."

"It might help to talk about it."

Gordon shook his head. "Not yet." And before Virgil had the chance to press further, he said. "So, in summary, we can joke about your health, but I can't joke about mine."

Virgil laughed. "You've got it."

"Talking of John and… that day. What did you mean when you said that he only thinks about himself? For as long as I can remember, John's tended to think of others first, often to his own detriment."

This time it was Virgil's turn to shake his head. "That's between John and me and, even after all this time, I'm not going to betray his confidence."

"Okay…" Gordon accepted that nothing more was going to be said on that subject. "You said that being 'disloyal to Thunderbird Two' was only part of the reason why you haven't been able to see her. Can I ask what the other reason is?"

"Yes…" Virgil gazed out to where the setting sun was colouring the ocean orange. "This is something that I _know_ you'll be able to relate to."

"Yes?"

"After months of being trapped in the same room, staring at the same four walls and the same ceiling, I need…" Virgil opened his arms wide. "This! I want space! I want fresh air! I want to know that if I look that way…" He pointed towards the setting sun. "Or that way…" He pointed skywards. "That there's nothing to keep me hemmed in. Being inside a volcano isn't exactly the wide-open space that I want right now."

"Want…?" Gordon asked, cautiously. "Or need?"

"Want."

"Good." Gordon thought for a moment. "You're right. I do understand that. Nice to know that we're on the same wavelength for once." He reached over, extending his fist towards Virgil.

Grinning, Virgil returned the fist-bump.

"Alan called a meeting about you the other day; when you were at the party."

"_Alan_ called a meeting?"

"He wanted us to try to work out why you hadn't been to see Thunderbird Two. We were right when we decided that you were concerned that you were being disloyal to her. We were wrong about the reasons why."

"And they were?"

"That, because you didn't have the strength to fly her, or do maintenance on her, you felt that you were neglecting her. We came up with a plan to help you get over that."

"And the plan was?"

"We had a brainstorming session and came up with little jobs that you could do on her. Nothing strenuous, but stuff that would help you reconnect with her."

"Such as?"

"There's a rattle on her flight deck…"

"There's what?!" Virgil frowned. "And you haven't…?"

"Whoa! You can stop channelling Scott, Virg! I know what's causing it. I know it's only minor. And it's something that happens only when we're in flight, so I've tended to concentrate on the important things and forget about it until I'm airborne next. It's not even that annoying."

Virgil's frown didn't lessen.

"Anyway, it seemed to me to be the ideal task for you to do. You'd pick up what's causing it straight away, and have it fixed just as quickly. You still could, so, why don't you?"

"What?"

"Why not? I was given the job of trying to convince you to change your mind, but I'm not allowed to force you. Can't you humour us all just this once and make me think that you're at least considering it? We'll go for a flight tomorrow; just you and me, no pressure from Scott or anyone; and then once that's over and you've fixed the rattle, you can confirm that you've made the right decision… Or not." Gordon cocked his head hopefully. "Please…"

"Gordon. I'm not going to change my mind."

"This is your chance to prove it. To all of us. Including you. Unless…"

"Unless what?"

Gordon looked at his hands. "You can't do it."

Confused, Virgil stared at his brother. "Why would I not be able to do it?"

"Because…" Gordon looked awkward. "Because of the memories. I could understand if working with Thunderbird Two, or the Firefly, or something that reminds you of your accident is too painful for you. Look at what happened to me and water…"

"Gordon…"

"But I managed to overcome it…"

"Gordon…"

"Thanks to you. And I'd like to help you overcome it…"

"Gordon…" Virgil could see how uncomfortable his brother was and realised that there was the probability that he wasn't the only one who found the memories painful.

"If you'll let me…"

"I know you want to help, Gordon, but I don't blame Thunderbird Two, or International Rescue, or anything except for the earthquake for what happened to me. My reasons for resigning are just as I said: I don't want to face the risk anymore. That is my final decision. But…" Virgil sighed. "If it'll make you feel better and help prove to everyone that it's not that I need to get back into the saddle for everything to be as it was, I'll go on your flight tomorrow."

He could see hope in Gordon's eyes. "You will?"

"Yes, Gordon, I will." Virgil laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. "But I promise you that it won't change anything."

"If that's true, you can tell me after the flight and I'll tell everyone that you've made your decision and that it's final. That nothing will change your mind."

"Thank you."

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy had retired to his study. He sat there in silence, turning the envelope over and over in his hands.

Then he came to a decision. He pushed a button on his desk.

It was a minute before anything happened. Then a picture on his wall changed. "Good morning, Jeff."

Seeing her less than immaculate coiffure, Jeff checked his watch. "I'm sorry, Penny. Did I get you out of bed? What time is it?"

"It is a little after 8.00am and I was just contemplating rising." Lady Penelope gave a delicate frown. "You must have something on your mind to call without giving due consideration to the time. What is wrong?"

"I've got a job for you."

"One that clearly has some urgency."

"I'm not sure if it has or it hasn't." Jeff held up the envelope. "Virgil's given his resignation from International Rescue."

There was no change to her manner and he wondered if she'd had her suspicions that this calamity might happen, or if she was just displaying her usual cool, unflappable persona. He decided that it was the latter when she said: "Dear me. This is most unexpected."

"It's thrown us," he admitted. "I don't think any of us even considered that he'd be anything less than impatient to get back to work."

"Has he said why he has made this decision?"

"Because he doesn't want to face the dangers that being an International Rescue operative entails."

"Which, if I may say so, is an entirely reasonable position to take."

"He doesn't want to see any of his brothers put their lives at risk either."

"Which is also an entirely reasonable position."

"I know. But it leaves me in an awkward position. How do I go about finding a replacement?"

"You see no merit in his attitude?"

"Of course, there's merit. I don't want to see any of my boys hurt, especially not as seriously as he was. You know what a traumatic time that was for the family. But I don't want to see anyone else hurt either, and International Rescue can prevent that. That's why we exist."

"And I am sure that Virgil can see that too."

"Which is why he's not insisting that we shut the organisation down."

"And this is why you've made this call? To ask me to find someone to replace him?"

"You can at least start putting some feelers out. You can ask our agents to keep their eyes open too. You may even know if one of them would work well with the team."

"I shall give it my consideration."

Jeff managed a grim smile. "Thank you, Penny. I appreciate it. It's been a bit of a shock. I'm still trying to come to terms with it and consider the ramifications."

"Then I shall leave you to your considerations, while I make mine over breakfast."

"Thanks, Penny. I'll talk to you later."

"Goodbye, Jeff."

The video feed died and reverted to its usual static picture, but Jeff didn't move. He sat back in his chair, tapping the edge of the envelope on the edge of the desk, and thinking. Then he sat forward and picked up his letter opener. He inserted it into the corner of the envelope and…

There was a knock at the door. Seeing who it was, he smiled. "Come in."

"Thanks." Virgil stepped over the threshold.

"Have a seat." Jeff indicated one of the easy chairs that were scattered around, dropped the envelope and letter opener in front of him, stood and walked around his desk.

With another "thanks", Virgil obeyed.

After shutting the door, Jeff claimed the seat next to him. "What can I do for you?"

Virgil took a deep breath. "Are you disappointed in me?"

"Disappointed…? In you…?" Sitting back, Jeff steepled his fingers in thought. "I'm disappointed that International Rescue is losing a valued member of the team. I'm disappointed that you and I have never had the opportunity to discuss your future before now. And I'm especially disappointed that I didn't even consider that you'd want anything other than to carry on with International Rescue. But one thing that I'm not disappointed in, is you."

"Oh." Virgil managed a small smile. "Thanks."

"Do you have any plans about what you are going to do?"

Virgil shook his head. "I think it's too soon to make that decision. I know that others, like Angela Eagles, are completely healed, but I've had more reconstructive work than them, and we don't know if maybe it was too much. Maybe this is as good as it's going to get. I don't have the energy to do a full day's work yet, and if I never do, that's going to be seriously limiting for future employment." He gave a wry smile. "Maybe I'll become a deadbeat artist working at all sorts of odd hours of the day and night." Jeff chuckled as Virgil yawned and checked his watch. "See. That's what I mean. Look at the time, and I'm half asleep. How productive could I be in the workforce?"

"Your body's using all its energy to heal itself. You'll get back to normal soon."

"Not soon enough."

"I know," Jeff admitted. "I've just spoken to Penny. I've asked her to start looking for your replacement."

Virgil gave a slow nod. "Good."

"But, and I know this isn't what you want, if you ever decide to change your mind, don't be afraid to tell me."

This time Virgil shook his head. "That isn't going to happen."

Jeff maintained his passive expression. "I know."

"But, just so you know, Gordon's taking me for a flight in Thunderbird Two tomorrow."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "He is?"

"He says there's a rattle in the flight deck that I can diagnose and repair. But he also admits that it's so that he can convince all of us – including me – that it's not my subconscious, or conscious, blaming International Rescue for what happened to me and preventing me from carrying on."

"Like he was like with water."

"Yes… And just in case all I need to do is to get back into the saddle to realise the error of my ways."

"Is that what he said?"

"More or less."

"Well… He'd have a better understanding than the rest of us."

"He also says that he wishes you'd stop making comments like that."

"I'll remember that." Jeff regarded his son. "Is what you told us your only reason for resigning? Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

Virgil hesitated. "It's not my only reason."

"Do you want to tell me more?"

"It's not that I've got regrets…" Virgil hesitated again. "I don't regret being a part of International Rescue. I don't regret going into the furnace building and being flattened, because we saved Bruce, and Butch, and Mr Watts. But, because of all that, as Lisa said, I've lost a year of my life. And I spent that year realising that I wasn't living. That _we're _not living."

Jeff frowned. "I don't understand."

"I… None of us… Have what most people would regard as a normal life. We're not getting to do the things normal people do. While I was trapped in that hospital bed, I could listen to others talk about the real world and see what we were missing. As a couple of obvious examples: Butch and Lisa have got each other, and Bruce has got Olivia; and they've all got the ups and downs that goes with being in a relationship. But when will any of us get the opportunity to experience that? Even Alan has gone on record to say that so long as he's with International Rescue, he'll never consider taking his and Tin-Tin's relationship to the next level. If he can't do it with someone he lives with on the same island, what chance have the rest of us got when we're isolated and living thousands of miles away from…" Virgil struggled to find the right word. "Life?" He slumped in his chair. "Not that I'm much of a catch at the moment. Who'd want damaged goods?"

"You're selling yourself short, Virgil. If a woman's worthy of you, she'd be able to see past your injuries and," Jeff cleared his throat, "temporary limitations." He considered his son's statement. "You didn't say any of this when we were with your brothers."

"I'm not sure that they'd understand." Virgil looked at his father. "Do you?"

It was Jeff's turn to give the slow nod. "Yes, I do. And I always have. Remember when I first told you about my dream? I tried to make sure that you all understood the ramifications of what I was asking you to do before you joined."

"And back then I thought I did. Now, I'm not so sure."

"You were young."

"I may have been young then." Virgil realised that he could barely keep his eyes open and that one of the nerves in his legs was aching. "Now I feel old."

"You're not old. You've got your whole life ahead of you; whatever that may entail." Jeff saw another yawn. "Go to bed."

"I think that's a plan." Virgil attempted to get to his feet, struggling to escape the easy chair's embrace.

"Let me help." Jeff stood and held out a supportive hand. He pulled his son upright. "When I think of how you were in…"

"Bits," Virgil joked.

"I was going to say pain… When I think of how you were in pain, I can't believe how healthy you are now."

"But not healthy enough." Virgil pointed at the chair he'd vacated. "Next time I'm in here, remind me not to sit in that again until I get out of it with some dignity."

Jeff smiled. "I'll remember."

"Thanks for understanding…"

"Virgil…"

His father's enveloping hug was a surprise, but a welcome one. It was the words that were totally unexpected.

"I'm happy for you, Virgil. I'm glad that you've made this decision because it's what you want. Not because you _had_ to… or…" Jeff's voice caught. "Or…" Letting go, he turned to face his desk. "Get out of here and go to bed," he said gruffly.

"Yes, Sir." Yet Virgil hesitated, still caught up in the warmth of the unexpected embrace and the feeling that he should say more. But his father, his back still to him, seemed more intent on shifting various pieces of paper around his desk.

With words unsaid, Virgil retreated to his room.

-F-A-B-

Bruce had decided that it might be wise to keep a low profile. So, after a dinner that had tasted as good as it smelt, even if the atmosphere lessened his enjoyment of it, he escaped back down to the Pod Bay.

He'd got over the awe that he'd felt being around International Rescue's fantastic craft, but still maintained the feeling of pride that he was trusted to work on the fleet unsupervised.

That was until he realised that he was being watched. "Hi, Alan."

"You knew."

Would it be better to play dumb or get the confrontation over and done with in a hurry? Bruce thought quickly and made his choice. Placing the tools he was holding on the workbench, he turned to face the youngest member of the household. "You mean Virgil's decision to leave International Rescue?"

"Yes."

Having only been around Alan Tracy for two months out of the last four, Bruce didn't know him well enough to judge what was going through the younger man's mind. "He had told me."

"How long have you known?"

"Ermmm… Since the afternoon after that South American cave rescue. But I think he only told me because I happened to catch him at a weak moment, when he'd shown his… when he was worried about you. Any other time and I doubt he would have said anything."

Alan gave an unemotional nod.

"I know it's not what you want, and between the two of us, I think he's making a mistake, but it's his decision and I'm not going to tell him he's wrong."

There was a glimmer of emotion. "You think he's making a mistake?"

"Yes. Each time I've heard of International Rescue's exploits in the media, before I discovered who you were, I would think that this amazing organisation was Virgil's dream job. I thought he'd be happy being a part of that team: being a pilot, saving lives, getting the adrenaline rush from sticking his neck on the line. It sounded like he was made for International Rescue." Bruce dredged up a chuckle. "I didn't realise it had been made for him."

Alan didn't laugh along. "Despite that, you wouldn't tell him that he should stay with International Rescue?"

"No, because I know he's come to this decision after a lot of thought and consideration. And because I know, in some small way, what he went through a year ago."

When Alan didn't comment, Bruce decided that it was time to take the bull by the horns. He didn't think that he was a brave man, certainly not as brave as the Tracy standing before him, but he was loyal to his friends, and he felt duty-bound to stick up for Virgil. "Please remember I'm not trying to belittle what you went through, Alan. I can't begin to imagine what it was like; being stuck in Thunderbird Five and knowing full well that your brother was probably going to die and that you weren't going to get the chance to say a proper goodbye. I don't know what it was like for you having to listen to your brothers fight to save his life; knowing that there was nothing you could do to help. It must have been horrific… But you don't know what it was like for him either. You didn't feel the heat that he had to endure. You didn't feel the closeness of the air and the way it felt like it was suffocating the life out of you. You didn't feel the thirst from being so dry that you couldn't even swallow, let alone speak. You didn't feel the aftershocks and know the fear that went with not knowing if this was going to be the next big one that was going to bring everything down on top of you." Bruce took a deep breath. "I did. I know what that was like for him. He's made his decision, rightly or wrongly, and I for one am not going to tell him he's made the wrong one."

Alan didn't respond.

Wondering if he was going too far, Bruce plunged on. "I felt what he went through. I saw what he went through. I was there. I saw the moment when he realised that he probably wasn't going to make it. I could see that he was trying to remain strong and brave, so that we would be strong and brave and believe that we'd get out of there alive, when the truth was he was frightened. I felt the way he was shaking with stress, and fear, and pain. I heard him scream in agony. You don't know what that was like. You weren't there. You didn't have him cling to your hand; literally clinging to life; when an aftershock nearly robbed it from him. You didn't feel the helplessness of having a friend dying next to you and knowing there was nothing you could do about it. You didn't see your brothers' faces when they saw him for the first time, trapped beneath all that weight, and realised the extent of the danger he was in and how hard; almost impossible; it was going to be to get him out alive… You didn't see your father struggle as he tried to tell us that our friend... his son… had died. You didn't see your reaction when you were told that he _was_ dying… That's the kind of pain Virgil really wants to avoid. I don't think he's worried about his own skin. I think he's worried about the effect such an event has on everyone else."

Throughout Bruce's monologue, Alan hadn't said a word; in fact, he hadn't moved. But now he reacted to Bruce's words. He lunged forward…

"Thank you for being Virgil's friend," he said, as Bruce, after a moment's shocked indecision, shook his hand. "Thank you for supporting him through what must have been one of the hardest decisions he's ever had to make. And thank you for not letting International Rescue down."

-F-A-B-

Virgil approached his room, dog-tired, but wondering if he'd be able to sleep. He'd no sooner slid the door shut behind him, when a sound made him think that he wasn't going to be getting any sleep in a hurry.

"Hi, John." He sat on the edge of his bed and regarded the image on the wall.

"Hi, Virg." John looked uncomfortable.

Virgil wasn't sure that he wanted to make it easy for him. "What can I do for you?"

"You? Umm… Do for me? Uh… Nothing."

Virgil blinked. He wasn't expecting this.

John looked down off screen. "I should… For you… Thanks."

"John?" Perplexed, Virgil frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

"Thank you."

"Thank you?"

"At the meeting… After you'd gone… We talked."

Virgil nodded. This wasn't news.

"I said that we should tell you that we weren't going to accept your resignation. At least not until you're one hundred percent…"

"John… I…"

With a quick glance at his brother before his eyes sought out the edge of the video's frame again, John held up his hand to stop Virgil's speech. "Alan said we weren't to do that."

"_Alan_ did?"

"He said… Well, what he said was confusing, but I got it… He said that you stood up for me."

Virgil agreed. This was confusing. "_I_ did?"

"Back, before we started International Rescue, after I'd called everyone a load of stuff that was completely untrue, he said that you'd all had a meeting without me. He said that the guys were all gung-ho and were going to tell me to do what I always did and go along with the majority. He said that you said that if they pressured me into being a member of International Rescue, then you'd quit. I-I know how keen you were to belong… then… And I want you to know that I appreciate that you stuck your neck out for me."

"Yeah… Well…" Virgil felt as awkward as John evidently was. "I knew stuff that they didn't. But I've never told anyone!" he added quickly.

John managed a small smile. "I think I would have heard about it by now if you had." He looked up, making a point of holding Virgil's eyes. "Thank you for sticking up for me then. Because of that, I'll support you now…" His eyes dropped again. "Even though it's not what I want."

Virgil could only think of one reply. "Thank you."

"I was looking forward to bringing you up to Thunderbird Five and showing you the stars without the atmosphere getting in the way," John admitted. "I guess that's not possible now. Although, if Hamish and Edna could come here, and they're not members of International Rescue, there's no reason why you couldn't… If you want to."

"I'd like that, John. Maybe some time when," Virgil yawned, "I've got more energy?"

John smiled. "I'll look forward to it." He saw a second yawn escape. "I'll let you get some sleep."

"Thanks, John. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"F-A… Ah. Night, Virg."

-F-A-B-

"Can I have a word, Dad?"

Jeff Tracy had only just got over his meeting with Virgil when he heard Gordon's voice. "Come in, Son."

"I talked to Virgil."

"I know. He told me."

"It didn't work."

"He told me that, too."

"Did he tell you that I've convinced him to come for a ride in Thunderbird Two tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I've been honest with him. I told him that the official reason is to discover the source, and fix, a rattle in the cockpit."

"He said that you said that the real reason was to prove that he didn't have any psychological after effects from his accident; and to show that he didn't need to get back into the saddle."

"Yes. And, like I said, I was honest with him. I told him that if he hadn't changed his mind by the end of the flight, I'd tell everyone to accept his decision and move on. But I'm not going to tell anyone we're going before we leave. I don't want any of them putting any pressure on him." Gordon sighed. "But, between you and me, Dad, I don't think it'll make any difference. I think his mind's made up."

"I'll agree with you, but at least this'll erase all doubts in anyone's minds."

Gordon looked at his father in hope. "Do you think that maybe he's… I'm not going to say frightened… wary of the memories that Thunderbird Two, the Firefly, and the rest of our equipment will conjure up?"

"No," Jeff admitted. "The couple of times he's seen her, he's shown no signs of stress around Thunderbird Two. And as for the Firefly, he was working with it today…"

Gordon looked up sharply. "He was? He didn't say that."

"You know that Bruce was working on replacing some of the heat shields."

Gordon nodded.

"Virgil operated the gantry crane to help him."

"Oh." Gordon sagged. Then he straightened a confused frown creasing his face. "But why, when he's not willing to work with International Rescue, is he willing to work for International Rescue…?"

-F-A-B-

Bruce, still a little nonplussed by Alan's unexpected reaction to his part in Virgil's decision, approached the accommodation area. His own rooms weren't housed here, but he hoped he could catch up with his friend before he turned in for the night.

He was in luck, arriving at Virgil's room just as Brains, Tin-Tin, and Kyrano were leaving.

He waited until they were gone and then raised an eyebrow in Virgil's direction. "A deputation?"

"Of sorts." Virgil chuckled. "Come in."

Bruce obeyed. "What did they have to say?"

"That they fully support me."

"Of course."

"And Brains and Tin-Tin wanted to check if I'd be willing to continue doing maintenance and R&D with them until I decide what I'm going to do with my life."

"And you said?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I know it sounds hypocritical, but I look at it this way. If I'm helping to maintain the craft, or can help with the research that will come up with new safety mechanisms, then I'm going some way towards keeping the rest of the team safe, which is ultimately what I want. And besides, not everything that Brains invents is for International Rescue's benefit. And it's something that I'll enjoy doing."

Deciding not to comment, Bruce nodded. "So, who have you spoken to so far and what have they said?"

Virgil smiled, and Bruce reflected that he looked genuinely happy. "I've spoken to Brains, Tin-Tin, Kyrano…" He ticked the list off on his fingers. "…Gordon, Father, Grandma, and John, and they're all behind me. The only ones I haven't seen yet are Alan…"

"I've been talking to him."

Virgil lost his smile. "What did he say?"

"Not a lot. I did most of the talking."

"But he must have said something."

"Thank you."

"_Thank you?_ What for?"

"Supporting you." Bruce grinned. "He also thanked me for not letting International Rescue down."

"What did he mean by that?"

"I'm not sure. But he was sincere. You've got his support too." Bruce clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. "See I told you they'd all support you. You had nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course, I am. Why?"

"Because there's one person I haven't seen since dinner."

Bruce went through a mental list. "And that is…"

They both said the name at the same time...

"Scott."

_To be continued…_


	65. Chapter 65

"You're keen," Gordon told his brother, when he found him sitting by a workbench next to Thunderbird Two.

"Nope," Virgil corrected. "I was here on time. I didn't want you to think that I'd chickened out."

"You are going to approach this experiment with an open mind, aren't you? I know you believe you've made your final decision, but this trip is to prove that as much to you as it is to us."

"Don't worry, Gordon, I told you that I'm going to be honest with everyone and I will be," Virgil promised, "including myself."

"Good. Come on then, 'Adam'."

"Adam?" Virgil began his slow walk with Gordon across to the transporter's access hatch and allowed his younger brother to let them in.

"Wasn't Doctor Frankenstein's monster named Adam? After the first man? Which is also appropriate for you, since you're the first person to have the procedure done to them."

Virgil gave a mock sigh. "I'm going to regret saying I didn't mind being known as Frank and Stein's monster, aren't I?"

He received a cheeky grin in reply. "Quite probably."

They rode up in the lift in silence, emerging into the equally silent cockpit.

Virgil gazed around the compartment that he'd spent so much time in, but that he hadn't seen in over a year. "I thought we'd have company."

"No. Dad's the only one who knows we're taking this trip. The others think I'm going on a training exercise alone."

Virgil nodded his understanding, claimed one of the passenger seats, tucked his crutches underneath, and did up his safety harness.

"You don't want to fly her?"

"I haven't done anything more than fly a plane in a straight line for over a year. I'd want to get some hours under my belt before I attempt something as advanced as Thunderbird Two, especially for take-off and landing."

Gordon was going to protest, saying that as Virgil had helped develop Thunderbird Two's flight systems, he knew her better than anyone else, and then reminded himself that he'd promised that he wasn't going to exert any pressure. Sliding into the pilot's seat, he opened the radio link. "Thunderbird Two calling Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Receiving you, Thunderbird Two."

"Am prepared for launch."

"Understood, Thunderbird Two. You are cleared to exit hangar."

"F-A-B."

Virgil hadn't been in this position too many times over the years. In the past he'd been the one getting permission to leave the hangar; activating the controls that opened the great door in the cliff; sending Thunderbird Two rumbling forward to her launch pad. He tried to decide if it felt wrong to not be the one in control.

He didn't think it did.

The aircraft stopped. There was the expected pause before she began to tilt upwards.

There was a brief, disquieting moment, when Virgil wondered if maybe the forces of launch would be too much for his healing body, before he found himself thrust back into his seat.

And they were airborne.

Airborne in Thunderbird Two.

"All right back there?"

"I'm fine, Gordon."

They levelled out into horizontal flight.

"Can you hear the rattle?"

"Huh?" Virgil hadn't even thought about the official reason why they were making this trip. He listened. "Yes."

"What's causing it?"

Virgil narrowed down the source of the sound. "The trim on the sign's loose."

"See!" Gordon crowed. "I knew you'd pick it up straight away."

"Virginia could pick that up straight away."

"Do you want to fix it now? I'll put her into hover…"

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy stood on the balcony of his palatial home and looked out towards the small dot in the distance. He agreed with Gordon's assessment that one trip in Thunderbird Two wasn't going to be enough to change Virgil's mind, but that didn't stop him from hoping that they were both wrong.

"Putting her into hover to affect a repair," the end portrait told him.

"Understood, Thunderbird Two," the first portrait responded. "Will standby for next report."

Both screens reverted to their static pictures, and Jeff wondered if they should swap the last and the middle portraits around. He hoped it wouldn't be something he'd need to consider…

He squinted into the distance. Thunderbird Two was moving again.

He heard a beeping sound from the lounge, followed closely by the first portrait sparking back into life. "Guys!" John's lack of formality spoke of great excitement. "Virgil's piloting Thunderbird Two!"

Alan, neglecting his watch in favour of the larger, easier to see, video screen on the wall, stared at him. "You're kidding!?"

"I'm not. Even if Two's handprint recognition on the control yoke hadn't told me, her flight would have. He's… smoother, more nuanced, than Gordon."

"Does this mean he's changed his mind? Call him up and ask him!"

"NO!" Jeff's order cut across all active channels. "No one is to contact Thunderbird Two. Gordon requested that I don't tell you boys until after the flight. We all agreed that we weren't going to force Virgil's hand. Right, John?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Alan?"

His eyes pleading with his father to let him ask the question as soon as Thunderbird Two touched down, Alan's response was nevertheless an echo of his brother's.

"Scott?"

Scott's disembodied "Yes, Sir," was heard over the radio.

"Good. Virgil only agreed to this flight to prove to us that he had no doubts about his decision. If that decision stands when the flight is over, no one is to quibble over it. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

"They're returning to base."

Jeff turned and looked back out over the Pacific. The dot in the distance was growing larger.

-F-A-B-

As Gordon had said, fixing the loose section of trim was easy, and Virgil rammed it home with a blow from his hand. "Right, that's done." He went to return to his passenger seat.

"Do you want to fly her for a bit?"

"No. I'm not a member of International Rescue anymore."

"Who'll know? I won't tell if you won't."

"Gordon…"

"Please, Virgil," Gordon pleaded. "I know we're not meant to push you, or force you, but can't you at least humour me into taking her for a short spin? Call it a farewell flight."

Virgil gave a sigh of exasperation. "Fine." He made his way across to Thunderbird Two's control centre, handed his crutches to Gordon, and slid into the pilot's seat. "I'm only flying a short way. I'm not going to land it. I haven't had the practise."

Gordon, having claimed the passenger's seat in anticipation of having done his flying for the day, was about to protest, when he decided against it. Virgil had tolerated him so far, and he didn't want to risk going past the point where subtle pressure became outright coercion. Besides, while he doubted that his brother had lost any of his piloting skills over the past year, he had to admit that a little caution wasn't stupid. "Okay."

As his hands clasped the familiar controls and felt the familiar vibrations pass into them, Virgil wondered how he should be feeling. He was darn sure that it shouldn't be apathy. It was a little disconcerting to realise that Thunderbird Two, the aeroplane that had protected him and saved the lives of many others, felt as impersonal to him as any other machine.

He decided that he'd made the right decision at the right time. "Ready to change over when you are."

Oh…" Gordon couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Right… Hang on. I've got to get your crutches." He felt under the seat, retrieved the supports, and carried them over to his brother. "Did you enjoy that?"

Virgil shrugged. "It felt like flying any other plane."

Gordon decided that he'd keep the illusion that there was still hope going a short time longer. "Want to go anywhere? See anything?"

Virgil yawned. "My bed."

Gordon couldn't even bring himself to try to sound upbeat and unconcerned, so he said nothing, returned Thunderbird Two to her hangar, and the pair of them exited in silence.

They were crossing the hangar floor when Gordon decided that he'd have at least one last attempt. He stopped and looked back at the aeroplane. "I've been thinking that we could speed the launch sequence up a bit."

Virgil's response was an even, but not disinterested: "How?", as he stopped, turned, and looked at the massive Thunderbird.

"Cut out the time wasted spinning around within the pilot's chute."

"Then you'd enter the cockpit head first."

"Not with what I've got planned. I think that if we enlarge the pilot's entrance hatch in the roof, so it's about a third of the size of the cabin, and have the end of the chute kind of flip up in a J shape with a T-bar at the end, then the chute could maintain its speed as it rolls the pilot until they're hanging face down, leaving the pilot able to grab the T-bar, swing down into the cabin, and ram the hatch shut. What do you think?"

"I think that you'd probably dislocate your shoulders and twist your ankles, if you didn't break your legs. That's assuming that you manage to catch the T-bar and stop yourself dropping onto the concrete floor or slamming onto the bulkhead. Not to mention that you'll destabilise Thunderbird Two's hull with a hatch that big. But, if you think you can make it work safely, Gordon, go for it." Virgil turned away and started walking again.

That was the moment when Gordon knew for sure that he'd lost the battle. "I don't need to ask if you've changed your mind, do I?"

"No."

"In that case, because you upheld your side of the bargain and then some, I'll uphold mine. I'll tell everyone that they've got to accept your resignation… No matter how much we don't want to."

Virgil stopped walking. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"But the offer still stands. If you ever want to give me advice about Thunderbird Two, I'll be glad to listen."

Virgil yawned. "Maybe some time when I'm awake."

"Are you going to go to bed now?"

"Yes. I'll try and get some sleep before lunch."

They walked a couple of steps in silence.

"Can I ask you something, Gordon?"

"Of course, you can."

"Has Scott said anything? About my resigning?"

"No." Gordon shook his head. "He said that he was shocked, and that was about it. And I haven't spoken to him since. What's he said to you?"

"Nothing. I only saw him at dinner last night."

The pair of them went their separate ways when they exited the hangar.

Gordon's entrance into the lounge was met by excited and expectant expressions. Expressions which fell when he shook his head. "I tried… I tried everything I could think of, short of telling him to pull himself together and reconsider, but we've got to accept that he's made his decision and it's final."

"But surely," Alan demanded, "when he flew Thunderbird Two, he must have had second thoughts."

"How'd you know he was in Thunderbird Two?" Gordon glared at his father.

"I told them," John admitted. "His pilot ID flashed up on screen. I was sure then that he'd changed, or would change, his mind."

"He said she felt like flying any other plane." Gordon shrugged. "Maybe that's it? He refused to do any more than fly her in a straight line because he hasn't had any flight time this past year. Maybe he needs to get his confidence back in something smaller and less sophisticated."

"He seemed confident enough when I brought him home," Jeff admitted. "But I did tell him that the plane could almost fly itself. Where is he now?"

"Gone to try and get some sleep."

Virgil had succeeded. He'd retired to his room, taken his pillow out to his deckchair on the balcony, settled down, and promptly dropped off. When he awoke, he was relaxed, refreshed, and ready for lunch.

Scott made his excuses and didn't appear at the lunch table.

After the meal, Virgil felt a need to get some exercise. His weakened legs frustrated him, and he was forever fighting between his desire to push himself back to full fitness, and the knowledge that too much too soon could slow his progress.

He was in the gym, braced against the backboard as he attempted to do some leg presses, when he was joined by one of his brothers.

Scott sat on the stool next to him. "How's it going?"

Virgil took a moment for a breather. "This is only a quarter of the weight I used to be able to do easily, and I feel like I'm trying to lift Thunderbird Two!" He grimaced and once again pushed upwards with his legs.

"You'll get there." Scott said as the weights reached their zenith.

"I just have to be patient," Virgil parroted. "That is my second most disliked phrase after _It's an experimental procedure._"

"I can imagine. We've all done it to death."

Using his legs, Virgil tried to let the weights descend in a controlled manner.

Scott watched him. "Everyone's been wondering if, and when, you and I were going to talk."

"Include me under …" Virgil puffed, "the heading of … 'Everyone'."

Scott cleared his throat. "It goes without saying that I don't want you to quit, none of us do…"

Virgil pressed the weights back up.

"…And I know that everyone's going to be expecting me to try see if I can talk you around; to change your mind…"

Virgil, straining to extend his legs to their full extension, made no comment.

"…But I'm not going to. We all made a commitment that, as you've made up your mind, none of us are going to try to get you to reconsider."

"Good... Because... it won't… work."

"I know. That's why I intend to honour that commitment." Scott fixed his eyes on his straining brother. "And also, because I don't think you should re-join International Rescue."

The weights slammed down as Virgil's legs collapsed.

"Careful! You'll hurt yourself!"

"I'm all right." Feeling at a disadvantage, practically lying upside-down at his brother's feet, Virgil struggled to get out of the machine.

"Let me help you." Scott assisted him until they were both sitting on the stool. "Okay?"

"I'm okay…"

"Do you need your crutches?"

"Not yet. You don't want me to be a member of International Rescue?"

"No…" Scott fixed his brother with an earnest look. "And you're not going to like the reason why…"

Massaging his left hand, Virgil braced himself for the worst.

He waited while Scott considered what he was going to say. "Right through... Well, since you came out of your coma, I've been aware of this…" He thought again. "…feeling of... interference... That's not right... Maybe... background noise?"

"Background noise?"

"I don't know how to describe it. That's the closest I can come to what I've been feeling. It hasn't been obtrusive or anything, and I would only notice it at times when nothing much was happening, but it was always there. It was always just hidden behind the conversation I was having, or the concentration needed when on a rescue, or the effort that goes into maintenance, or the thought required for a chess game. It was there, but I wasn't always aware of it."

"What do you think caused it?"

Scott looked at his brother. "You."

"Me?"

"Yeah. Something was gnawing at you. At first, I thought it was just fear from facing the unknown. As everyone's said ad nauseam, it was an untried and experimental procedure. None of us knew what was going to happen, and that was bound to be at the back of your mind all the time. So, I assumed it was that. Then, as it became obvious that the procedure was going to be at least a partial success, I assumed that you were still concerned because we didn't know how complete your recovery was going to be. But you kept on getting better, so I figured it had to be something else. Maybe it was boredom from being stuck in a hospital bed all day? Maybe it was irritation at always being told what to do and at not being given the opportunity to make up your own mind? Maybe it was frustration that you weren't healing as quickly as you wanted? Maybe it was concern for Bruce and Olivia? Or Lisa and Butch? Or Hamish and Edna? Or the others? Maybe you were worried how the earthquake was going to affect Ginny?"

"Yes, to all those things."

"But that wasn't it. That wasn't causing the interference. And then the other day you said that the constant pins and needles was like some kind of background noise, and I thought that maybe that was it."

"And is it?"

"No. I've been feeling… not right since you made your announcement, so I've been keeping to myself. I didn't think I was ill, but if I did have something, I didn't want to take the chance of passing it onto you. It wasn't until I learned that you were flying Thunderbird Two that I realised what was wrong."

"And that was…?"

"Nothing was wrong." Scott saw Virgil's frown of confusion. "I was feeling totally normal. After a year of that background noise, it had vanished. And then I knew what had been causing it. You've wanted to leave International Rescue for months and you've been apprehensive about how you were going to tell us and how we were going to take it. Now that we know and, more importantly, you've proven to yourself that you've made the right decision, that fear's gone."

Virgil looked down at his hands and stopped the massage. "Yes…" He flexed his fingers. "You never said anything."

"Because you've made it abundantly clear that you don't want to talk about anything to do with telepathy." Scott regarded his brother. "Which, when you consider the way everyone treated you when it first happened, I don't blame you. But you do realise that you're the only one of us who refuses to accept our, ah, link? Even Alan's willing to admit that there's something in it."

Unaware that he was doing so, Virgil started his massage again.

"When you were being operated on the first time, and we were desperate for the surgeons to save your hand…"

"But not my life?"

Scott didn't even chuckle. "We didn't want to consider losing you as an option. While you were being operated on, John, who you'd think would be the least likely of any of us to believe in this kind of stuff, was trying everything he could think of to 'connect to you', so we could help you. Everything, short of getting us to dance naked around a bonfire in the middle of the hospital foyer. In fact, I think the only thing that stopped him from suggesting that was the thought of Grandma with it all hanging out."

This image elicited an involuntary laugh.

"His theory was that maybe, through me, everyone could pass some energy into you to help you, and we were willing to try it. We would have done the craziest things if we thought they would have worked. We figured that you'd cope without legs, but to lose your hand… We hated to think what that would do you."

Virgil regarded his restored hand. "It didn't work, did it."

"It didn't work, but it wasn't for lack of trying, no matter how crazy it sounded then, and now. Of course, this was before we realised that all you had to do was live to get your life back."

There was a moment's silence.

"You know I'd do anything to help you get through this. And that included being vaguely uncomfortable, and occasional bursts of pain and outright fear."

"That fear must have increased each time you guys were on a rescue."

"I never noticed," Scott admitted. "But then I had other things to worry about."

This silence lasted over a minute.

"I'm sorry."

It was Scott's turn to be surprised. "You're sorry?"

"I'm sorry that I put everyone through everything. And I'm extra sorry that you had to deal with more than anyone else." Virgil sat back. "I have tried to accept our empathetic clairvoyance, including talking to John about it." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "That was after Bruce told me off for being frightened of it."

"Bruce? Bruce knows?"

"He was listening in on the cave rescue when Alan got hurt. Father had to explain why I reacted the way I did. I… I didn't want to face Bruce after that. He told me off for running away from my…" Using both hands, Virgil mimed the quotation marks. "Talent."

"And do you think it is a talent?"

Virgil shrugged. "I guess so. Although I don't think I'm very good at it."

Scott laughed. "Me neither."

"At the risk of starting your 'background noise' again. I am worried that if I'm worried about you guys when you're on a rescue, you'll receive the signal from me and that will endanger somebody's life."

"How many years have we been in operation? It hasn't happened so far. It's kept me steady."

"It has?"

"Yes. Knowing that I'm making a bad situation easier for you. Of course, you do realise that if you were with us…?" Scott censored himself. "Forget I said that. You've made your decision, and I've got to respect that." He fixed Virgil with an earnest expression. "Even though it's the last thing I want."

"There is another way of stopping it," Virgil reminded him. "And I've made the decision not to mention that out of respect to you guys too."

"Thanks… Did talking to John help?"

"Aside from reminding me that I'm not crazy when it happens, no. It just feels so wrong!"

"Until you realise that you're making life easier for someone you care about. Then it feels right."

"Does it?"

"You haven't been in my shoes often enough to know that."

"And I hope I never am."

"Ah… Yeah."

"It'd be different for me anyway, if your trigger is being out of control."

"I suppose that's true."

Each of them mused on their conversation.

"Have you told the Crumps and the Mickelsons you've resigned yet?"

"No. I wanted to make sure you guys were accepting of it first."

"When do you go back to the hospital?"

"Friday."

"And you'll tell them then?"

Virgil sighed. "That's the plan."

"Well, don't worry. They're your friends. They'll support you." Scott smiled. "Just like I will."

Feeling uplifted by his brother's reassurance, Virgil smiled. "Thanks."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

He was still feeling upbeat when he joined the family for breakfast the following morning.

"Morning, Adam," Gordon called from where he was already tucking into his breakfast.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Morning, Gordon," he said flatly. He took his place at the dining table.

Jeff, Scott, and Alan all stared at the aquanaut. "Adam?"

"After Frankenstein's monster." Gordon continued to enjoy his meal, unperturbed by the frowns he was receiving.

"Don't worry about it," Virgil sighed. Humming a cheerful tune, he picked up his spoon, and prepared to dig into his already prepared meal.

Scott grinned across the table at him. "You're in a good mood."

"Am I?"

"You are," Gordon confirmed. "You've got your 'I'm happy' tune playing."

"My what?"

"We always know what mood you're in, Virg," Alan told him. "Your choice of music tells us."

"It does?" Virgil looked down the table at the dining room's only other occupant.

Jeff smirked. "They're right, Virgil. It does."

"So, what are you in a good mood about?" Scott pressed. "Or can we guess?"

It was Virgil's turn to smirk. "You may be able to, but I don't think it's what you're thinking." He took a mouthful of cereal.

"Oh-kay," Gordon drawled. "So, it's nothing to do with International Rescue."

"Nothing."

"Something to do with your health?"

"Uh, huh."

Virgil had another couple of mouthfuls and enjoyed watching his family mull various scenarios over in their minds.

"You'll be able to eat anything soon?" Alan guessed.

"Ask me that when I get back from the hospital on Friday."

Gordon offered his own guess. "Your left hand can span an octave?"

"I haven't been near a keyboard yet. I wanted to get something to eat first."

A slow smile spread over Scott's face. "Could it be what I'm thinking?"

"If I had the sort of telepathic powers that would let me read your mind, I could probably answer that."

It was Scott's turn to smirk. "Something's working that wasn't earlier?"

"Yep."

"That's brilliant!"

"What?" Alan leant closer. "What's brilliant?"

"Wellll…" Virgil hadn't been going to impart this bit of information, but then since his family already knew the worst… He grinned. "Thunderbird Ten's ready for launch."

It took the others a full second to comprehend.

"No way!" Alan ejaculated.

"Nice one!" Gordon slapped his elder brother on the back. "With a full payload?"

"Apparently."

"That is good news, Virgil," his father congratulated him. "Have you told Brains yet?"

"No, not yet. I'll see him after breakfast…" Virgil rolled his eyes. "…and he can broadcast it to the world. Any privacy I had went out the window months ago…" He was about to scoop up another mouthful of his breakfast when he thought of something. "That reminds me: I don't need the magazines anymore. When you've finished reading the articles, can you throw them into the furnace?" He munched on his mouthful, watching everyone's reactions. As he'd suspected, the squirming from various quarters confirmed his suspicions from when he'd discovered only one publication in the locked, but unlocked, box.

Tin-Tin floated into the dining room. "Good morning to you all."

"Morning, Tin-Tin."

She made her selection from the breakfast bar and sat down, noticing a gathering of grins. She refrained from commenting. "What are we doing today?"

"We were going to discuss that," Gordon admitted. "But then something came up."

There were sniggers from around the table, as Virgil scowled at his brother.

"Which aroused another train of thought," Alan offered.

"One that we had to think about long and hard," Scott concluded.

More sniggers.

Confused, Tin-Tin frowned. She wasn't expecting the Tracys to be this cheerful so soon after Virgil had handed in his resignation. "You all appear to be happy."

Virgil shot a panicked look at his father.

"We've, erm, been discussing Virgil's progress," Jeff fudged. "And how for a long time nothing seems to happen, and then suddenly there's a spurt, ah…" He turned slightly pink and snapped open his newspaper. "…of improvement." He hid himself behind the periodical.

As Virgil wished he could find something he could hide behind, Alan snorted a laugh and received an admonishing look from Scott in response. An effect that was ruined by the twitching at the corners of the elder Tracy's mouth.

"Y'see, Tin-Tin..." Gordon leant closer as if he was going to let her into a secret. "Virgil was just telling us that hasn't had a chance to check out if his left hand can span an octave on the keyboard yet. Once he's done that, he's hoping he'll be able to get in some organ practise." He picked up his cup and saluted his brother.

Virgil wondered if he could crawl away and hide somewhere. Preferably under Gordon's dead body.

"I love organ recitals," Tin-Tin told the Tracys, as she poured milk onto her cereal. "My first ever one was when I was at university. I wasn't that keen to begin with, but, as my boyfriend had promised me something special, I agreed to go along with it just to humour him. It was so wonderful that, as soon as it had finished, I wished I could go back and experience it all over again. I don't think I have ever known anything as uplifting and powerful before or since… Except for maybe a Thunderbird launch." She replaced the milk jug on the tablecloth. "I hope that one day you will be well enough to give us a demonstration, Virgil." As Gordon started choking and Jeff, glad to have something else to concentrate on, patted him lightly on the back, she laid a hand on her invalid friend's arm. "I know I have said this many times, but if there is any way that I can help you, do not be afraid to ask."

Whilst Gordon spluttered his drink all over the tablecloth; Jeff hid even deeper into his newspaper; and Scott disappeared under the table to 'retrieve his serviette'; both Alan and Virgil turned red… For very different reasons.

"I-I, erm, I…" Virgil stammered, and tried to think of a way he could acknowledge her offer without anyone reading a double meaning into whatever he said… Or stopping what was intended to be an innocent statement from raising Alan's ire. "I-I… ah…" _I appreciate the offer? I'll let you know if I need you?_ Even a simple _Thank you_ seemed loaded."I hadn't forgotten."

Bemused by her friends' behaviour, Tin-Tin looked between them all. Then she shrugged and dipped her spoon into her bowl.

Virgil bolted down the rest of his meagre meal and made his escape for the sanctity of the beach.

He'd got as far as the lounge when he ran into his grandmother.

"Good morning, Virgil."

"Morning, Grandma." Not wanting to hang around, Virgil kept walking.

"You're in a hurry."

"I'm escaping."

"Escaping?" She looked surprised and concerned. "Escaping what?"

Stopping his hasty retreat, Virgil flicked his head in the direction of the dining room. "Them."

"Them?"

"The male members of our..." Virgil face-palmed himself. "My father and brothers."

"Your brothers _and_ your father? What have they done?" Her curiosity well and truly aroused, Grandma waited as her grandson considered if and how he was going to broach the subject.

"It's my fault. I, um… Ah… I should never have told Gordon that I didn't mind them making jokes about my health."

"Do you want me to tell them to stop?"

"No, thanks, Grandma. It's something that I should do myself…" Virgil grimaced. "You see… This morning… just now… at breakfast… I told them something…"

Realising that he was uncomfortable with the questioning, Grandma took a metaphorical step backwards. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"You kind of already know…" Virgil remembered his original metaphor from a week earlier. He cleared his throat. "The engine's working again," he mumbled.

"I beg your pardon."

"My, ah, engine? It's working? Erm... Maybe not on all four cylinders, but definitely two. Remember the… erm, maintenance manuals? You'll be glad to know that I can dispose of them."

She finally understood. "But that's wonderful news! Why are they teasing you?"

"Can't you guess? You can imagine all the innuendo and double-entendre that they were bantering about; even Father. I could handle that, but they didn't stop when Tin-Tin came in…" Virgil blushed. "She didn't know there was a problem in the first place."

Grandma's lips set into a thin line. "Just you wait here, Virgil, I'll go and tell them that they are to come in here and apologise to you!"

"What!? No! Grandma! Don't do that! It's too embarrassing. Especially in front of Tin-Tin!"

"It's another milestone in your recovery and it's something to celebrate, not to be embarrassed about. Now wait here. I'll be back in a minute!"

And Virgil, feeling even more embarrassed and wondering if he should and could make a run for it, waited as she bustled off.

It was three sheepish brothers and one equally sheepish father who were herded into the lounge. Grandma, her face a picture of dogged determination, stood to one side, folded her arms, and glared at them. "Well?"

There were four muttered. _Sorry, Virgil_s.

Gordon, accepting his role as ringleader, was the first to step up. "I'm sorry, Virgil, but you know that we wouldn't have teased you if we weren't happy for you."

"I wouldn't mind," Virgil snapped. "But why did you have to carry on in front of Tin-Tin? You could have shown some restraint. She's probably the only person in the whole world who doesn't know!"

"She does know."

Virgil turned on his youngest brother. "What?!"

"We were..." Alan saw the glare. "Erm... Discussing your recovery, and it came up." He turned scarlet.

"You..." Virgil spluttered. "She... Tin-Tin..." He started walking for the door. "I'm packing to leave now."

"Now, Virgil," Grandma part scolded, part soothed. "She's an intelligent woman. From the extent of your injuries, she would have realised that you weren't firing on all cylinders."

Her use of the phrase was intended to be tactful but, unfortunately for Virgil, her son and other grandsons burst out laughing. That was before, seeing her scowl, they all attempted to stifle their snickers with varying degrees of success.

Virgil made another bid for escape. "I'm definitely leaving."

"Virgil. Wait..." Gordon stepped in front of him. "I am sorry that we teased you, but it was too good an opportunity to miss." He wilted under his grandmother's glare. "If it makes you feel better, we'll admit that we went overboard."

Alan turned on him. "Who went overboard?"

"Okay, okay." Gordon held up his hands in surrender. "_I_ went overboard. But you did say that I could joke about your health."

"I didn't say you could embarrass me in front of Tin-Tin! You didn't have to tell her I was going to do some organ practise!" Virgil heard Jeff make a strangled sound and rounded on his father. "And you were no help!"

"I'm sorry, Virgil," Jeff soothed. "I was trying to be tactful. I didn't realise how it sounded until after I'd started saying it, and by then I couldn't take it back without making it sound worse. Once you'd told us, whatever we were going to say, we were all going to read a double meaning into it, even if we never intended for it to have one." There was a beeping sound and, eager to clear the air and change the subject, he initiated communications. "Good morning, John."

"Morning, Dad." Unaware of the reason behind the gathering in the lounge, John beamed down on his family. "Morning, everyone." His beaming grin widened. "You must be feeling better, Virgil. I've just been talking to Tin-Tin and she says you're planning a concert. I didn't know you played the organ. Is it trickier than the piano?"

Virgil glared at Gordon.

"It looks hard with all those keys and knobs." Unaware of the subtext, John continued with his innocent speech. "But now that you've got your fingers and feet reinstated, I guess that there's nothing like playing a full-blooded organ to show how far you've come... Where are you going, Virgil…? Virgil…?"

Where Virgil was going, was anywhere except here. "To pack my bags."

"Pack your bags?" Genuinely confused, and more than a little concerned, John frowned. "Why?"

"So I can get out of here!"

"Get out of here? I mean, there?" John leant into the camera, trying to follow his brother as he stalked out of shot. Losing sight of one family member he watched as his grandmother, with an "I'll talk to him," followed her grandson out of the room. "What's wrong?"

What followed was an awkward silence.

"Has something happened that I don't know about?"

"Erm... Yeah..." Scott offered. "You could say that."

"What?" John asked, alarmed. "Is it serious?"

"More serious than we treated it," Jeff admitted.

"Huh?" John, thoroughly confused, frowned. "What's wrong?" he repeated.

"Nothing's wrong... Ah… Something's come right."

Gordon snuffled a laugh, which he hastily silenced when his father growled his name.

"Would someone please tell me what's going on?"

Scott decided that it was time to man up. "Remember those magazines that Virg had? The ones that he locked away in that box."

"He didn't lock them away," Alan reminded them. "He just hid them where Grandma wouldn't look. Anyone could take them."

Scott ignored his youngest brother. "Remember them?"

John remembered. "The, erm, ones he had for, ah, medical purposes?"

"Yes. He doesn't need them anymore."

"He doesn't? That's great!" John's beaming smile returned, before faltering. "So, why's he leaving?"

"Because we, ah, treated his revelation with less respect than it deserved. He never said that he was going to give an... erm... a recital. Gordon did."

"No, I didn't. Tin-Tin assumed it."

"Based on what you told her."

"Geez, Gordon," John complained. "I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known. I thought he was going to give us a real concert."

His impish brother burst out laughing. "A full-blooded one."

The next thing Gordon knew, a small tornado had knocked him flat into the easy chair behind him.

"Don't you ever, EVER…" Whirling about, Tin-Tin shoved Alan in the chest, sending him crashing into a chair just as Gordon had done. "…use me to tease your brother! How could you be so cruel after all he's been through?! And that goes for you…" Scott was launched faster than Thunderbird One onto the soft cushions of a sofa. "TOO!" Then she rounded on Jeff Tracy.

Seeing the furious glint in her eye, and the moment's hesitation as her regard for his position battled against her anger, Jeff decided that discretion was the better part of valour and dropped into the nearest seat.

His obvious surrender did little to calm Tin-Tin's fury. "_You_…" she pointed at Tracy senior, "…are just as bad as the rest of them! _You_ should have told _them_," her hand shifted to the general direction of his sons, "to show _me_ more respect. To show _Virgil_ more respect!"

Jeff managed a meek: "Yes, Tin-Tin."

Gordon pulled himself upright in the chair that, until five seconds ago, he'd had no intention of sitting in. "How did you know…?"

"I am not stupid!" she railed at him.

"We know tha…"

"I know you and it was obvious you weren't talking about music. Not when you were all sniggering and smirking. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. Especially when John said he didn't even know that Virgil could play the…" She blushed. "Instrument."

"Don't blame me!" Even though he was 36,000 kilometres away, John held his hands up in surrender. "I didn't know the full story either."

Turning her back on him, Tin-Tin resumed her attack on Gordon. "You tricked me into thinking that you were talking to Virgil about one thing…"

"No, we…"

"…when you all were discussing something totally unrelated. Something personal!"

"You're right, Tin-Tin," Jeff agreed. "We did take it too far. And from now on I'm making a new rule. No more jokes about Virgil's health. Understood, Scott?"

There was a sheepish: "Yes, Sir."

"John?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Alan?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Gordon?"

"Until he's firing on all cylinders?"

"Gordon...!" The young man ducked as a hail of cushions pelted him from all directions.

_To be continued…_


	66. Chapter 66

Jeff Tracy was sitting at his desk, finalising one last piece of paperwork. He looked up upon hearing a familiar step and click enter the room. "Ready to go?"

Virgil adjusted the bag that habitually hung over his shoulder. This time he had the few things in it that he'd need for his hospital visit. "Ready when you are."

"Good." Jeff indicated his paperwork. "Just give me a minute to finish this."

Bruce, impatient to make the most of his fleeting moments with Olivia, checked his watch but didn't make a comment. Virgil leant against the back of a chair and winked at him.

"Hoping that they'll tell you that you've made some real progress, Virg?" Scott asked.

"Always," Virgil told him. "But I'm not expecting much. "I've only been home a few weeks. My legs still look like I've dropped a plate of oversized spaghetti all over them."

Gordon groaned. "I hope we're not having pasta for dinner tonight."

"Pasta?" Alan entered the room, hearing only the tail end of the conversation. "Are we having pasta? Yum." He turned to his brother, his father, and his friend. "Haven't you three left yet?"

Virgil gave an exaggerated sigh. "We're waiting for the boss to finish his paperwork."

"I'm not your boss anymore," Jeff told the computer screen he was staring at. He glanced over the top of his spectacles at the ex-member of International Rescue. "Remember?"

"Happy to… Father."

"What time's your appointment?" Bruce checked.

"Not till tomorrow morning, States-time," Virgil reminded him. "So, I'm not in a hurry," he teased.

"You may not be," Bruce whispered, "but I promised Olivia that I'd take her out to dinner tonight. I'd like to get there before the restaurant closes."

Gordon overheard him. "You could always order in pizza. I'm sure Adam and Dad would be happy to share it with you." There was a growl of "Gordon" from the desk.

"Sounds like a great idea," Virgil agreed. "I might be willing to trust eating something unhealthy if I get a clean bill of health."

Bruce looked unimpressed at the suggestion.

"Right!" Jeff reached across and switched off his computer. "That's me done in the short term. Are you boys ready?" He stood.

Bruce, only just, managed to refrain from saying that he'd been ready for hours.

Virgil, however, didn't have such qualms. "About time. Bruce can't wait to catch up with his girlfriend." He pushed himself away from the chair.

Jeff's eyes twinkled. "Am I the spanner in your love life, Mr Sanders…? Maybe you should consider asking Olivia if she'd like to visit you instead."

Bruce, at first stunned by the suggestion, was about to ask for clarification and, if what he'd heard was what he'd thought he'd heard, confirmation, when he heard a small exclamation. "Virgil?"

Virgil had dropped to his knees and was holding his right leg. "I'm all right. It's just a scratch."

Scott was instantly at his brother's side. "Are you sure? What would be a scratch to us, might be more for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief that he habitually kept for such emergencies. He knelt down. "What did you do?"

Virgil had a tight grip on his leg. "Brushed against the coffee table and must have caught myself on a splinter or something. It's nothing."

But Scott had seen some red staining between Virgil's fingers. "Let me have a look."

"I'm fine, Scott."

Reaching up inside the reddening trouser leg, Scott prised the tightly clamped fingers free and pressed his pristine handkerchief on the wound. "Remember your promise."

"I also remember your reaction."

"And I've seen it again since then. I'm prepared." Keeping the pressure on his handkerchief, Scott looked up at everyone surrounding them. "Anyone who hasn't seen Virgil's leg since before his accident might like to leave now."

"Would you like me to get Brains?" Bruce volunteered.

"Yes, please. And the first aid kit."

"First aid kit?" Virgil grumbled. "It's only a scratch."

Scott looked at Gordon. "I know you've seen this."

"This!" Virgil exclaimed. "Most of _this_ is now my flesh and blood, thank you."

"And it's the blood that worries me." Scott looked at Alan. "Are you going?"

"I saw it months ago," Alan told him. "And it was worse then. There wasn't any skin, just this clear shell exposing his insides to the world. I saw his bones, and ligaments, and muscles, and his blood running through his veins, and everything," he finished with relish.

"Well, you're not going to see it again," Virgil explained. "So why don't you leave?"

"Why don't you lie down?" Scott suggested.

"I'm fine. I don't need to." But, as Scott raised his leg higher to try to stem the flow of blood, Virgil decided that as he was off balance, it would be easier to lean on his arms.

Grandma chose that moment to bustle in. "What's going on!?"

"Nothing, Grandma. I'm fine."

"Virg's scratched his leg and it's bleeding," Scott explained, eager to check under the trouser leg. "But we don't want to shock anyone who hasn't seen it before."

"So why don't you go somewhere else, Grandma?" Virgil suggested.

"I'm not moving until I know you're all right."

"I'm all right. You don't need to stay."

"I'm staying. I've seen it when it was worse than this, remember? I sat with you for that week while you went through the pain of nerve regeneration and the scientists filmed everything that was happening."

"For Pete's sake." Disgruntled by the size of the steadily growing audience, Virgil flopped back and glared at the ceiling.

"We're back," Bruce announced.

"Great!" Virgil growled at the ornate plasterwork above him. "Why don't we sell tickets?"

Brains crouched down beside Scott and prepared for his initial examination. "Why haven't you cut his trouser leg free?"

"Cut!" Virgil exclaimed, levering himself back onto his elbows. "You are not cutting my clothes! It's only a scratch!" He glared at the box with its reassuring green cross that was placed next to him.

"I know what a shock it is to see his legs for the first time," Scott explained, as Brains unlatched the kit's catch, "and I'm waiting for those who haven't seen it to leave." He gazed at Bruce.

"I'm a qualified advanced first aider," he was reminded. "AND I sat with him while he was trapped. Anything's an improvement on that. I'm staying."

"What am I? A circus exhibit?" Realising that no one was listening to him, Virgil flopped back again and folded his arms in a huff. "Talk to yourself, Virgil."

Scott's attention had been redirected to the one person who hadn't shown a prior knowledge of the patient's condition. "Are you going?"

"No," Jeff responded. "I saw Virgil's legs when they were at their worst."

Deciding that he'd waited long enough, Scott gingerly peeled the trouser leg back. "When was that?" he asked, reapplying the pressure through his temporary bandage.

"When he didn't have any legs. They'd been amputated."

Everyone glanced across.

Jeff's face was set like stone as he saw the network of pulsing veins and the nearly translucent skin. He reminded himself that this was good. This was an improvement on what he'd last seen. This was a sign that his son was getting better.

"Ready, Brains?" Scott checked.

Gloved hands and proper bandages at the ready, Brains nodded. "Remove the cloth."

Taking care not to pull at the tissue paper skin, Scott peeled back the folded handkerchief. "It's not too big."

"It's just a scratch," Brains confirmed. "Leave your pad on there. We'll apply a temporary bandage and I'll do a more permanent treatment after I've had a proper look at it in the infirmary."

"Here. Let me." Gordon took over the job of supporting Virgil's leg; freeing Scott to concentrate on keeping the pressure on the wound, and his hands out of Brains' bandaging way.

"I don't know what you caught yourself on, Virg." Alan ran his fingers along the edge of the offending coffee table. "I can't feel any splinters, and even the edge isn't that sharp."

"You can s-see how thin his skin is," Brains reminded him. "The smallest amount of friction could rupture the dermis layer."

"Well, I think we're going to have to wrap you in cotton wool from now on, Virgil."

Virgil didn't respond.

"Virgil?"

"Is he all right?" Grandma bent closer.

"He's humming?" Concerned, Jeff crouched down. "But not a tune I recognise." He reached out to his son. "Virgil? Are you feeling all right, Son?"

Brains glanced across at the patient. "Don't touch him yet." He resumed his task. "He's fine. He trained himself to go into a k-kind of meditative state whenever we were debriding the dead tissue from the polymer. Being totally paralysed, th-there wasn't a lot else he could do to help him cope with what must have been a very unpleasant situation for him."

Alan screwed up his nose. "Especially with the stench."

"And Timoti and Bryce saying how w-wonderful everything was, when it can't have been that wonderful to be the patient." Brains applied an adhesive strip to hold the bandage in place. "Could someone get the stretcher?"

"I will." Alan set off on a run.

Everyone moved back when he returned and placed the stretcher on the floor next to his supine brother. "How do you wake him up, Brains?"

"I'll do it." Reaching past Scott, Brains touched his friend on the shoulder. "Virgil? It's over, Virgil."

Virgil opened his eyes. "About time." He went to sit up.

Brains held him down. "We're going to take you to the infirmary on a stretcher."

"You don't need to do carry me there." Virgil pushed up past the restraining hand. "I can w…"

"…Can let us carry you?" Gordon suggested, when his brother fell back, overcome by a wave of dizziness. "I've got his leg. Who wants to grab the rest of him?"

"I don't need help getting on a stretcher," Virgil protested. "I can…" Turning his head he looked at its location. "Shuffle across."

Scott took command. "Good. And the rest of us will help you shift."

Before Virgil had the chance to protest, or move under his own steam, he found himself on the stretcher and the hovering mechanism activated.

Brains, leaning on the back of a chair for support, stood. "I don't think we'll be long."

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Virgil apologised, as he floated out of the lounge.

His friend walked alongside him. "Don't worry about it. I'll give Olivia a call and tell her that she'll have to take a rain check. She'll understand."

As Brains had predicted, it hadn't taken long to clean and glue the edges of the wound together and then bandage the injured leg. "Try not to put too much weight onto it," he warned as Virgil had taken his first, shuffling, steps.

Virgil, glad that his ever-present crutches hid the fact that he was favouring that leg, and clad in a new pair of clean trousers, walked into the lounge and told everyone that he was ready to head for the States.

Everyone took it to be a directive, not a suggestion.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Approaching Barduq," Jeff Tracy announced.

Bruce, upon entering the aeroplane, had assumed that his place wasn't on the flight deck and had chosen one of the reclining seats in the rear of the cabin. He might not be able to take Olivia out to the restaurant as he'd planned, but that didn't mean that they couldn't enjoy a long evening together, and he intended to be awake for it. By choosing this seat he could traverse the various time zones asleep and in comfort.

He wasn't surprised when Virgil made a beeline for the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit.

Upon hearing Jeff's announcement, he moved his seat into an upright position and ensured his safety harness was securely fastened. He watched the scenery change from the blue of the Pacific to the green of the island and the grey of the runway. He remained seated as the door to the hangar slid up into its housing and the aeroplane taxied inside.

Only when they had stopped moving and the motors had powered down, did he undo his seatbelt and stand. "I thought we were going straight to Bearston."

"That was the plan," Jeff admitted. "But someone changed it." He pointed across to his co-pilot.

Virgil, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, was sound asleep in his seat.

"I thought that it might be beneficial to spend the night here and then take the Odonata to Bearston." Jeff released his own harness and turned in his chair. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I know you were looking forward to taking Olivia out tonight."

Bruce gave what he hoped was an unconcerned shrug. "She'll understand."

"Especially if you offer to let her stay with you on a tropical island for a week."

Bruce glanced at his boss sharply. "Do you mean that? I wasn't sure if you were joking or not."

"I mean it. I appreciate the work that you've put into International Rescue and all that you've done for Virgil." Then Jeff grinned. "You'd better get Olivia to have a word with her boss to see when she can have the time off."

Bruce returned the grin. "I will." He looked back at the sleeping co-pilot. "Guess he's still recovering from this morning's incident. Did he fly the plane at all?"

"About quarter of the way. Then he said he'd had enough and that I could take over. He fell asleep almost straight away."

"He suffers from Tracy syndrome."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Tracy syndrome?"

"Too proud to admit any weakness."

"Yes…" Jeff pursed his lips as he considered what the younger man had said. "I suppose you're right."

"What do we do about him now? Leave him to wake in his own sweet time or tell him to get moving."

"Tell who t'ge' moving?"

Bruce chuckled. "You, Sleepyhead. You've disrupted our plans."

Virgil blinked at him. "I've what?" He peered, bleary-eyed through the cockpit windscreen. "Why're we on Barduq?"

"To give my co-pilot a chance to catch up on his sleep," Jeff told him. "We'll take the Odonata to Bearston tomorrow. Come on, Bruce. Let's go and open up."

They left Virgil to try to get his stiff limbs moving.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

After an evening "batcheloring it", as Jeff had joked, they'd flown out early for Bearston. Virgil had made it to his hospital appointment on time and had been slightly disappointed that he hadn't shown the improvement that he'd hoped.

At least the medical staff were unconcerned by his leg's injury.

Reminding himself that he'd only been home for a month, Virgil wandered back to the Trace Base and knocked on the Crumps' door.

"Uncle Virgil!"

"Hiya, Virginia." He gave his honorary niece a big hug. "Has it only been two weeks since I last saw you? You've grown."

She giggled.

"Been to the hospital?" Lisa asked, as she gave him a friendly hug.

"Yes."

"And?"

Virgil shrugged. "Same as it's always been. Incremental improvements, but nothing to write home about."

"Any change to the diet?"

He pulled a face. "No… How are you guys?"

"We's fine," Butch told him. "Where's Bruce?"

"Can't you guess?" Virgil chuckled. "He was hoping to spend over 24 hours with Olivia, but that fell through, so he's making the most of what time they've got today."

"I though' you was flyin' in yestaday."

"That was the plan," Virgil admitted. "But we were delayed, so we spent the night at Barduq."

"Why are you still standing?" Lisa gestured towards the chair behind him. "Have a seat." Ginny hovered by the chair, keen to sit next to her favourite uncle.

Virgil hesitated. "Not yet. I have something to tell everyone, and I wanted to tell you before the Mickelsons. If it's okay with you, I'll come back here after I've seen them."

"You got somethin' to tell us?" Butch frowned. "Wha'? Somethin' wrong?"

"No." This time Virgil didn't hesitate. His family had taken it so well that he had no reason to suppose that his friends would be any different. "I've resigned from International Rescue."

There was a moment's silence. Then an inquisitive: "Signed what?"

"_Re_signed, Virginia," Virgil clarified. "I've told everyone at International Rescue that I don't want to fly Thunderbirds anymore. When I get better I'm going to work for some other people – although I don't know who and doing what yet."

Butch was frowning. "You sure 'bout this? International Rescue was th' bes' job for ya."

"It may have been once, but not anymore. They say, 'once bitten, twice shy', and I had a mighty big chunk bitten out of me. I don't want to go through that again, and I don't want anyone I care about to have to deal with it again." Virgil opened his hands towards his friends. "And that includes you guys."

"Oh… So, watcha gonna do?"

"Get better first."

"Will ya come back t' ACE?"

"I don't know if that's an option. I'll decide what I'm going to do with my life once I'm either one hundred percent fit or know that I'm as fit as I'm going to get. I can't really make any decisions until then." Virgil smiled. "I've got plenty of time to think about it."

Butch looked sad as he nodded his agreement.

"So, you're quitting."

Now Virgil looked at Lisa. He frowned when he saw her expression. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes!" she exploded and, shocked, Virgil took a step backwards. "What about all those people who will lose their lives because you've quit on a whim?!"

"Not a whim. I've been considering this all the time I was in hospital."

"In hospital wallowing in your own self-pity!"

"Hardly that. I've been evaluating what I want to do with my life, and I've decided that being part of International Rescue isn't it."

"So you're running away?"

"I wouldn't say that… To be a part of International Rescue you have to be fully committed to the cause… And I came to realise that I'm not."

"You can't give up!" Lisa berated her friend. "Think of all the lives that will be lost."

"I'm not the only member of International Rescue," Virgil reminded her. "And it's not shutting down. As much as I want my brothers to be safe too, I wouldn't ask them to leave the organisation, because I know it means too much to them. I'm the only one who's resigned."

"Leaving them to carry on without your support!"

"International Rescue's survived this past year without me."

"International Rescue's your _brothers_! What if something happens to them?"

"That's a chance I'll have to take, as much as I don't want to. I'll just have to live with the consequences…"

"Live with them! When you could have prevented them?!"

"Not necessarily. Don't you think my brothers wish they could have prevented my accident? But they couldn't. Sometimes, despite all the precautions in the world, the unexpected, like an aftershock, happens…"

"How many people will die without you to save them?"

"No one's died this past year…"

"If _you_," Lisa jabbed an angry finger in Virgil's direction, "hadn't been at ACE _Butch_ would have died!"

"Liesel," her husband said quietly. "Ya don' know tha'."

Spinning around, she turned on him. "I do! You, and Bruce, and Mr Watts would have died! _And _Winston and Olivia!"

"I didn't do anything to help Winston and Olivia," Virgil protested. "I wasn't allowed out of Thunderbird Two, because someone would have recognised me…"

She spun back. "So, now it's everyone else's fault?"

"Of course, not. It's nobody's fault."

"I could have lost my husband and Ginny her father if it wasn't for you and International Rescue! Have you thought of that? And Ginny!" Now Lisa pointed at her daughter, who shrunk back from the outstretched finger. "I could have lost Ginny if it wasn't for you."

She didn't acknowledge Butch's quiet: "Lisa."

"I didn't save Virginia. I only flew Thunderbird Two, it was Gordon who worked with the kids. And it wasn't a highly technical, dangerous rescue. Any of the regular services could have done it when they reached the preschool." Virgil attempted a reassuring smile down on the little girl. "You weren't in any danger, were you, Honey…"

Ginny, wide-eyed and not fully understanding, looked between him and her mother.

Virgil turned his attention back to the furious woman before him. "The only time that Virginia could have been in danger, she was well away from the earthquakes and I was in no shape to help her." Trying to remain calm and rational, he continued. "I nearly died at ACE, Lisa. I could have died numerous times afterwards. Remember?"

"Don't lay the blame for your selfishness on me."

"I'm not! I simply don't want anyone I care about to go through that pain of thinking they'd lost me ever again…"

Lisa appeared unconvinced.

"I've given this a lot of thought and this is my decision. This is what I want to do. This is what I _need_ to do."

"Typical man! Only thinking of yourself!"

"Lisa…"

"Liesel…"

"Mama?"

"It's always what _you_ want! What _you_ need. Only thinking about yourself. Never thinking about anyone else. You're like all men. You're _selfish_…"

Virgil was prodded in the chest. Unstable on his healing legs, he stumbled backwards.

"…s_elf-centred_…"

Another prod. Another stumbling step.

"…_arrogant_…"

Butch got to his feet. "Careful, Liesel. Ya'll hurt him."

"…and are only interested in _one_ thing!"

Virgil, with his legs pressed up against the chair, had nowhere to go.

"_You_!"

Out of backing room, and unable to escape the enraged woman, Virgil was pushed backwards into the chair; his crutches hitting the floor with a clatter.

Lisa didn't notice. "I've had _you_!" she stormed, towering over the bewildered man. "I don't want to look at you!"

"Lisa," Butch reproached. "She don' mean i'," he told Virgil.

"Yes, I do!" she retorted. "I hope I never see you again, Virgil Tracy!" And, after one final glare, she turned on her heel and disappeared into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then Ginny spoke. "Why's Mama mad?"

"I think that's my fault." Virgil was feeling a little shell-shocked. "I guess she's mad with me for giving up on International Rescue."

"But why?"

"Come 'ere, Cupcake," Butch told his daughter, sitting down and helping her to scramble onto his lap. "She ain't really mad at Uncle Virgil…"

Uncle Virgil wasn't sure about that.

"Uncle Virgil told her that he's not gonna be par' of Intanash'nal Rescue any more. He don' want t' risk getting' hurt again."

That seemed to be a perfectly reasonable decision, Ginny decided. Being hurt wasn't nice. "But why's Mama mad?" she repeated.

"It's because she's go' th' baby inside her," Butch explained, as much to Virgil as to Ginny. "I' makes her do funny things. Things she don' mean. It's th' hormons talkin'. Give her some time an' she'll come righ'."

Virgil shook his head to try and clear it. "I don't get it. Everyone at home understood and was fully supportive of my decision. But she… She's…" he indicated the firmly closed door with a helpless gesture.

"It's th' hormons," Butch repeated.

Ginny balled her skirt up in her fists. "Don't like Windsor," she announced. "'He' makes Mama mad."

"Virginia," Virgil pleaded. "Don't think that."

"It ain't Windsa's faul' tha' Mama's mad." Butch shifted his daughter on his lap, so that she could see him. "Windsa's probably sad that Mama's mad too. It the chemicals in her body keepin' Windsa safe tha' makes everythin' seem so much more bigga an' import'nt. Mama went mad like tha' when you was in her tummy too."

"Mama did?"

"Yeah. She told me I was t' ge' rid of th' Red Arrow. But she didn' mean i'. She loves the Red Arrow, jus' like I love it and you love it. An' when Windsa's born, 'he'll' love it too, an' th' four of us will go on trips togetha in it and be happy. Mama would have bin sad if I had go' rid of th' Red Arrow. An' Mama would be sad if Uncle Virgil never came back. Soon she'll understand why Uncle Virgil left Intanash'nal Rescue, an' she'll be happy again."

Virgil wished he was as confident. "Do you think so?"

"'Course she will. Righ', Ginny?" Butch tickled his daughter and she squealed in delight, curling up in a ball against his chest.

Watching the big man with his broken nose, callused hands, and tattoo peeking through his shirt, looking down with gentle love at the little girl who was gazing up at him in non-judgemental adoration, Virgil couldn't help but smile; and wonder what Lisa's reaction would be if he'd said that by leaving International Rescue he was at least giving himself a chance to experience that same happiness. "You're a lucky man, Butch."

"Huh?" At first Butch looked confused, then Virgil saw understanding cross his face. "Ah… I geddit."

Virgil gathered his crutches together. "Guess I'd better go tell the Mickelsons. I hope they don't give me the same surprise."

"They'll suppor'cha… How'd ya fam'ly take i'?"

"They were shocked because they hadn't expected it. They all assumed that I'd be itching to get back into the saddle. None of them want me to give up, but they understand why I've made this decision. They've encouraged me to reconsider, but none of them have told me that I've done the wrong thing, got angry with me, or tried to make me feel guilty."

"Like m' Lisa."

"As you said, it was probably the hormones." Virgil leant on the crutches and got to his feet. "I won't come back today. I think Lisa needs a chance to calm down before she sees me again."

"Yeah," Butch agreed, as he also stood, holding Ginny easily in one arm. "Migh' be fer th' best." He held out his free hand. "I wish ya well, Pal."

Pleased by the visible show of support, Virgil shook his friend's hand. "Thanks, Butch. See ya, Virginia."

"Bye, Uncle Virgil." Ginny held her arms out for a hug.

Virgil was willing to oblige. "Be a good girl for your Mama. She's dealing with a lot at the moment."

"'kay." Ginny gave one of her head nods.

There was a slam and a flood of tears poured into the room, swamping Virgil and nearly knocking him off his feet again. Both crutches hit the ground.

"Thank you!" Lisa wailed into his shoulder.

By now totally bemused, and unsure what to do and say, if anything, Virgil gingerly put his arms about her. He looked over her head at Butch, who gave an equally bemused shrug. "Thank you? What for?"

"For being sensible and looking after yourself."

"Right…" Virgil didn't know what to say.

"I'm so happy that you won't be getting into any more danger." Lisa sobbed. "I'd hate to lose you." She gave a huge sniff. "When we thought you'd died, it was horrible. Mr and Mrs T were devastated."

"Tha's true," Butch agreed. "Ya've done the righ' thin', Pal."

"Ah… Thanks…" Virgil detached himself from Lisa's grasp. "I'd better go…I've got to see Edna and Hamish before we fly back to the island."

"'Ere." Still cradling Ginny with ease in one arm, Butch bent down to pick up Virgil's crutches.

"Thanks," Virgil repeated.

Lisa grabbed his sleeve. "You'll come back?"

Virgil wondered if he should. "If you want me to, I'll be back in a couple of weeks. I've got to see Frank and Stein next week."

Lisa managed a watery smile. "We'll look forward to it."

Virgil escaped outside. He took a moment to enjoy the stabilising calmness of the sun and fresh air, and then walked the few steps to the Mickelson's unit. He knocked.

The door was opened almost immediately, and he was greeted by Hamish's beaming face. "Virgil! Come in!"

"Thanks." Virgil stepped over the threshold.

"You look terrible!" Edna exclaimed. "Sit down!"

Virgil obeyed, and managed to smile up at his friend when she hovered at his shoulder. "I'm okay, really."

"No, you're not," she retorted. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Apart from not healing as fast as I'd like, physically I'm fine."

"Physically you're fine," Edna repeated, taking a seat opposite him so she could look him in the eye. "But something else isn't?"

"I've just been at the Crumps," Virgil admitted. "And I'm still recovering. Are pregnant women always as…" he tried to think of the appropriate word, "irrational as that?"

"Of course not," Edna rebutted, and slapped her seated husband on the leg. "Stop nodding, Hamish Mickelson. They're not."

"You forget that I've had prior experience," Hamish reminded her. "I've had to deal with a pregnant wife and daughter."

"And, as we had to deal with you and Will, aren't you surprised that we were under stress?" she retorted. "Pregnancy affects each woman differently, Virgil. Some women aren't affected all. A few unlucky souls, like Lisa, have to deal with major mood swings throughout the pregnancy."

Hamish nodded. "There were a couple of times when she was pregnant with Ginny, when I nearly had to suggest that she take some leave; she was causing so much trouble at work. And I think I only heard a fraction of the complaints from her co-workers that Max Watts received. In that respect, the earthquake is a blessing. By the time ACE is up and running, she'll be on maternity leave. I don't know how Butch stands it."

Edna hmphed. "He probably thinks that, as it's half his fault, he's got no option."

"And he knows that there's light at the end of the tunnel."

"What upset her this time?" Edna turned her attention back to her guest.

"I gave her some news," Virgil told her. "And she did not react the way I'd expected."

"You told her you've resigned?" Hamish guessed.

"You've what?" Edna's stare moved quickly from her husband to her friend.

But Virgil was looking at his former boss. "Did Father tell you?"

"Yes. I think he wanted a sounding board. Someone who was far enough away from the organisation to not be emotionally involved and close enough to not be a security threat."

His curiosity aroused, Virgil couldn't help but ask the obvious question. "What did he say?"

"That he understood and respected your decision… And that he wished you hadn't made it."

"Hold on, hold on." Edna held up her hand. "Back up the Thunderbird. Resigned? Resigned from what, Virgil?"

"International Rescue."

"You've resigned from International Rescue?"

Virgil, wondering if he was about to be subjected to the second outburst within half an hour, replied. "Yes. I've been considering it for months and I thought it was better to tell them now, rather than wait until I'm better. It gives them a chance to find someone else."

"Jeff also asked me to keep my eyes open for a suitable replacement," Hamish continued. "Although I don't think either of us have any ideas where we could find someone to take your place in the team. I don't know anyone with, even close to, your skills, character, and personality."

"You shouldn't be looking for me. You should be looking for a replacement."

"You've resigned from International Rescue?" Edna Mickelson repeated. She pursed her lips. "Good."

Once again, Virgil couldn't believe his ears. "Good?"

"Yes. Good! I think that's an extremely sensible decision." Edna gave a nod that had Virgil thinking that, after twelve months of living in close proximity, some of Ginny's personality had rubbed off. "I've seen what you've been through this past year. I've also seen what your family went through. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy." She sat back. "I think you've made the right decision, Virgil."

"What was Lisa's reaction?" Hamish asked.

"Mixed?" Virgil guessed. "She blasted me because all these people were going to die, even though, thanks to my brothers working this past year without my help, no one has – not even me. And then the next thing I know, she's crying on my shoulder because she's happy I'm not going to be risking my life anymore. I got out of there before she changed her mind again and decided that the earthquake was my fault."

Hamish chuckled, and received another slap on the leg.

"Hamish!" Edna scolded. "It must be awful for the poor girl."

"Virginia was blaming Windsor," Virgil told them. "Till Butch explained otherwise." He smiled. "You wouldn't think it to look at him, but he's a great father."

"With no sense when it comes to naming his children." Edna shook her head. "Windsor. That poor child. What a name to have to live with."

Virgil chuckled. "I think Bruce would agree with you."

Her eyes twinkled. "Is it nearly as bad as 'Virgil'?"

This time Virgil laughed. "You get used to it… And develop quite a few defence strategies… Like having an older sibling to stick up for you. I'm sure Virginia will be just as protective of Windsor as Scott was of me…"

They continued talking for a time, chatting about everything and nothing, until Jeff Tracy returned. "Anything to report?" he asked.

Virgil shook his head. "Nothing."

Jeff made no comment. "I'm ready to head off," he admitted, before laying his hand on Virgil's shoulder. "I'd ask if you feel up to heading straight home, except we've got to drop the Odonata off."

"I'm fine," Virgil protested. "We can do the transfer at Barduq and continue on."

Jeff raised an eyebrow at his friends that told him that he doubted that this would be the case. "We'll see." He clapped his son on the back. "We'd better go and see if we can pull Mr Sanders out of Miss Annan's arms. You should have better control over your employees, Hamish."

"Since yours resign without warning, you're the last person to talk, Jeff," Hamish joked.

Jeff gave a genial smile in reply. "Talking about Olivia. I've offered to let her come and stay on the island for a week, so don't be surprised if she asks for some time off."

"She's worked hard and she's due a holiday. But can you let Bruce have time off? He's only been working for you for five months."

"I may have to see if I can find a stand in." Jeff cast a sideways look at the young man next to him. "But I appreciate the fact that Bruce has had to put up with some restrictions to his life while he's been on the island. I can give him a week."

Bruce was unaware of the conversation when he was dragged from Olivia's unit by the Tracys. He was surprised when, instead of heading to the cockpit, Virgil chose to sit next to him for the homeward flight. "How'd it go?"

"It was…" Virgil considered his answer. "Interesting."

"Not as you expected?"

"Edna thinks that I've made the sensible decision. Hamish and Butch are behind me. I don't know what Lisa thinks."

"Wasn't she there?"

Virgil snorted. "Oh, she was there all right."

Bruce twisted in his seat, so he could see his friend better. "She'd back your decision, wouldn't she?"

"According to Lisa, I'm a typical male, only thinking of myself. I'm selfish, arrogant, self-centred and only interested in one thing."

Smirking, Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes?"

"Me… And International Rescue is doomed to failure because I won't be there to gallantly save everyone in the nick of time. She wouldn't listen when I pointed out that International Rescue has been totally successful each time they've been called out since my accident… Then she declared that she never wanted to see me again."

"Ah."

"Minutes later she's sobbing on my shoulder and telling me how great it is that I'll no longer be putting myself in harm's way."

"Ah," Bruce repeated. "Hormones."

"According to Butch. He said that she was like this when she was pregnant with Virginia. I don't remember. I was on the island most of the time."

"When you weren't out saving the world."

"Butch said she even wanted to get rid of the Red Arrow."

Bruce let out a laugh. "I was there when that happened. You thought she was terrifying just now? You should have seen her then. It was… about a week before she had Ginny. It was a Sunday and Butch and I were tinkering with the Red Arrow. Normally Lisa would have helped us, but she reckoned that she was that big that she couldn't get near it. Anyway, she stayed in the house, while we enjoyed some peaceful male-bonding time in the garage. That was until she came storming out. Poor Butch was just slaughtered. He 'cared about the car more than he did her'. He 'should have been giving more consideration to the hazards that were in the house', which was unfair as he'd locked everything down tighter than a locknutted bolt as soon as they'd learnt that they were expecting. Lisa reckoned that, 'because she was fat', Butch thought that the Red Arrow was better looking than she was, which was why he wanted to spend more time with it than he did with her. She finished with the ultimatum that it was either the car or her. If Butch didn't get rid of it then it was proof that he loved it more than he loved Lisa, and if that was the case, then she was going home to her mother."

"What did Butch do?"

"Just stood there and took it."

"What did you do?"

"Wondered if I could make a quiet escape."

"And did you?"

"Nope. There was only one way out and I didn't fancy running the gauntlet. So, I stayed as still and quiet as I could, and hoped she wouldn't notice me."

"What happened next?"

"When she'd run out of steam, Butch told her to go back inside, get both of their jackets, and that the pair of them would go for a ride in the Red Arrow. If she still felt the same way after that, then he'd start making plans for putting it on the market. I escaped while she was away and left the poor guy to it. He told me the next day that by the time they got back home after the drive, all was sweetness and light and Lisa was making plans about how they were going to fit a baby seat into the back, whilst protecting the car from toddler damage."

"He's cleverer than people give him credit for."

"I'll say… I know you're part owner, but if you value what's left of your skin, I wouldn't offer to help with the Red Arrow's restoration until well after Windsor's made an appearance." Bruce made a face. "I hope they change their minds over that name before the poor kid's born."

"I don't think that's going to happen. They seem happy with it."

"Then I hope they don't tell anyone where it came from."

"Be proud of it, Bruce," Virgil advised. "They're naming it after you for a reason and it's an honour. And I've got to admit, it's growing on me."

"It's all right for you," Bruce grumbled. "Virgil's not that bad a name."

"Only because you're used to it. You don't know the grief I got growing up with it. Even telling the other kids that I was named after a long-dead astronaut didn't help."

"You were?"

Virgil chuckled. "You don't know your space history, do you?"

Bruce looked embarrassed. "With your father being who he is, I should have done a bit more research, but I was never that interested."

"Sacrilege!" Virgil joked. He started ticking off on his fingers. "Malcolm Scott Carpenter: the sixth human in space. John Herschel Glenn, the first American to orbit the Earth. Virgil Ivan Grissom: Pilot of Apollo One. Leroy Gordon Cooper: the last American to fly solo in space – until International Rescue came along. Alan Bartlett Shepard: the first American in space… Notice anything about their names?"

"You were named after the pilot of Apollo One?"

"Bruce! Scott Carpenter… John Glenn… Virgil Grissom…"

Bruce face-palmed himself. "I'll admit it. I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are. We were all named after five of the Mercury Seven: America's first astronauts."

"Mum's English. She was too busy telling me about the royal family to tell me about them."

Virgil laughed.

"So that's why Scott called John 'Glenn' when he was trying to hide his real identity from Cole." Bruce had a thought. "If you'd had sisters, what would they have been called?"

"The other two members of the Mercury Seven were Walter Schirra and Donald Slayton, known as Deke. I've no idea how you'd feminise them."

"Umm… How about Wallis for Walter? Although that reminds me of Wallis Simpson. She created a royal furore. Maybe Donna for Donald? Or would they have just named your sisters," Bruce grinned, "or you, after female astronauts?"

"So, Scott could have been Sally, after Sally Ride?"

"The mind boggles."

Virgil tried to imagine his big brother being a big sister. "Yeah, it does."

"Your parents seem to have chosen an odd order to name you all. I would have thought that if you were going to name your boys after a group of astronauts, you would start with the ones who were the trailblazers. Why isn't Scott, John; John, Alan; You…? I wonder which you would have been."

"I don't know. Maybe they were the names that Ma thought she could stomach the most."

"And she preferred Virgil over Alan?" Then Bruce looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry. You're probably uncomfortable talking about your mother like this."

"It's okay," Virgil reassured him. "I don't know why they chose that order, nor what we would have been called if we'd been girls. We could ask…" He indicated the flight deck.

"No, we couldn't."

"You've got me curious now," and, much to Bruce's horror, Virgil opened the in-plane communication system. "Are you free to answer a nagging question?"

"I'm free to answer a nagging one," Jeff responded. "Any other sort will have to wait."

Virgil chuckled as Bruce shrunk into his seat. "We were discussing names, and whether Windsor's a good one or not. Bruce hadn't realised who you'd named us after and we were wondering what you and Ma would have called us if we'd been girls."

"Your mother and I had an arrangement. If the baby was a boy, I was allowed to name him after an astronaut. If the baby was a girl, she could name her what she wanted. She decided that she wanted a bouquet of flowers and had all sorts of floral names picked out: Jasmine, Lily, Primrose…"

Bruce couldn't help himself. "Primrose!" He burst out laughing.

"Why do you think we had so many of you, Virgil? She wanted a flower to beautify the crop of weeds we were producing."

"If you could see your son's face now," Bruce snickered.

Both younger men heard laughter. "I can. On the monitor." Then his tone changed. "We're crossing the coast now..."

The rest of the trip was completed in quiet conversation… With no mention of baby names.

_To be continued…_


	67. Chapter 67

"If you've got nothing better to do, Virgil," Alan told him, "come with me."

"It depends on what you've got planned, whether or not I've got something better to do," Virgil responded, as he started walking alongside his kid brother.

"You're going to get some practise on Thunderbird Three's simulator. You can come too, Bruce."

"Whoa!" Virgil stopped his unsteady walk and held up one hand. "I've made my decision, Alan."

"And I'm not trying to change it. I'm thinking like a member of International Rescue, not as International Rescue."

Virgil looked at him sideways. "I hope that you communicate better than that when you're on duty on Thunderbird Five."

"What I mean is, that it makes sense for you to keep up your skills piloting Thunderbird Three. Say… John gets a papercut and needs urgent treatment, and Scott, Gordon and I are away on a rescue, and Dad's doing Tracy Industries business in the States. That only leaves Brains and Tin-Tin who have any experience flying Thunderbird Three. But they're only trained as secondary pilots, not the primary. You have had that training."

"Alan…"

"How long has it been since you last flew Thunderbird Three?" Alan persisted. "Either in real life or in the simulator?"

Virgil massaged his left hand as he thought. "Must be eighteen months."

"That's what I figured, and Three's not like a plane. You're getting practise flying aircraft, and if yours was out of action you could still fly mine or anyone else's. If worst came to the worst, you could still manage Thunderbird Two. Even Thunderbird One at a pinch, because you'd only need to worry about the basic flight systems, and none of the specialised stuff. But Thunderbird Three's a different bird. I'm suggesting that you have refresher flights in the simulator, so that, if you ever were the only one available to fly her and you had to, you could do it without any concerns about your competency to do so."

"He's making sense, Virgil," Bruce agreed.

"All I'm suggesting is a simulated launch, straightforward flight to Thunderbird Five, docking, undocking, flight home, and then landing. I promise I'm not planning on throwing anything out of the ordinary at you." Alan waited, hoping that his promise sounded as genuine as it was.

He was relieved when Virgil nodded. "Okay."

Bruce dropped into step at their sides. "I suppose this is the closest I'm ever going to get to a real flight."

"We'll see," Alan promised.

He was the first one into Thunderbird Three's simulation room but did little more than boot up the computer. "Come here." He beckoned to Virgil. "I want you to see that I'm not planning anything tricky."

"I trust you, Alan," Virgil told him, but he still massaged his hand as he stood at his brother's side and watched the programming of their "flight".

"How does it work?" Bruce asked, peering over the Tracys' shoulders.

Alan pointed at what appeared to be a bar graph on screen; each row of which had a representation of one. "Each of these lines represent parts of the journey. Launch. Leaving Earth's atmosphere. First stage of the journey. Second stage of the journey. Third stage of the journey. Arrival at Thunderbird Five. Arrival at destination. Events whilst on Thunderbird Five. Events at destination. Relaunch for return journey. Leaving Thunderbird Five. Leaving destination. First stage of return journey. Second stage of return journey. Third stage of return journey Approaching Earth. Entering Earth's atmosphere. Landing on Tracy Island. Landing elsewhere. A value of one means that the process is straightforward and with no complications. A value of five means that something unexpected and tricky is going to happen. A value of ten means you may as well kiss your butt goodbye."

"And a value of M?" Bruce pointed at the last value on the x-axis.

"Make out your will; especially if Gordon's had anything to do with it," Virgil quoted.

"Huh?"

Alan chuckled. "M means that the scenario is manually inputted by one of us." He slid the _Leaving destination_ bar up to "M" and then returned it to zero. "We use that if we know we're going into a specific situation. Or if we think the computer's not giving us enough experience at flying in certain conditions. Otherwise the computer randomly picks the scenario you're going to face, based on the level of difficulty you've chosen." He slid "Leaving destination" until it reached a difficulty level of six. "So, this could mean that Thunderbird Three's leaving Mars and the computer will choose to cause something to explode on the launch pad moments after take-off and some debris gets caught in the jets."

He pushed the _Second stage of the journey_,_ Third stage of the journey, Arrival at destination_, _Events at destination_, _Events whilst on Thunderbird Five_,_ Relaunch for return journey_, _First stage of return journey_, _Third stage of return journey_, and _Landing elsewhere_ bars back to zero and indicated the screen. Everything else read one. "Happy with what I've done?" he asked Virgil.

"Yep. A nice straightforward flight to and from Thunderbird Five. Do the others know we're doing this?"

"I told John, in case he picks up that you're the one piloting and gets the wrong idea why you're doing it. The others; I thought I'd leave telling them until I knew if you agreed to do it."

"Okay."

"Let's get started."

The actual simulator was in a separate room that could be seen through windows behind the computer. Once again Alan led the way, but he stopped at the door, sealing it tightly when the other two men had entered the room. Then he turned and regarded the simulator proper, realising that there could be a flaw in his plan. "Can you climb into it?"

The simulator was a huge spherical object resting on a single pillar in the centre of the room. To reach the access hatch, you had to climb a ladder.

"I can do it, if someone will hold my crutches."

"Do you want me to climb up first?" Bruce offered. "Then I can hold your crutches and Alan can stay back here to catch you if necessary."

"I'm not going to fall."

"Support you then." Bruce looked to Alan for approval.

The latter nodded. "Up you go."

Pulling himself up the ladder, Bruce reached the top and then turned around; crouching down and extending his hand. "Hand me your crutches."

"I'll do it." Taking the supports, Alan stepped up onto the second rung and passed the crutches to his friend. Then he jumped back down onto the floor. "Ready to go up?"

"Yep." Virgil grasped both handrails firmly in both hands. Slowly lifting his right foot onto the first rung, he bodily pulled himself up until his left foot was level with his right and able to support his weight.

"Can you make it?" Alan checked.

"Is there a rush?"

"No."

"Then I can make it." Virgil pulled himself onto the next rung.

Bruce propped the crutches against the wall and readied himself to help pull his friend up. "This can't be how you board the real Thunderbird Three."

There was a chuckle from the floor below. "No, that's a lot quicker and takes less effort."

Virgil was perspiring. "Fortunately."

"We should have brought a scissor-lift in here," Bruce told him, and received a glare in reply. "Grab my hand." He held his right hand out and, once Virgil had a firm grip, gently pulled upwards.

Virgil finally made it to the top and leant against the simulator's bulkhead, panting. "That… was embarrassing."

Bruce handed him the crutches. "It wasn't that long ago that you were in hospital."

Alan bounded up the ladder. "Are you going to be able to carry on?"

"I'm not going to put in all that effort and do nothing."

"Sit in the primary seat. We'll make a start when you're ready." Having sealed the exterior door, Alan led the way through a short tunnel into a representation of Thunderbird Three's flight deck. He then sealed the interior door. "You can sit over there, Bruce." He pointed at a chair at the far end of the room against the bulkhead.

But Bruce, as much as to give Virgil some breathing space as out of curiosity, was staring around him. "Is this what Thunderbird Three's like?"

"Yep." There was a touch of pride in Alan's voice. "Lives depend on this being an exact replica. Any changes to Thunderbird Three get replicated in here. The only difference is this." He pointed at a large red button on the console, within striking range of whoever was sitting in the two control seats. "That's the abort button."

"And you don't have one on Thunderbird Three?"

"Nope. Life isn't that simple when you're in space."

Bruce headed for his seat. "How does the simulator work?" He watched as Virgil slid his crutches beneath a central console and took the centre seat.

"When we're ready for 'launch' the computer initiates a forcefield around the simulator." Alan dropped into the seat next to Virgil's. "After we initiate launch the support pillar retracts and the entire simulator is left suspended in mid-air. This make it easy for the computer to replicate any forces and movements that will be felt by the crew on board… There're airsick bags under the seat if you think you'll need them," he added as an afterthought.

"I managed to survive flying through a storm and crashing a plane without being sick," Bruce reminded him. "Thanks to you two."

Alan chuckled. "Space flight's totally different to air flight." He turned to his brother. "How're you feeling?"

Virgil had been examining the controls; reacquainting himself with each one and reminding himself what each one did. "Okay…" He pointed at a blue switch. "I don't remember that one."

"It's the astrofibrilation button."

"What does it do?"

"Something you won't need to worry about."

"I'll worry about it if I hit it accidentally and it does something unexpected."

"Won't happen." Alan cast his eyes over his section of the control panel. "Right, Virgil. Ready when you are."

"Okay…" With plenty of care and little speed, Virgil worked his way through the pre-flight processes. "Thunderbird Three's ready for launch."

"Safety harness fastened, Bruce?" Alan checked.

Bruce pulled at the belt to show he was safely buckled in.

"You are cleared for launch, Virgil."

"Understood." Virgil pushed forward on the lever.

Bruce wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He thought he'd anticipated being shoved back into his seat, a roar of all-encompassing noise, and a shaking so intense that his fillings would threaten to fall out. He was almost disappointed at how benign the whole experience was.

"Launch successfully complete," a computer announced. Seconds later it was heard again: "Leaving Earth's atmosphere."

"Is that what a real launch is like?" Bruce asked.

"Yes." Alan glanced over at him. "Disappointed?"

"I suppose I am a little. How long does a flight to Thunderbird Five take?"

"About an hour and a half. Longer than we want to sit in here," Alan told him. "That's why I removed a couple of stages from each leg of the simulation. We'll 'be there' in ten minutes."

That ten minutes passed quickly and soon Virgil was taking them through the "approach to" and eventually "docking with" Thunderbird Five. Bruce was aware of some movements to the capsule that surrounded them, but all were gentle and untroubling.

"Smooth," Alan congratulated his brother. "You haven't lost your touch."

"Thanks." Virgil smiled at the compliment. "Time for the return journey. Leaving Thunderbird Five." Ten minutes later he announced that they were "_Approaching Earth_."

If Bruce wasn't expecting the smoothness and comfort of the simulated launch, he was equally shocked and surprised by the roughness of the approach to Terra Firma. Lights started flashing, sirens screamed, and he found himself thrust against his harness as his entire world did what appeared to be a full barrel roll. "What's happening?"

The Tracys appeared to be just as surprised by the turn of events as he was.

Virgil was scanning the control panel. "Lost thruster three."

Alan reached across to the red button. "I'll abort."

"No! I can handle this! Cutting power to thrusters one and two."

Bruce didn't know if that achieved anything. Lights still flashed. Sirens still screamed. The simulator still appeared intent on shaking him clear of his harness.

"Collision course with Earth," Alan announced. "The angle we're coming in on, we'll burn up on entry."

This didn't sound appealing. Bruce clung to his seat's armrests and hoped the simulator wasn't planning on being too realistic.

Despite the prospect of a simulated fiery death, Virgil seemed to be unperturbed. "Starting horizontal roll."

Bruce felt nothing different.

"Horizontal roll now complete. Non-functioning thruster facing away from Earth. Igniting thrusters one and two."

Vibrations seemed to increase.

But Alan was concentrating on a screen. "It's working. We're moving away."

"Good. Are we clear of Earth's pull?"

"Affirmative."

"Shutting down thrusters one and two."

Some of the shaking seemed to lessen. The sirens stopped screaming. Only a couple of lights remained flashing.

"Now to see if we can reignite thruster three without going into another spin. Igniting all thrusters in three… two… one…"

The final flashing lights went out. All appeared to be calm and in control.

"All systems are go. Returning to Earth."

"Approaching Earth," the computer announced, followed by: "Entering Earth's atmosphere," and then a reassuring: "Landing on Tracy Island."

There was a brief increase in vibrations, before Virgil pulled back on a lever, the computer announced: "Touchdown," and everything became still and quiet.

Bruce realised that he'd been sweating more than Virgil climbing the ladder into this nightmare. "I-Is that it?"

"That's it," Alan reassured him. "We're back home."

"How realistic was that?"

Alan frowned at the console, as if he were asking it to explain what had gone wrong. "Too realistic."

"I, ah, take it that what happened in the last bit's not normal?"

"No…" Remembering why they'd made this 'journey', Alan turned to his brother. "I swear to you, Virgil, I didn't plan for any of that to happen! You saw the computer's settings and it was set for a simple ride out and back. I promise that I didn't change any of them! I wouldn't! I promised you that I wouldn't, and you know I keep my promises! There must be something wrong…"

Virgil held up a pacifying hand. "It's okay, Alan. I know you didn't do this deliberate…"

His voice faltered when a new one intruded into the room. "Enjoy the ride, Fellas?"

Alan's frown deepened. "Gordon."

"I saw the settings you had, and I thought they were a bit tame, so I spiced them up a bit."

Alan's "Gordon…" deepened into a snarl.

"After all, the whole point of simulations is to prepare for the unexpected…"

"I'll give him unexpected." Alan launched himself out of his seat and ran for the internal hatch. Door open, he disappeared through the bulkhead.

They heard him hit the ground after jumping down the ladder in one leap.

"We'd better go after him." Virgil undid his harness. Attempting to stand he remembered that at his present speed of locomotion he was only going to arrive in time to clean up the aftermath… And that even then he wasn't going to be much help. "You're going to have to stop him killing Gordon, Bruce."

This was nearly as appealing as burning up in a simulated spaceship, but still Bruce accepted his duty as a member of International Rescue; albeit a temporary one. He ran across the room to the exit hatch and slid down the ladder.

He – and Gordon – were lucky that in his anger Alan had fumbled unsealing the hatch between the simulator and its computer console and Bruce arrived in the computer room just in time to witness Alan push his brother against the back wall. "How dare you!"

Shocked by his sibling's extreme behaviour, Gordon held up his hands in protest. "I was just helping out."

"Helping!?" Alan shoved Gordon again. "That was supposed to be a simple simulation!" He pushed Gordon a third time and they both fell to the ground. "I'll…"

With few other options, and concerned about what Alan might do, Bruce looped his arms through the hot-headed younger man's armpits and pulled him clear.

Alan struggled in his captor's grasp. "Let me at him!" he snarled. "Let me go!"

"No!" Bruce told him. "Not till you calm down."

"He betrayed us! He betrayed Virgil!"

"He did," Bruce agreed. "And I wouldn't mind punishing him myself for the fright he gave me. But hurting him's not going to solve anything."

"It'll teach him a lesson."

"_Could someone help me down?"_

Hearing the somewhat tinny, remote, voice, Bruce swung Alan around until they were both facing the simulator room. Virgil was standing at the top of the ladder, holding onto the handrails as if he was afraid that if he were to let go he'd fall off.

"Go and help your brother," Bruce told the youngest Tracy, turning them both towards the door. "I won't let Gordon leave. And if, when you both get back here, Virgil agrees with you that Gordon should be punished, I'll let you do what you like to him." He let go.

Family loyalty won out. Without looking back, Alan jogged into the simulator room and over to the entrance hatch.

As Bruce watched the younger Tracy climb back up the simulator, he heard a nervous chuckle from behind him. "That was an overreaction, wasn't it?"

He glared at Gordon, who was getting back to his feet and stretching his assaulted limbs. "He'd promised Virgil that this was only a simple confidence-building simulation, so that he'd be ready should he ever had to pilot Thunderbird Three in an emergency. Virgil put his trust into him and then you betrayed both of them. No wonder Alan's mad."

"He promised?"

"He promised. He used the words: _I promise I'm not planning on throwing anything out of the ordinary at you._ And then you did, Gordon."

"Oh." Gordon looked chastened. "I didn't think."

"Obviously."

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I wouldn't have done it if I'd known you were onboard."

"It shouldn't have mattered if I was onboard or not." Deciding to ignore the miscreant, Bruce stalked over to the door to the simulator room. "Everyone okay?" he asked, holding it open.

Alan was hovering at Virgil's side as if he was concerned that he was going to collapse. Despite the lack of likelihood of that happening, Virgil was letting him. "We're fine."

"I'm sorry, Virgil," Gordon began. "And I'm sorry, Alan. I was catching up with John before I flew out and he told me what you were doing, so I thought I'd come in here to see how you were getting on. When I saw that the settings were all ones, I thought that the whole point of simulations was to prepare for the unexpected, so I told the computer to give you the unexpected." He gave an uncertain smile. "I only nudged the return journey up to three, because I knew you could handle it."

Still unsure how this was going to play out, Bruce nodded. "That's the one thing you got right in this whole débâcle."

"Well…" Gordon looked at his watch. He cleared his throat. "I've got to get to that meeting and I've got preparations to make before I leave. I'd better go."

"And you'd better think about what you've done on the flight out," Alan told him.

"I will," Gordon promised, relieved that he was going to be able to make that flight. With a final, humble: "I'm sorry," he slipped past and hurried through the door.

"Idiot," Alan muttered.

"Yes… And no," Virgil told him.

"No!?"

"He's right that the whole point of simulations is to make you ready for the unexpected. However, I would have appreciated at least one non-challenging flight under my belt first."

Bruce gave a sigh and relaxed against the wall. "That _was_ all I wanted."

-F-A-B-

Waiting was the worst part of this job, Stan Wilson decided. No, waiting wasn't the worst part; it was sitting in egg-carton class, waiting for the rich clowns to board and make themselves comfortable in their spacious seating in the bright and airy first-class cabin. No, that wasn't the worst either. What was the worst was waiting ON those rich clowns when they all arrived at the hotel where they were going to be relaxing in luxury and he was going to be slaving away for their benefit.

But waiting for something to happen was still bad.

He shifted in his seat, feeling as constrained as the eggs he'd nicknamed the crew seating area after. Even those in cattle class had some room to stretch out.

The _fasten seatbelts_ sign came on and, with one last grumble at being even more constrained, he obeyed.

"Have you heard who the captain of this flight is?" His seat companion, a cleaner by the name of Alfred Powell – which Stan always thought sounded too grandiose for someone in such a position – shifted in his seat.

"Yeah," Stan growled. "Reyes. He's ancient! I think he trained with the first chimps."

"And he must have been past it then. But I suppose he's been flying long enough to know what he's doing."

"More like, he's that old, the management don't have to pay him the full wage. If they employed anyone younger and more capable, they'd have to pay them double."

"At least they'd know what they were doing if we got into trouble."

"Fairstar probably haven't thought about that. They're not exactly known for having the latest and greatest, despite what their PR department says."

"Hey! They employ us, don't they?"

"Only because they haven't found anyone else dumb enough to take our place."

Leaning as far away from him as he could whilst strapped to his seat in his confining space, Alfred looked at his companion. "If you're going to be that negative throughout this flight, you can sit over there."

"Too late." Stan said, as a pre-recorded voice cut across their conversation. "We're about to lift off."

"_Welcome to Fairstar Astroline,"_ the female voice intoned. _"We will be lifting off in ten… Nine…"_

"I hear this countdown in my dreams," Alfred moaned.

"I hear it in my nightmares."

"…_Three… Two… One…"_

Both men braced themselves as the rockets fired, forcing them back into their seats.

"…_And we have lift off!"_ exclaimed the automated voice, who had no idea if the rocket had left the ground or not. _"Estimated time of arrival at the Hotel Planetinum is one hour, twenty-six minutes. The Hotel Planetinum occupies an orbit 888 kilometres above our home planet…"_

Alfred chuckled. "I wonder what our distinguished guests would say if they knew they've just been launched 888 kilometres into the sky in a flying bomb?"

"Yeah, with enough fuel to keep the hotel in orbit for a month."

"_The Hotel Planetinum,"_ the recording droned on, _"is beyond the Iridium Satellite constellation, which had originally been conceived to contain 77 satellites. Hence its name Iridium, after the element of the periodic table with that atomic number. The Fairstar group decided to continue this theme by naming the Hotel Planetinum after the iridium's elemental neighbour, atomic number 78, Platinum."_

"I wonder how long it took the marketing geniuses to think that one up."

"… _At twelve kilometres above the Earth's surface, we are now leaving the Troposphere and entering the Stratosphere. We advise that you remain seated and keep your safety harness fastened throughout your journey, but other than that, we have only one thing to say…"_

"Until you say your next thing."

"_Enjoy your flight."_

Stan groaned. "I need to stretch my legs." He undid his harness and floated out of his seat, nearly bumping into one of the flight attendants. "Hiya, Shari."

Shari Allison would have collapsed into one of the nearby seats if a lack of gravity hadn't kept her suspended in mid-air. "Hi, Stan. How are you, Alfred?"

"Crushed."

Shari gave a wry smile. "If you want, I'll swap places. There's some dame in first class who thinks she controls the whole ship. She's wearing the most hideous red outfit and she was insisting that I tell the captain to come and see her, even when we were about to launch. And she's got a mutt that growls at me whenever I go past. She's already 'rescued' it from its cage and refuses to let me put it back, even though it would be more comfortable and less trouble in there."

"What kind of mutt?"

"Pug, I think."

"Oh. Lapdog."

"Yeah, and she treats it better than she treats me." Shari treated Stan to a sweet smile. "Want to take over?"

"No, thanks. I'll be at her beck and call when we get there. At least you get to sleep in your own bed tonight; well away from dames and their mutts."

Shari sighed. "I suppose there is that." She twisted in mid-air and reached out to the door. "See you guys later."

"See you, Shari," they chorused, as she floated through the door.

"_We are at fifty kilometres above the Earth's surface and are leaving the Stratosphere and entering the Mesosphere,"_ the recording announced.

Once Shari was in the airlock between the crew's section and economy, she allowed artificial gravity to let her touch the floor. Then, after a quick check in the mirrored wall to ensure that her clothes, hair, and makeup were just right, she plastered a smile on her face and walked into the next cabin.

This wasn't as constricted as the crews' quarters, but it still earned its nickname of cattle-class. Although this wasn't her work area, Shari cast her eye over its occupants as she walked through, checking that no one needed her assistance.

Most of these passengers were the personal staff of those in the cabin in front of them. Many had taken off their formal jackets and coats and were making the most of their brief time away from their demanding masters.

Shari passed through the bulkhead and into the kitchens. "All well in here?"

She was always amazed at the kitchen crew's ability to produce snacks and hot drinks in the tiniest of rooms and wasn't surprised by current shift's nods of affirmation.

Continuing forward, she entered first class. Here the room reeked of expensive perfumes and aftershaves, mingling with the scent of slightly less expensive cleaning products.

Walking between the rows of people reclining back in comfort, Shari wondered what their stories were. Some, she knew from long experience, would be grateful for her assistance and generous in their smiles and, if she were lucky, their tips.

_While others..._ she thought, as a now familiar growl from a fawn beach ball with a black mask caught her attention. "Hello, Sher-Ping."

Sher-Ping growled again; the pug's rounded physique telling Shari that, as much as his mistress proclaimed to love him, the way she was feeding it people food showed that it was a selfish love for her own gratification.

Dismissing that thought, Shari turned to the garish red apparition upon whom Sher-Ping was reclining. "How are you, Dame Alona?"

Dame Alona pursed her lips and Shari braced herself for the outburst. "Most displeased…" the matron's eyes sought out Shari's name badge. "Sheery. You locked Sher-Ping in a cage, and you have not obeyed my instructions."

"It is Fairstar Astroline protocol to cage all animals on its flights. This is to ensure that everyone, especially the animals, will arrive at the Hotel Planetinum happy and healthy."

"Animal? Animal! My Sher-Ping is not _just_ an animal. He can trace his ancestry back to the court of King Shi Wan... Can't you, Sherpy-Derpy?" Dame Alona buried her face into the top of Sher-Ping's head, and Shari resisted the impulse to pretend to be sick as "Sherpy-Derpy" growled and tried to pull free of his mistress's smothering embrace.

Releasing the pug, the aristocrat railed back at Shari. "You have not treated Sher-Ping in the manner he deserves. I had to rescue my darling from a _prison_!"

_Prison? He'd get better treatment than my co-workers. _"As I said, the cage is designed to ensure that Sher-Ping will travel in comfort. He will be supplied with food and water throughout the flight."

The other woman didn't appear to be listening. "Enough!" A pudgy hand was waved through the air. "I demand to speak to the pilot!"

"As I explained earlier," Shari began, and resisted the temptation to drop a blanket over Sher-Ping and throw him through an airlock when he growled again. "Captain Reyes is currently occupied piloting the ship. But I am sure that he would be more than happy to speak with you when we arrive at the Hotel Planetinum."

"My husband is a shareholder of Fairstar Astroline."

_Him and hundreds of others._ "Then I am sure that he will be pleased to know that Mr Reyes and Fairstar Astroline are ensuring that his wife and her," _obnoxious,_ "delightful pet arrive at their destination safely."

"_We are now at eighty kilometres above the Earth's surface. We are leaving the mesopause and entering the Thermosphere."_

Dame Alona huffed at the interruption by the automated voice. "My husband _will_ learn of your lack of cooperation and bullying tactics, and he will ensure that others will learn of his displeasure."

_Bullying tactics! I was trying to keep your stupid mutt safe. _Shari looked down at the disapproving face with its bulging eyes and fat cheeks, and reflected that Sher-Ping looked just as critical. "I shall go and ask Mr Reyes if he can spare the time to come and speak with you."

Without even receiving a curt "thank you" to send her on her way, Shari escaped through the final bulkhead and into the front of the spaceship.

Her palmprint admitted her into the pilot's sanctum. "Hi, Gav."

He looked up from where he was typing away into a laptop. "Hi, Shari."

"Still working on the great masterpiece?"

"Of a sort." He chuckled. "It's another piece of fiction about International Rescue."

Gavin Reyes was a competent pilot who had been ferrying civilians into space since the early days of space hotels. But over the years, technology had usurped the role of the co-pilot, and nearly made him redundant. He sometimes joked that the only reason he'd retained his job was to reassure the passengers that there was a human being to take over if things went wrong. The sadness in his eyes whenever he'd say that, told Shari that he believed it was true.

That sadness was there now. Sadness that he'd been relegated from his dream job to being little more than a passenger in a ferry. No wonder he spent most of his work hours dreaming up outrageous scenarios for his fictionalised version of International Rescue. _At least_, he'd said more than once, usually to his wife, _my online fans seem to appreciate me_.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"We've got an VAP in the VIPs."

"Ah." Recognising the code for "very awkward passenger", Gav closed the laptop. "What's the story?"

"Lady Muck…"

Gav raised an eyebrow.

Shari chided herself for being unprofessional. Despite the demoralising way that Fairstar Astroline treated him, Gavin Reyes always did his best to remain professional and courteous himself. It was part of the reason why she liked and respected him. "Dame Alona insists on seeing you."

The other eyebrow joined its sibling. "Insists?"

"Her husband is a shareholder."

"And what is her issue?"

"Apparently, I used 'bullying tactics' to put her dog into a cage during the launch. She has since 'rescued' him and wants someone higher up the food chain to stroke her, and Sher-ping's, egos."

"Ah," Gav repeated with an understanding nod. "The pugnacious lady and the pug."

Shari grinned. So much for professionalism.

-F-A-B-

Iridium. A net of satellites orbiting roughly 777 kilometres above the Earth and travelling at nearly 27,000 kilometres per hour, had little to do with its "neighbour". Unlike the Hotel Planetinum, which continuously fired its rockets in its attempts to slow and maintain its orbit above its home planet, each Iridium satellite did a circuit of the Earth once every 100 minutes.

Keeping track of the sixty-six active satellites that enabled the world to communicate on its mobile phones, and the seven "spare" satellites orbiting at 666 kilometres, kept most of the Iridium team busy. That didn't stop them from keeping an eye out for potential problems though.

"Fairstar Astroline have alerted us to their latest ferry-load of tourists," the communications officer announced.

His superior stood at his shoulder and scanned the screen's readouts. "Any issues we should be aware of?"

"Negative. They're keeping well clear of Iridium 228."

"Good," the superior grunted. "I don't trust Fairstar."

"No, Sir," his subordinate agreed.

The superior stared at the screen. "Is that solar activity still increasing?"

"Yes, Sir. If it increases much more the Van Allan radiation belt may reach our satellites."

"Keep monitoring it. We don't want anything to disrupt communications."

"No, Sir."

-F-A-B-

"Dame Alona…" The pilot extended a subordinate hand. "I am Gavin Reyes and I am the captain of this flight. I am sorry that my duties meant that I was unable to make your acquaintance earlier," he fawned. "How delightful to finally meet you."

Shari shared a private grin with him and left him to his work.

"I understand that you wished to speak with me," Gavin continued, treating Dame Alona to another smile that insinuated that she was the most important person in the world and that it was a privilege to meet her.

Mollified that she was finally talking to the most senior person on this flight – aside from herself and Sher-Ping, of course - Dame Alona allowed her features to soften a tad. "Unfortunately, Captain Reeves…"

Captain _Reyes_ didn't correct her.

"The cabin crew have been most disrespectful to Sher-Ping."

Gavin Reyes doubted it. "In what way, Dame Alona?"

"They confined my baby in a _prison_! I had to rescue him!"

"I'm afraid that this is standard practise," Reyes told her. "I can see that you are wearing your safety harness for the duration of this flight." _Aside from when you disobeyed flight staff directives and got the dog._

She looked surprised that anyone would consider otherwise. "Of course. I would feel positively exposed without it."

"We all know that that there is a trillion-to-one chance that your harness will be needed during this flight," Reyes continued. "But we all wear one in case some outside influence causes us to need it. The pet restraint is to protect Sher-Ping in case that trillion-to-one chance happens on this flight. None of us would like it if such a fine animal were hurt."

"But he hates the cage so... And I would hang onto to him," Dame Alona continued grimly. "Nothing would induce me to let go of him."

"I have no doubt that you would do all that is humanly possible to protect Sher-Ping. But we could be talking about super-human forces. Even I, who would possibly see the threat coming and have the time to prepare myself for it, wouldn't have the strength to hang on to one of my own grandchildren. This is why, whenever they've flown with me, I've insisted that they wear their safety harnesses at all times. And why every astroline in the world insists that all passengers, no matter who they are, are protected against the unexpected. We don't wish to cause you, or Sher-Ping, any discomfort or distress. We want you both to arrive at the end of your journey safe and well. You can rest assured that the restraints," Reyes deliberately avoided the word _cage_, "that Sher-Ping will rest in are as comfortable and secure as your own. And, like you, he will be offered refreshments during his flight. In fact," with a beaming smile Captain Reyes extended his hand, so he could assist Dame Alona to her feet, "would you like me to show you Sher-Ping's short-term accommodation?"

He waited, hand outstretched, as the blob of red gaucheness considered his request.

Then Dame Alona nodded. "You speak sense," she told the relieved captain. "Both Sher-Ping and I will accompany you to his new accommodation." Bundling the pug into her fat arms, she released her restraint and stood.

Treating both customers with a deference he didn't really feel that they deserved, Reyes led them to the pet passenger hold. Sher-Ping, growling his displeasure the entire time, was placed into the cage.

Dame Alona declared herself satisfied and was escorted by the gallant captain back to her seat…

…Before Gavin Reyes escaped back to his cockpit and the less stressful world of International Rescue.

-F-A-B-

It was relief all round when the Fairstar Astroline spacecraft docked with its destination. Shari made sure that the seal around the airlock was tight, awaited confirmation from her opposite number that the hotel's end was equally secure, and then opened the hatch to the astrobridge. "Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the Hotel Planetinum."

As the various passengers gathered their belongings together and started to make their way down the aisles and to the astrobridge, Shari was relieved to see that another of her colleagues was assisting Dame Alona with her bags and a trenchant Sher-Ping. She gave the aristocratic lady a smile as the pair waddled by, and was studiously ignored – except by Sher-Ping who growled at her toes.

As the last of her charges funnelled down through the tunnel, she became aware that someone was standing at her side.

"Is that the last of them?" Gavin Reyes asked.

"Aside from the stragglers," Shari laughed, as Stan and Alfred, pretending to be permanently creased up after their confinement in the crews' cabin, staggered towards the door. "See you on the other side, boys."

Finally convinced that only the captain and herself remained on board, she turned back to Gavin. "I'll go and start getting the return crowd ready."

"And I'll go and make like a pump attendant," he joked. "See you soon."

Shari walked into the astrobridge and Gavin sealed the door behind her.

-F-A-B-

"Good... Stan." Stan Wilson was accosted almost as soon as his feet had touched the floor of the Hotel Planetinum. "I know you're not meant to be on duty until tomorrow," the manager reminded him, "but there's a bug going through the crews' quarters and we're short staffed. We need you on deck now. You too, Alfred," he added over Stan's groans.

"But I'm only a cleaner," Alfred reminded him.

"Not today, you're not. You're going to help our new arrivals take their luggage up to their rooms."

"Can we at least take _our_ bags to our rooms first?" Stan asked.

"No. Go put them into the lost property room, they'll be safe there."

-F-A-B-

Gavin Reyes had retreated to his cockpit and initiated communications with the hotel's control room. "Astrobridge retracted?"

"Affirmative."

"Thanks. Initiating approach of fuel intake."

"Understood."

Gavin was only the passenger as the onboard computers started the rocket's engines, swung the spaceship around until its fuel outlet was lined up with the hotel's fuel inlet, both units were securely connected, and the pump was feeding its explosive cargo from the astrocraft's hold into the hotel's tank.

This was one time when Gavin never felt comfortable without his full concentration on the process in hand. It would only take one thing to go wrong and either his rocket, or the hotel, could be catastrophically damaged. His laptop and International Rescue story lay untouched as the fuel was sucked from one vehicle to the other.

-F-A-B-

The shockwave from the sun took approximately one hour to reach 888 kilometres above the Earth's orbit. Its force was such that it disrupted and distorted the Inner Van Allen radiation belt, pushing it closer to the Earth. That was serious enough to send the Iridium team scrambling to secure their net of satellites and prevent Earth's cellular communications from crashing.

Unfortunately for the Fairstar team, they didn't have the skills nor tools to negate the effect of the shockwave.

Gavin Reyes was the first to notice it when his astrocraft lurched forward, ripping the fuel line that had tethered him to the hotel.

Milliseconds later the control crew of the hotel also became aware of the potential disaster, when the entire space station also gave a lurch, spinning ninety degrees about its vertical axis.

The lurch was enough to disrupt the hotel's artificial gravity and everything and everyone inside were thrown to one side. Dame Alona found herself flat on her back against what had formerly been the wall; her bags and a luggage trolley on top of her. Shrieking her indignation, she struggled against something soft and noisy beneath her shoulder blades.

"Help me up!" she demanded of Stan Wilson, who was struggling to his own feet.

Stan grabbed the trolley. "Give me a hand, Alfred," he grunted.

Together the two men picked the trolley up off the recumbent woman and placed it upright. Then they started to pull the suitcases off her.

"Mind my bags!' she screeched, when she saw the careless way that they were throwing them to the side in their haste to reach her.

Stan looked at Alfred, rolled his eyes, and said nothing, before both men braced themselves, reached down, and grabbed the fat red blob's hands. Grunting, they pulled Dame Alona to her feet.

"I'm going to help someone else," Alfred said. He clapped Stan on the back. "I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks," Stan growled and turned back to the Dame.

"What has happened?!" she demanded, and then started looking around. "Where is Sher-Ping?"

"I don't know," Stan began, but was interrupted by another screech.

"My baby!" Dame Alona pounced on a fat puff ball that was lying there as if it had been squashed when its equally overweight mistress had fallen on it. "My poor dear," she continued, holding the pug to her cheek. "Has my poor Sherpy-Derpy been squishyed?"

"Sherpy-Derpy" growled.

"Oh!" Dame Alona exclaimed. She rounded on Stan. "Sher-Ping has been hurt!" She told him. "I shall hold Fairstar liable for any veterinary bills. Look!" and the pug was thrust in Stan's face. "He's not breathing properly."

In Stan's opinion, every pug that he'd ever met had panted as if it had been sat on by an overweight, overbearing, dame and Sher-Ping, as far as he was concerned, was no different. "Look," he said, "I have other people I have to help. Why don't you and…" he managed to avoid saying _your mutt_, "Sher-Ping go and sit over there," he pointed at some comfortable chairs, "and recover. Someone will assist you when they're able."

"But those chairs are the wrong way up!"

"Sit on the back then." Leaving Dame Alona looking furious at being dismissed, Stan hurried over to another group of patrons who were trying to extricate themselves from under a fallen statue.

-F-A-B-

Gavin Reyes was having marginally more luck. His spaceship had been shunted away from its mother ship, leaving a trail of fuel behind it, before its computers shut the hatch that contained the fuel remaining in its cargo hold. Those same computers regained command of the out-of-control rocket, slowed its speed, and then reversed its course back to the Hotel Planetinum's coordinates.

It overshot the mark by several metres.

Reyes got onto the radio. "Fairstar Astroline One to Hotel Planetinum Control. You've deviated your course."

"Acknowledged," the radio replied. "We're on a heading forty-five degrees different from what we should, and our rockets are still firing."

"Can't you stop them?"

"Negative. The Van Allan radiation belt has knocked out our controls."

"Your rockets are pushing you into a decaying orbit."

"We know. We've been onto HQ and they say they're working on a fix."

"Working on a fix?" Gavin Reyes was aghast at the casualness of the reply. "What can they do from Earth?"

"We don't know. In the meantime, we're doing all we can to shut down the rockets."

"Well, do something quick," Reyes commanded. "You're 852 kilometres above the Earth and decreasing and you're on a collision course with the Iridium Constellation!"

"We're attempting something now…" There was silence on the airways as Hotel Planetinum Control waited to discover if their plan had been successful.

Captain Reyes waited too. "I'm not reading any change to your velocity."

"It didn't work," Control told him, stating the obvious. "We're letting HQ know we're out of options."

"We're not out of options yet," Reyes said grimly, and entered some numbers into his computer.

"But we've tried everything."

"Not everything." Reyes checked his ship's computer to show that control had been transferred over to him.

"What else is there?"

"I'm going to slow down the rate of descent and give you a chance to make some repairs."

"How?"

"I've disengaged the computer." Gavin Reyes ignited his spaceship's engines. Travelling slowly and with infinite care, he swung the rocket around until it was nose on to the hotel. "I'm going to counteract the hotel's rockets."

"How?" Control repeated.

"One of the basic principles of space flight is that every action has an equal and opposite reaction," Reyes told him. "I'm the opposite reaction."

"You're going to push the hotel back into orbit?"

Captain Reyes edged his spacecraft forward until its nose pressed against into a recessed section between several panels. He increased astrocraft's forward pressure. "I don't think that I'll have the power to stop your decaying altitude, but I should be able to slow down you down; hopefully long enough to enable HQ to come up with a better plan."

"You could damage your ship. You might not be able to re-enter Earth's atmosphere."

"Let's worry about that when the hotel's safe. You've got hundreds of lives at stake at the moment, not to mention the chaos that would be caused on Earth if the hotel were to wipe out one of the Iridium satellites. Just let me know when Fairstar have come up with a reasonable plan to save everyone."

There was a moment's pause before Control came back on line. "Fairstar have just made their decision."

His eyes flicking over every gauge and his hands almost instinctively making the minutest of adjustments, Gavin Reyes allowed his muscles to relax a micron. "And that is…?"

"Apparently," and Control paused again, "their master plan is to call out International Rescue."

_To be continued…_


	68. Chapter 68

_I would like to apologise to my loyal readers that I didn't get the chance to update yesterday. The company I work for has been sold, and yesterday I ended up working from 8am to 7pm on the stocktake. And, if I hadn't been working from 7.30am to 4.00pm finalising the stocktake today, I may have uploaded two chapters instead of just this one. Sorry._

_And no, Gordon and his brothers haven't fed me any more stocktaking stories._

_:-) Purupuss_

* * *

After the morning's drama with the simulator, especially the draining climb up the ladder, Virgil decided that he needed to recharge his batteries. He re-emerged into the lounge in the early afternoon. "Did I miss lunch?"

"No." His father shook his head. "Some haven't eaten yet."

Virgil looked around, expecting to see at least one of his family hovering as they waited for their midday meal. "Where is everyone?"

"International Rescue's been called out." Jeff hesitated. "Do you want to know the details?"

Virgil held a brief debate with himself and then decided that he did.

"Have you heard about the Hotel Planetinum?"

Virgil thought again. "Isn't that a space hotel? I remember all the fuss over its launch in the news. There wasn't a lot else of interest happening in my life at that time."

"It's been knocked out of orbit and the Fairstar group have got no way of re-establishing it."

"So, they've called us, erm, International Rescue?"

Jeff nodded. "Alan and Scott have gone to see what they can do. I'm waiting for their first reports." He indicated in the direction of the dining room. "Bruce is having lunch if you want to join him."

Knowing that there could be some time before there was anything worth hearing, unsure if he still had a right to listen into International Rescue's business, and aware that in the interests of his health he had to keep to Brains' food regime, Virgil decided that he was hungry.

He wandered into the dining room. "Hi, Bruce."

Bruce swallowed his mouthful. "Hi, Virgil."

His friend looked around, surprised to find the rest of the room empty. "Where is everyone?"

"Gordon's in the States at that meeting. Scott and Alan are on a rescue."

"I know. I was just talking to Father. Where's everyone else?"

"Already eaten," Bruce admitted. "I was working around Thunderbird Three when the call came in, so I did what I always do and hid in a bunker. Except that everyone forgot about me and no one thought to let me know when they'd gone. After three quarters of an hour I thought that it must be safe to come out. I got up here to discover everyone, except for your father, had finished their lunch. And he was eating his at his desk because Kyrano had taken it to him."

Virgil helped himself to his meagre meal. "Sorry about that, Bruce."

"It's not your fault. I think everyone assumed that I was waiting until you could join us, whereas I was alone in a cold bunker, starving!" Disgruntled, Bruce took a huge bite of his lunch.

Grandma bustled in. "Do you need anything else, Bruce?"

Bruce, only just, managed not to sound resentful when he said, "No thanks, Mrs T."

"Are you sure?" she queried, eager to make amends. "I have cake. Apple pie. Ice Cream."

"I'm fine thanks, Mrs T."

But Virgil hadn't missed the quick glance in his direction. "Don't let my being here stop you," he advised. "If you want dessert; grab it before my brothers return, claim to be famished, and eat it all."

"Are you sure?"

"Go for it."

Bruce grinned. "In that case. Yes, please, Mrs T."

Virgil chuckled.

-F-A-B-

The lights in the first portrait flashed.

Jeff initiated communications. "Go ahead, John."

"I've heard back from Fairstar. They still have no way of arresting their fall, but the pilot of their astrocraft is trying to slow their rate of descent."

"How?"

"He's using his ship to push against the hotel."

"He's a brave man."

"You may know him. Captain Gavin Reyes?"

"Gavin Reyes…" Jeff repeated. "Gav Reyes? It does ring a bell. I think he entered the astronaut corps about the same time I did. A competent enough astronaut, but not a stand out. I think he became a commercial pilot."

"He pilots for Fairstar Astroline now. But with the damage he's doing to his craft, he's reducing his chances of making it back to Earth."

"The boys will help him. Have you heard from Scott yet?"

"No… Ah… Yes. I'll patch him in."

The portrait next to John's came to life. "We've been onto the Hotel Planetinum," Scott announced. "They've tried to shut down the rockets that are pushing them out of orbit, and failed. Now they're attempting to spin the hotel until the rockets are sending them away from Earth. If they're successful, that should buy them a little more time."

"And if that doesn't work?" Jeff queried.

"The ship that's attempting to hold their orbit was in the process of refuelling the hotel with the shockwave hit. The hotel's tanks are three quarters full of fuel and the astrocraft's fuel bay's holding the remaining quarter. We'll have to drain the hotel's tanks and starve the rockets."

"Will you pump the fuel back into the astrocraft?"

"With the damage the pilot's doing to it as he tries to slow the hotel's rate of descent, I don't think that would be wise. Thunderbird Three will have to take it on board."

John brought the spaceship's stats up on one of Thunderbird Five's computer screens. "Three's fuel bay should be big enough to hold it."

"Good to know, John, thanks."

Those listening in heard Alan's voice. "We have visual."

"We'll leave you to it, Scott," Jeff responded. "All reports can come through Thunderbird Five."

"F-A-B."

Thunderbird Three did a circuit of the Hotel Planetinum and Gavin Reyes' spaceship, scanning both.

"That astrocraft's not going to survive re-entry," Alan hypothesised.

Scott agreed. "Neither will the hotel. We're going to have to push them both back into orbit."

"We haven't got room in the passenger hold to carry everyone."

"I've had word from Fairstar," John's voice told them. "They've sent another astrocraft to collect everyone. They've only got three in their fleet though, and one's out for maintenance, so they're going to have to make more than one trip."

"Any chance that they could speed up the maintenance?"

"They're doing what they can, but it's not a quick repair."

"How long till the other astrocraft gets here?"

"One point one six hours and decreasing. Of course, the closer they get to Earth, the more danger there will be in the passenger transfer."

"And they'll start running into traffic."

"Fellas," there was a hint of urgency in John's voice. "We've got a snag."

"What's that, John?"

"The fuel line that Fairstar uses is a different gauge to every other one on the market."

"What!? Why?"

"Don't know. But that means that none of Thunderbird Three's attachments will fit it. You're going to have to use Fairstar's."

Alan brought a picture of a broken fuel line up on screen. "Except that Fairstar's is unusable."

"John!" Scott commanded. "Get onto Gavin Reyes. Ask him if his ship has a spare fuel hose on board."

"F-A-B." John cleared the airways to do his errand.

"What good will that do?" Alan asked. "We still won't be able to connect to Thunderbird Three, which means we won't be able to pump the fuel out of the tanks."

"We will if we risk refilling Fairstar's ship," Scott told him. "We'll use Thunderbird Three to help the hotel to maintain altitude while we pump the fuel back into the ferry."

John re-joined the conversation. "I have good news, bad news, and really bad news. The good news is that there is a spare fuel hose on board."

Alan frowned. "And the bad news?"

"Only the ship's computers can disconnect the existing hose, and the hotel's were corrupted by radiation from the expansion of the Van Allan radiation belt."

"They don't have a manual release?"

"Not internally. No."

"So, whoever releases the hose is going to have to go EVA."

"Can the fuel lines be released manually, externally?" Alan asked.

"Yes. But it's a two-man job."

"Of course, it is. Don't make it easy for anyone," Alan grumbled. "Who authorised this crowd for space travel?!"

"That's not our problem," Scott reminded his brothers. "Getting two lots of people to safety is. John – was the fuel hose the bad news or the really bad news?"

"Bad. The really bad news is that there's a coronal mass ejection heading our way."

"The sun's erupted again?"

"Uh, huh. And this one's bigger and badder."

"How bad?"

"The Iridium Constellation can probably deal with it. The Hotel Planetinum, so long as there are no breaches, should theoretically deal with it. Based on past experience and computer modelling, Thunderbird Three can deal with it. The Fairstar Astroline astrocraft is likely to have problems. And anyone inside the astrocraft or EVA is going to be in serious trouble."

"How long before it reaches the hotel?"

"Two point five… Two hours max. You could be EVA when it makes contact."

The three Tracy brothers knew that extravehicular activity with only the protection of spacesuits, was dangerous. Even more so when they were going to be dealing with highly explosive fuel. Especially so when solar energetic particles had the potential to bathe them in life threatening radiation.

"We can't do it with just the two of us," Scott announced. "We need help."

Alan turned to stare at him. "Who? Gordon's not on the island and there're so many reasons why Virgil's not an option, even though I think he'd be capable."

Scott thought quickly. "Father's got space experience, but not recent EVA experience. The same with Brains. Tin-Tin's got even less experience…" He came to a decision. "John! Suit up! You're going for a ride."

"You're going to collect me?"

"Yep. Make sure you're radiation tight."

Alan had already turned Thunderbird Three in the direction of Thunderbird Five. "Full power. We'll be there in point seven five of an hour."

"I'll be ready." Then John had a thought. "We'll be wasting almost two hours journeying between the Hotel Planetinum and Thunderbird Five if you make the full journey, and that's cutting it too fine. I'll get into one of the rescue pods and point it in your direction. You can pick me up en route."

Scott approved.

-F-A-B-

John barely had time to get into his spacesuit and radio base to let them know that Thunderbird Five was going to be left unattended, before he was jamming himself into one of the space station's emergency rescue pods and programming it to fire him in the direction of Thunderbird Three's trajectory.

The smaller, quicker, but less functional spacecraft had covered nearly half of the distance between Thunderbird Five and the hotel when it was intercepted by Thunderbird Three. Catching the smaller ship and manoeuvring it into the hold took a little time, but, the Tracys agreed, against the tens of minutes that would have been wasted flying all the way to Thunderbird Five, it was time well spent.

"Welcome aboard, John," Scott greeted his brother.

"Glad to be able to help."

"Good trip?"

"Terrible," John grumbled. "I feel like I've been bent up like a pretzel. Those pods might be all right for runts like him…" He jerked his thumb in Alan's direction.

"Hey!"

"…But we're going to have to develop something for someone with a normal length of leg." Grumble out of the way, John switched to serious mode. "What are we doing?"

"Firstly, we're going to have to get Gavin Reyes out of his ship. We can't risk him being in there when the solar energetic particles hit."

"Okay. Then Thunderbird Three's going to swap places with the astrocraft?"

"Right. Three's got more power and will be able to slow the decaying orbit even more."

"Putting us even closer to the SEP when they reach our piece of the solar system."

Scott ignored the negativity. "Alan will pilot Fairstar One. You and I will go EVA to disconnect the remains of the old hose and connect the replacement to the astrocraft."

"What'll we do with Captain Reyes while all this is going on?"

Scott turned his gaze towards his youngest brother. "Move him into Thunderbird Three's flight deck to keep an eye on things."

Alan's jaw dropped. "You mean let Reyes pilot Thunderbird Three!?"

"I don't want to cast aspersions on the guy, Scott," John warned, "but Dad remembers him from his astronaut days. He called him 'competent, but not a standout'."

"He's assured enough to try to keep a space hotel from crashing."

"Maybe so, but is he going to have the skills to pilot Thunderbird Three? Even in her most basic flight mode, she is way different from every other spaceship on and off the planet."

"He wouldn't need to do much. Just keep an eye on the basics and keep her on an even keel. Autopilot will do the rest."

"I would trust Three's autopilot more than Fairstar's," John mused. "And I guess Reyes can let Alan know if there are any problems." He thought of an issue. "When was the last time he did a spacewalk between one ship and another?"

"One way to find out. Give him a call and tell him to prepare to evacuate his ship."

"F-A-B."

While John made the necessary connection, Scott turned to Alan. "Are you okay with this?"

Alan looked down at his control panel as he thought. He trusted Scott and he trusted Thunderbird Three. AND he had no other suggestions. With a nod, he started programming in the autopilot's flightpath.

"Fairstar One? This is International Rescue."

"International Rescue. This is Fairstar One. Receiving you."

"We're working on a plan of attack and we're going to need your help. When was the last time you did a spacewalk?"

"You want me to go EVA…?" Suddenly Gavin Reyes, who up till now had spoken with calm assurance, sounded less than sure of himself. "Not since my training days? I'm only a commercial ferry pilot." He sounded shamed by the admission.

"And Fairstar are lucky to have you," John reassured him. "Don't worry about it, we'll have someone with you the entire way. Now, what we need you to do…"

-F-A-B-

Down on Earth, Virgil was stuck for something to do. His brothers were all away from home, Bruce was hard at work deep in the bowels of the complex, and Brains and Tin-Tin were hidden away in the lab working on something that necessitated a "do not disturb" sign on the door.

He ventured outside, not for the first time revelling in the pure joy that came from being free to leave a building and feel the warmth of the sun on his face. The day before there'd been a storm that had driven him almost stir crazy when he'd found himself trapped inside with no way to escape. But now…

Now he looked around him. The storm had done a bit of damage. Nothing major, just scattered some leaves and branches about the place. Then he remembered that someone had said that a small slip over one of the tracks leading down to the airstrip had blocked the path.

He wondered if anyone had had the time to clear it.

He retreated inside and made his way to the room that monitored every square inch of the island. A quick scan of the area showed him that the path was still blocked. Moreover, a boulder above the path appeared to be lying in such a way that, should it fall, it could potentially land on the runway, damaging the tarmac and making it impossible for Thunderbird Two or a more conventional aeroplane to land or take off. And Virgil was sure that Brains had said that there was another storm on the way. Possibly that would be the catalyst to send the boulder tumbling. If that happened and the conventional hangar doors were blocked, what if there was an emergency? What if someone he cared about needed urgent medical help, but couldn't get it because they couldn't get an aeroplane out in time…?

He regarded the slip and the boulder again. Could he move it?

Taking the public monorail down to the hangar, he walked back outside and along to the slip. All it would take would be a bulldozer to dislodge the boulder and guide it to the side and then clear away the worst of the fallen clay.

And Virgil knew that the Tracys owned a bulldozer capable of such a task.

Returning to the hangar he let himself into the cavern hidden behind the shelving. Walking past Thunderbird Two without a second glance, he made his way to the pod bay, stopping in front of the Firefly.

One problem. Even with assistance, he'd struggled to climb into the simulator this morning. How was he going to climb into the Firefly now?

His eyes fell on a scissor-lift…

-F-A-B-

"You want me to what?" Gavin Reyes had almost got over his shock that he'd actually come face-to-face with – well, face-to-visor with – International Rescue, when they'd given him another.

All three of Jeff Tracy's sons were already fully kitted out in spacesuits to prevent familial similarities from revealing who they were related to, but only John had met Jeff's former classmate. "We need to drain the fuel to starve the rockets and stop them firing," he explained. "But our fittings don't match the fuel inlet on the Hotel Planetinum. Therefore, we can only use your ship to drain the tanks."

With a numb nod, Reyes showed his understanding. He took the spacesuit that John was holding out to him with equally numb fingers.

"You've done a good job at slowing the rate of descent," John continued, assisting the older man into the suit, "and we want to continue that. But, as we need to use your ship to empty the tanks, we're going to have to use Thunderbird Three as the brake. Because you've got no experience operating with anyone working outside your craft, we can't take the chance and let you pilot Fairstar One. We need two people to remove and attach the fuel hoses, and someone to hold the astrocraft steady. We also need someone to keep an eye on Thunderbird Three and ensure that nothing unexpected happens. That's your job."

"That's my job?"

"Our pilot's adhering Thunderbird Three to the Hotel Planetinum as we speak. Once he's done that we'll escort you across. All you'll need to do is watch the gauges. You've shown yourself to be a competent astronaut and you'll know if something doesn't look right. And we can show you how to make minor adjustments."

"I'll…" Reyes swallowed. "I'll do my best."

"That's all we're asking. How long will it take to drain the hotel's tanks?"

"Let's see." Reyes thought. "They're about three quarters full, aside from that that was spilt when the shockwave hit… About twenty, twenty-five minutes."

"Thanks. Is there anything we need to know about this astrocraft?"

Reyes shook his head, in part to clear it. "No. It's the same controls as all the Nikstol models. You're familiar with them?"

"We are. Fairstar One to Thunderbird Three."

They heard Scott's voice. "Thunderbird Three."

"Ready when you are."

"Sending across cable."

John smiled through his visor to the gobsmacked captain. "Ready?"

Captain Gavin Reyes straightened his shoulders. He was ready.

-F-A-B-

That was easier than he'd expected, Virgil decided, as he slid into the Firefly's control seat and reacquainted himself with the controls. He wondered if his palmprint still activated the…

The mighty machine rumbled into life.

Revelling in the sheer enjoyment of controlling a great mechanical monster, Virgil eased the controls forward. The Firefly rolled out of its bay, turned right, and headed towards the cliff doors…

-F-A-B-

"Welcome aboard, Captain," Alan greeted Reyes. "Sit here." He gestured to the command seat.

"Thank you…" The newest member of Thunderbird Three's flight crew concentrated on trying not to look at anything he shouldn't. "What do you want me to do?"

"Not much. But one thing we will need you to do is keep us informed of any changes to these two gauges." Alan tapped two dials on Thunderbird Three's control panel.

Reyes sat in earnest concentration, determined not to let International Rescue or those trapped in the Hotel Planetinum down. "What do they do?"

"This one monitors radiation." Alan was relieved to see that there'd been no catastrophic change. "We need you to read out each increase of ten points. You'll be safe in here when the solar energetic particles hit, but we'll need warning to get those of us who will be EVA out of danger."

"Understood. And this one?"

"Altitude." This reading, Alan thought, was less reassuring. "We'll need you to read out every ten kilometres of height lost." He saw the needle drop some more.

"I thought Thunderbird Three had stopped the decaying orbit?"

"It's slowing it, not stopping it. Even with your good work the hotel has too much momentum. You can also keep an eye on those, as well…" Alan brought up on a screen a representation of the aspects of flight that a regular astronaut knew well. "Three's on autopilot, and that should be enough to keep her on an even keel, but… You know the drill."

"Yes…"

Alan, casting one final gaze over the familiar gauges to reassure himself that all was well, could sense that Captain Gavin Reyes was feeling less than assured by the role he was about to play. "Yes?"

"In all fairness, I, ah, think I should tell you something."

Alan, his face framed by the visor of his spacesuit, frowned. "What?"

"I…" Reyes suddenly felt bashful. "I write International Rescue fiction," he admitted. "I'm telling you this because I want you to know that I'll do my best not to remember anything and include it in my space adventures."

Alan, knowing that they were rapidly running out of options, dismissed any thoughts of a change of plan. "Well, as these are the gauges that you find on any normal spaceship," he reminded the bashful captain, "you've probably mentioned them in past stories anyway."

Eager to show how much he respected International Rescue, Reyes nodded frantically. "I promise that in the future I'll keep anything about Thunderbird Three's cockpit vague."

"We do appreciate that," Alan admitted, and left his prized flight deck in a less than positive frame of mind.

-F-A-B-

The Firefly's scoop was raised high and delicately wedged underneath the boulder. A soft nudge and the stone was pushed against the cliff race, rolling forward and into the gently curling rectangle of metal. Then the machine turned to its right, moved forward a few metres, and placed the boulder down as lightly as if it had been a feather.

Virgil grinned to himself. He did enjoy operating heavy machinery. Maybe that's what his future held? He turned back and began to clear the path…

-F-A-B-

"I hope you're right about this," Alan muttered to Scott as he transferred to Fairstar One. "Reyes told me that he writes International Rescue stories."

"He does?"

"He's promised he won't, but odds on his next one will include a full description of Thunderbird Three's flight deck."

"Don't worry about it, Alan. A flight deck is a flight deck and there's no way he'll be able to access any of the controls. He may as well be looking at a photo in a book."

"Except there aren't any photos in _any_ books."

Scott ignored his youngest brother's concerns. "Are you going to be comfortable piloting Fairstar One?"

"It's got the same controls as we all learned on," Alan reassured him. "Any of us could fly her to Thunderbird Five and back, no problems."

"We don't want her flying. We want her as steady as a rock alongside the Hotel Planetinum."

"I can do that too."

"How long before the solar energetic particles reach us, John?"

John checked his portable communicator. "Two hours? Maximum. Could only be one point five. I'll get a more accurate reading when it gets closer."

"How long will it take to transfer the fuel?"

"Reyes said twenty to twenty-five minutes," Alan admitted

Scott made a quick calculation. "That could give us as little as seven minutes breathing space… It's going to be close."

"When is it ever not?" Alan queried. "You guys ready to go EVA?"

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

"Virgil?!"

The scissor-lift reached its lowest point and stopped. "Oh…" Virgil turned to face his father. "Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"Clearing the rockfall. No one else has had the time." Virgil glanced up and saw a familiar logo. "I suppose that I shouldn't be using International Rescue's equipment, since I'm not a member anymore. But using the Firefly seemed to be the easiest way to do it, and as no one else has had the time and I know how to use it…"

Jeff held up his hand to stop his son's rambling explanation. "I'm not worried about that. I'm just surprised that you're feeling fit enough to do it and, uh, happy to use the Firefly."

Now it was Virgil's turn to be surprised. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just something Gordon said. I know he was remembering his own recovery and his subsequent fear of water, but he wondered if the Firefly and, ah, other aspects of our organisation, held bad memories for you."

"Memories that stop me from wanting to be a member of International Rescue?" Virgil turned back to look at the massive machine looming over them. "Why would the Firefly do that? It saved my life."

Jeff nodded. "I suppose so."

"Erm… What's happening with the rescue?"

"They've had to collect John because they needed an extra pair of hands, so I'm not getting much in the way of information from Thunderbird Five. I was killing time waiting for the next report, and I was going through our systems. I got a shock when the computer told me that the Firefly was moving."

Virgil ran his finger along the scissor-lift's safety rail. "I suppose I should have told you what I had planned… Except that I didn't have a plan. I just did what seemed to be the best." His face lit up in a beaming smile. "And I enjoyed it. Maybe I should get a job in heavy construction when I'm better."

This time Jeff shook his head. "Knowing you as I do, Virgil, I wouldn't advise it. You'd be bored in no time." He grinned at the surprised expression. "You need something more creative to stimulate you. Although…" He took a step back and evaluated the Firefly's proximity to the machine that supported his son. "I've got to admit that I'm impressed. How did you manage to drive the Firefly back in here without knocking or crushing the scissor-lift, or parking so far away that you couldn't reach it?"

Virgil shrugged. "It's a talent… And one I'd like to use."

"You've got plenty of time to think about it." Jeff conceded. "Do you need a hand down?"

"Ah… Yeah. I know it's only one step, but my legs are tired."

Jeff took Virgil's crutches in one hand and stabilised his son with the other as the descent was made.

-F-A-B-

"_Height: 840 kilometres."_

The broken fuel line and surrounding panels were covered with a thick, oily residue. Scott and John, both tethered to Fairstar One by strong cables, were finding it difficult to hang onto the old line's manual release levers without their hands and bodies slipping.

"I hope this stuff isn't corrosive." John wiped his oily gloves on his spacesuit's pants and then attempted to get a hold again.

"Which way are you turning?"

"Same as you. Righty-tighty. Lefty-loosey."

"Then why isn't it moving?"

"Fairstar doesn't seem to be the most forward-thinking outfit," Alan offered over the radio. "Maybe we should be thinking like them?"

"And how's that."

"Backwards."

"You mean turn it clockwise?"

"Why not?" Tired of getting nowhere when they were staring down a rapidly approaching deadline, John looked at Scott over the hose. "It's worth a try."

"Right." Grimacing with the effort, Scott leant against the lever. "Come on, you son of a…"

"_Height 830 kilometres above Earth."_

This time Alan wasn't prepared to ignore Gavin Reyes report. "Fellas, you've got less than twenty kilometres until you're in the Iridium Satellite Constellation."

"Lean into it, John."

"I am."

"It moved!"

Both brothers leant against the levers again and were rewarded by the welcome sensation of the fitting turning in its socket.

"One more should do it," Scott grunted, and was pleased to feel the hose come free. "Okay…" He, closely followed by John, moved across to the astrocraft. "Now to release this end."

"At least we know their trick this time."

"Unless they've got the fittings going in opposite directions on each end of the hose."

"I wouldn't put it past them…" But John felt the fitting move. "No unpleasant surprises this time."

The fitting was removed and both discarded units stowed in the hold. The new fitting was quickly attached.

Pulling the hose gently between them as they floated back across to the hotel, John regarded the replacement fuel line. "Will it be long enough?"

"If not, Alan will have to bring the astrocraft closer." Scott's words were no sooner out of his mouth before the two spacewalking astronauts were pulled up short by the hose.

Scott looked back to Fairstar One. "It's not caught, is it?"

"No."

"Alan. You're going to have to bring her closer."

"F-A-B… I take my hat off to Captain Reyes. It takes a bit of finesse to move this thing when you know you've got a belly full of fuel and a hotel full of people in the way."

"Just remember that we're in the way too."

"Don't worry, if there's one thing Fairstar's got right, it's their radar system." But, despite his supposed cocky attitude, Alan kept a tight grip on the astrocraft's controls and an even closer watch on his brothers' whereabouts in relation to the spacecraft that he was nudging closer to the Hotel Planetinum.

"One metre more, Alan," Scott commanded.

"_Height 820 kilometres… And the radiation gauge has gone up one step."_

Leaving his brothers to concentrate on attaching the hose to the hotel's inlet valve, Alan responded. "Thanks for that, Captain. We'll keep it in mind."

He heard Scott's voice. "Connection sealed. Start pumping Fairstar One."

"Activating pumping mechanism." Alan entered the appropriate code and watched a gauge of his own. "Rate of flow from the hotel to Fairstar One… Good."

"How long will it take?"

Alan made a quick calculation. "Point three eight of an hour."

"How close are the solar energetic particles?"

"Point five of an hour before they start breaking DNA strands. But you heard the captain, the radiation level's increasing now."

"Can't do a lot about that," Scott admitted. "We can't have the astrocraft tethered to the hotel when it comes to sending them back into their orbit."

"Is that what we're going to do with Fairstar One?" Alan clarified.

"We don't want, what is in effect, a rogue bomb circulating around the planet. Fairstar can recover both craft. But once we know everyone's safe, and Fairstar One's in a stable orbit, our job's over."

But all three Tracy brothers knew their job wouldn't be over for at least twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes until things could start to get really dangerous.

-F-A-B-

"Any news from the boys?" Jeff settled behind his desk.

"We've been listening in on snippets of conversation," his mother informed him. "Scott and John have gone EVA and are draining the hotel's fuel pumps to stop the rockets from firing. Alan's controlling Fairstar's astrocraft. And Captain Gavin Reyes is in Thunderbird Three, feeding them information."

"Gav Reyes is in Thunderbird Three?!"

"I suppose they didn't have a lot of options. And at least he's an astronaut. He understands the seriousness of the situation they're in."

Jeff pursed his lips and made no comment.

"Do you know him, Mr T?" Bruce asked.

"We went through astronaut training together. He was good at the basics. Not so good when unexpected scenarios were thrown at him."

"Oh, well." Virgil deliberately tried to sound casual. "If he's lasted this long as an astronaut, he can't have got into too much trouble."

"I'm not so worried about his piloting abilities. It's what he's learning about Thunderbird Three that worries me. He was always writing in some notebook or other."

"Training notes?" Grandma suggested.

"No. Story ideas. His hobby was writing science fiction."

"And you think he might try writing a bit of science fact?"

"Not everyone's as loyal as Bruce here."

Bruce chuckled. "Note to self: Remember to keep video recorder out of sight."

-F-A-B-

"_Height: 810 kilometres. I'd be the last person to tell International Rescue their job, but the Iridium Satellite Constellation's at roughly 781 kilometres. Last time I checked, which was when I was on Fairstar One, we were on a collision course with Iridium 228."_

"Thanks for the heads up, Captain Reyes," Alan acknowledged.

"_And the radiation level's crept up another point."_

"F-A-B." Despite the direness of the report, as the radio link was silenced Alan could have sworn that he heard a small exclamation of delight at his closing remark. "How's the fuel transfer going?"

Scott was keeping an eye on the gauge by the Hotel Planetinum end of the hose. "Down to about a quarter."

"When will it start starving the rockets?"

"John?"

"It needs to be at about five percent."

"So, we've got 20 percent to go."

"Keep pumping, Alan."

"I'm not planning on stopping until I have to."

There was silence on the airwaves for a time, interspaced by Reyes' comments on their situation…

"_Height: 800 kilometres …_

"_Height: 790 kilometres … Rate of descent increasing. Radiation up another two points…_

"_Height: 785 kilometres … I'm picking up something on your radar. I think it's Iridium 228. It's lower than expected. Maybe they've decreased its altitude to try to avoid us?"_

"What's Iridium's altitude, Captain Reyes?" Everyone heard the urgency in Alan's voice.

"_If I'm reading your screens correctly… 779 kilometres?"_

"Read off each kilometre as we get closer, Captain. How close are you to completion, Scott?"

"Six percent… Whoa! Keep it still, Alan! You nearly pulled the hose out then."

"It wasn't me; it's you. The hotel's rockets coughed. They're being starved of fuel!"

"_784 kilometres…"_

"Come back over here, John. We need to disconnect the hose ASAP."

"On my way."

But John nearly didn't make it. He was halfway between Fairstar One and the Hotel Planetinum when there was another jolt. The hotel shuddered as Fairstar One continued its steady downward trajectory.

The hose, caught between the two, flexed, tightened, and snapped; the torn end flicked at John like a whip, nearly catching him and sending him into an out-of-control dive towards Earth. Sensing the danger, he only just managed to roll out of the way, getting coated in fuel in the process.

"John!" He heard Scott's anxious voice. "Alan! Lock off the pump!"

"F-A-B!"

"I'm okay." John made his way to the other side of the hose fitting. "I guess we've transferred all we're going to be able to. Time to remove both ends of the hose?"

Through an oily layer on his visor, he saw Scott's helmet nod. "Yes. We don't want to leave anything that might cause problems later."

"Righty loosey?"

"That seems to be the idea." Scott gritted his teeth and started trying to turn a fitting that seemed to have tightened in the last few seconds. "I hope."

"_Height: 783 kilometres."_

"I'm covered in oil! I can't get a grip."

"Do your best. I can't do it alone."

Once again John attempted to hold onto the fitting, but his hands slid free. "I can't hang onto it!"

"Wipe your hands on me," Scott told him. "We can't take the chance that the fuel will corrode the hotel."

"But it's okay if it corrodes us?" John rubbed his oily hands down his brother's back. "Thanks." Regained his hold on the fitting and he attempted to turn it again.

The fitting flew free.

Scott snared it. "Let's get out of here!"

John didn't need to be told twice and was neck and neck with his brother as they returned to the hold.

"Alan, tell Thunderbird Three to apply more force. We need to counteract the hotel's momentum. And turn this ship around. We need to get away from Iridium 228."

"_Height: 782 kilometres."_

"I can't fly two rockets at once. Captain Reyes!"

"_Yes?"_

"See that red lever to your right?"

"_Yes."_

"Push it away from you. Keep an eye on the gauge next to it. Increase the thrust by two percent and then hold her steady."

"_I'm flying a Thunderbird?"_

But Alan was too busy flying an astrocraft to respond. His radar had the satellite Iridium 228 dead in front of him and only metres clear. Pulling on a lever, he sent the spaceship into a sharp turn. Battling against its own momentum, the rocket responded.

Slowly...

"_You're not going to make it!"_

"Oh, yes we are." Alan hung onto the lever. "C'mon you hunka junk..."

Down on Earth, the Iridium Satellite Constellation team watched dry-mouthed as a crippled spaceship almost grazed one of their solar panels.

The astrocraft turned and faced the sun, and Iridium 228 felt the heat of its jets as it picked up speed.

Dripping fuel everywhere, John and Scott fought their way to the cockpit. "What's our height, Alan?"

"783 kilometres, Scott. I don't want to push her too hard. Not after the abuse she's suffered to her nose cone."

"And the Hotel Planetinum?"

"786 kilometres."

"Good. Let's see if we can get her back to 888 kilometres."

"Do you want me to take over, Alan?" John offered. "Then you can concentrate on flying Thunderbird Three."

"Yeah, okay." Alan slid out of the pilot's seat and then looked at his brother. "That's if you can see what you're doing!"

John wiped his visor and succeeded in smearing the layer of fuel that coated it. "I don't want to risk taking it off until I know that I won't have to wear it again."

Alan wasn't listening. _"Fairstar One to Thunderbird Three. Bring the thrust back to zero. I'll take command remotely."_

Scott examined his sleeves, which were a tiny bit cleaner than John's. "Look at me." He placed both forearms together in the centre of John's visor and then dragged them apart. "Any better?"

"Marginally. Good enough that I can see through it."

"_Thrust reading zero."_

"How close are the solar energetic particles?"

"I don't know." John gained control of the astrocraft. "I haven't had a chance to find out. And right now, I've got enough on my plate controlling this thing."

"Do you know, Alan?"

"Huh?" Alan looked up from where he was applying more thrust to Thunderbird Three. "No, I've had enough threats in the present to worry about, without thinking about future ones."

"Scott Tracy calling Tracy Island."

Back in the safe familiarity of Earth, Jeff Tracy saw the eyes of his eldest son's portrait light up. "Go ahead, Scott."

"Can someone tell us how close the SEP are?"

Jeff looked across to the resident scientist. "Brains?"

Brains was accessing Thunderbird Five's mainframe through his tablet PC. "Sixteen minutes."

"Did you get that, Scott?"

"Yes. Is that until they reach our present location or 888 kilometres above sea level?"

"ETA 888 kilometres… Fourteen minutes."

"So that's fourteen minutes we've got to get the astrocraft and Hotel Planetinum into a stable orbit and then transfer over to Thunderbird Three. We daren't be in here when the SEP hit, and we definitely don't want to be EVA."

"I'll apply more thrust," John pushed forward on a lever, "and see if we can match Three's speed without blowing this thing apart. Then you two can do the transfer. Alan will have more control over her if he's in Thunderbird Three. And one transfer will be quicker than three."

"What's Three's height?"

"790 kilometres."

"And ours?"

"788."

"Thunderbird Three's steady," Alan announced. "I've slowed speed by point two to give us a chance to catch up. We can apply more thrust once we're on board and not flying her remotely. If we can disengage the hotel before John makes his transfer, we'll be able to do it quicker and with more accuracy."

"Sounds like a plan," Scott approved. "Keep her steady, John."

"Will do."

"And be careful."

John gave a smeary grin through his visor. "Always."

Alan and Scott waited in the airlock for John's announcement that the astrocraft was flying parallel to Thunderbird Three. "Opening airlock."

Thunderbird Three, still under Alan's remote control, extended an arm towards the astrocraft. The two brothers stepped out of Fairstar One, clipped themselves to the arm, and allowed it to pull them into Thunderbird Three.

Alan waited until the air pressure had equalised. "I'm going up to take over from Captain Reyes. You'd better get out of that spacesuit and camp out in the decompression chamber."

"I will do," Scott agreed. "Once John's on board."

Alan hesitated. "Send me through your stats. You were EVA for quite some time. If you start showing symptoms of decompression sickness, I want to know right away."

"It's not me you need to worry about, Alan. It's John. He's likely to be going EVA through a radiation storm."

"Not if we can help it." Alan jogged up to his flight deck. He greeted the stand-in pilot with a smile that showed none of his concerns. "Well done, Captain."

"I didn't do much." Gavin Reyes kept his eyes glued an innocuous spot on the panel in front of him. "Do you want to take over?"

"Yes, please." Alan slid into his traditional seat and disengaged autopilot.

"Where do you want me to go?"

Alan glanced back at Reyes. The latter had his eyes tightly closed. "I haven't got time to guide you, so you're going to have to have your eyes open if you don't want to trip over."

Reyes obeyed. "I don't want to see anything I shouldn't."

"You won't. If you sit in that seat," Alan pointed to the one that was the replica of Bruce's earlier in the day, "you won't be able to see anything top secret. And as far as everything else you've seen today, I'm happy to trust you not to share it with anyone."

Delighted, Reyes' face lit up. He almost ran to his seat and sat down, openly looking about him.

Alan entered a code into his computer. Two sets of statistics appeared on a screen, along with accompanying rhythmic pulses.

"That sounds like a couple of heartbeats."

"It does, doesn't it." Alan kept his reply deliberately vague. He wasn't about to let on to his passenger that it _was_ the sound of two heartbeats and that they were the heartbeats of his brothers.

Reyes took the hint and lapsed into silence.

Alan pressed forward on the lever. 80 metres behind him, Thunderbird Three's rockets increased their power, pushing the hotel forward. "Altitude 800 metres."

Unwilling to push Fairstar One as much as Thunderbird Three, John trailed behind. "Altitude 783 metres."

"If worst comes to the worst, we'll come back and tow you, John."

"Thanks."

-F-A-B-

Dame Alona, her face set in firm disapproval, had chosen to sit on the back of an easy chair that was bolted to the floor of the foyer with her legs stretched out before her along the wall.

Sher-Ping, clutched tightly in his owner's flabby arms, growled when Shari Allison, sidestepping a precisely mounted portrait, approached the pair of them. "Are you all right, Dame Alona?"

"I am most displeased." Dame Alona's growl was almost an echo of Sher-Ping's as she struggled upright. "My husband shall hear of the discomfort that I have endured."

_Him and everyone else on the planet,_ Shari thought. But she offered the indignant dame a warm smile. "You will be pleased to learn that International Rescue have the situation in hand and we confidently expect everything to be back to normal soon. At which point you will be escorted to your room, where you will be able to relax in comfort until an astrocraft is available to take you back to Earth and your husband. I am sure that all of your friends will be more than a little jealous to learn that you've been rescued by International Rescue!"

As she thought would happen at the mention of the fabled organisation's name, Shari saw Dame Alona's features soften. The bragging rights of being rescued by International Rescue would be huge!

-F-A-B-

Hotel Planetinum crested the 888 metres mark and was washed into orbit. As soon as he was sure that its speed was enough to maintain its altitude, at least until Fairstar had the chance to remove its guests and make the necessary repairs to the rockets, Alan disconnected Thunderbird Three and turned his ship back towards Fairstar One. "I'm coming to get you, John."

"I'd appreciate that, Alan. I daren't push her any more than I already am."

"Your altitude's 848 metres?"

"And orbiting closer to the sun. The SEP's due to hit in point two five minutes."

"We'll get you out of there before then."

"I appreciate your confidence."

"Just get her flying at a constant speed in a straight line," Alan advised. "We'll push Fairstar One into orbit once we've got you onboard Thunderbird Three."

"Too risky with all this fuel on board," John told him. "We don't want to risk nudging her into the hotel. It would be better if I made the necessary adjustments from in here."

Alan didn't stop to debate John's decision. "F-A-B. I'll let Scott know."

Scott was equally as willing to follow John's lead. "What can I do, Alan?"

"We're going to have to attach a tow-line to Fairstar One. Can you control that from down there?"

Firing up an auxiliary computer, Scott brought the necessary programme on line. "Ready."

"Approaching Fairstar One now."

"I have her on screen."

"John. Cut engines."

"Engines cut."

"Thunderbird Three's maintaining the same speed and trajectory. Fire chameleon when ready."

"Firing chameleon in three… two… one…" Scott pressed a button and watched the visual display unit as a long, heat-resistant cable was ejected from the centre of Thunderbird Three's tail unit. The end of the cable broadened, deepened, and wrapped itself around the remains of the nose cone and a third of the fuselage of Fairstar One, adhering there like a chameleon's tongue. "Confirming seal."

"Increasing traction," Alan's voice told his brothers. "Increasing speed."

"Increasing speed," John confirmed. He blinked as the light from the great fiery ball known as the sun filled the cockpit and hoped the viewports' UV protection was as good as the glare reduction.

"Any issues?"

"Negative. Altitude 852 metres… 855… 860…"

"Beginning curve…"

"862… She's holding together well. Something Fairstar has got right. 865 metres."

"I'll release you at 880 metres," Scott told him. "You'll have enough momentum to fine tune your final trajectory."

"F-A-B. 870 metres… 875…"

"Preparing to release chameleon."

"877… 878… 879… 880. Reigniting engines!"

"Releasing!"

"Under discrete control. 883 metres… At orbital speed…"

"We're coming up parallel to you, Fairstar One," Alan announced. "We'll stay on the solar side to try to block any SEP."

"F-A-B. 884 metres… 885…"

"Close enough," Scott commanded. "Get out of there now, John. You'll be at the apex when the SEP hits in five minutes. The radiation level's already rising."

"F-A-B," John repeated, and shut down the engines. After casting one final look over the various gauges to satisfy him that the astrocraft would maintain the correct speed and trajectory in the short term, he deserted the controls. "Evacuating now. Don't try bucking me out of orbit, Alan."

"Coming alongside," Alan told him. "Extending EVA arm."

"Brains!" Scott's voice was heard on Earth as well as in space. "Can you give us a running countdown on the SEP? Alan needs to hold Thunderbird Three steady and I need to concentrate on getting John on board."

"U-understood." But that was the last stutter anyone heard for the next tenth of an hour. _"Four minutes till SEP hit."_

John, tethered to Fairstar One and with the airlock door open, watched as a giant spaceship with a luminescent halo filled his field of view. But the EVA arm was disappointingly out of reach. "Bring Thunderbird Three four metres closer."

"Understood." Alan, with the smallest of adjustments to his controls and Gavin Reyes' admiration at his coolness and skill, did as he was instructed.

"_Three minutes."_

John heard Brains' announcement. "You're still not close enough, Thunderbird Three!"

"The Hotel Planetinum's in the way!"

"Then keep clear. I'll roll Fairstar One to face the Earth. You can come up alongside me there." For a brief moment, the light of the sun filled the airlock before it slammed shut and John was running for the cockpit.

Alan dropped Thunderbird Three back and then approached again.

"_Two point five."_

Working quickly, and calling on his training from years earlier, John reignited Fairstar One's engines. "Beginning roll."

"We're ready for you."

Thirty seconds later and John cut his engines. He raced back through the astrocraft.

"_Two minutes…"_

John reached the airlock. "You're still two metres out of reach."

Scott checked his computer. "Radiation levels up point three."

"I'm going EVA," John told his audience. "I can jet to the arm and then you can pull me in."

"Don't overshoot."

"Not planning to." With a deep breath and an instruction to Fairstar One to shut the airlock behind him, John stepped out into space.

"_One point five minutes."_

Each second seemed like an hour to Scott. "John...? What's wrong?"

What was wrong was that John wasn't moving. He couldn't go forward and, with the door shut behind him, he couldn't go back to the relative safety of the astrocraft. "My jetpack's not working."

"Why not?"

"The fuel must have clogged the jets... And..." John realised that he was facing a potentially more serious problem. "...it's melted my oxygen line."

"If you've got an oxygen leak, your jets could explode. Cease operation immediately!"

John didn't need Scott's order to know what was required of him. Especially since it was clear that he needed to preserve what little air he had left. "Sealing air link to helmet," he reported. "Ceasing verbal communications."

"_One minute."_

"Thunderbird Three! Move closer!" But Scott's order was redundant. Alan had already taken the appropriate action.

Down on Tracy Island, everyone gathered in the lounge, listening.

Listening and hoping as they followed International Rescue's rescue co-ordinator's every word. "John! Can you hear me!?" There was silence. "Do something!"

What John was doing was holding his breath. He was sure that under normal, relaxed, conditions, he could hold it for a minute. But orbiting above the Earth when he was about to be hit by a radiation storm…? Risking a tiny wave and an equally small, replenishing, breath that used up much of what remained in his helmet, he pushed off the astrocraft to try to get closer.

"_Thirty seconds."_

"What state is your oxygen line in, Scott?" Alan was asking. "You're coated in nearly as much oil as John."

Despite having already reassured himself on that score, Scott checked again. "It's okay."

"_Twenty-five seconds."_

Keeping an eagle eye on what was happening, Scott watched as John floated closer, hoping that his brother wouldn't overshoot the arm. "Be prepared, Thunderbird Three! When I give the word, shut the airlock!"

"F-A-B."

Scott saw John reach out for the rigid lifeline that would drag him back to the spaceship. "Make sure you attach your safety cable."

"_Twenty seconds."_

After some fumbling with the karabiner, his lungs bursting as they cried out for oxygen, John managed a thumbs-up signal.

"_Fifteen seconds."_

"Retracting." Scott pulled back on a lever.

"_Ten seconds."_

If the seconds had seemed like hours before, now they seemed like nanoseconds as the clock ticked down and the arm continued its slow and steady retreat into its housing.

"_Five seconds."_

"I'm going out to get him."

"_Four seconds."_

"Scott!" Alan yelped. "What if your jets have failed too?"

"_Three seconds."_

But Scott was already outside the relative safety of the airlock. He tugged at the karabiner.

John attempted another breath but found himself gasping in more carbon dioxide than oxygen. The universe spun.

"_Two seconds."_

For an agonising moment the hook refused to give, but on Brains' _"One second"_ it came free. Without giving either of them a moment to catch their breath – if John had had any breath to catch – Scott had fired his jets and rocketing them towards safety. "Close airlock!"

The door started sliding shut.

How two tall, muscular men; made even more bulky by their spacesuits; had managed to get through that diminishing gap without losing a limb, neither Scott nor John could fathom as they crashed into the wall opposite. With no gravity to drop them to the floor, they sprawled together against the surface in an ungainly and painful pile.

"_Impact!"_

The few lights and other systems onboard Fairstar One flickered and died. The Hotel Planetinum's computers hiccupped, but continued working. Thunderbird Three registered the blast of radiation with a quiet tone.

Scott, feeling John try to remove his helmet, was the first to extract himself from the tangle of Tracys. "Don't move," he ordered. "We don't want to risk contamination." Manhandling his brother, he pushed him into a compartment and turned a dial up to maximum.

John collapsed to the floor, desperate to get some air, as his spacesuit was ripped from his body and sucked into a contamination tank. He felt as though all the oxygen in his lungs had been sucked out with it.

He lay on the floor as he was sprayed with decontaminant.

Unwilling to touch anything other than what he already had until he was out of his oily spacesuit, and with a coating of brown fluid smearing his visor, Scott couldn't get a reassuring visual of his brother. "John! Are you okay?! … John!"

There was no answer.

"Alan! I can't see him through this gunk. How is he?"

"Moving."

"Moving? How?"

Gasping in welcome air, and by sheer force of willpower, John pulled himself to his feet. But it was too much, too soon. Overcome by a wave of dizziness, he fell back.

Scott heard the bang. "John? What happened."

"I'm… okay…" John gasped out, rolling over and forcing himself to his knees. He crouched there, still gasping.

"Take your time, John," Alan warned.

"Erm…" he had forgotten that he was sharing the flight deck with Reyes. The captain was staring at him in concern. "Do you want me to keep an eye on things while you go down to check on him?"

Alan was about to reply in the affirmative, when John pulled himself together enough to open the hatch that led from the decontamination room and to safety. He rolled out into the corridor and the door closed behind him. "He's clear, Scott. You can disrobe."

"Understood." Scott saw the out of focus outline of the door slide back. He stepped into the decontamination room, hearing the door close behind him, and felt his suit rip clear. Suddenly the world was in focus again. He closed his eyes against the decontaminating spray.

Reassured that he was no longer a threat to anyone or anything, and clad in little more than a set of thermal long johns, Scott joined John in the warmth of the passenger bay. He assisted his brother to his feet. "Let's get you to the first aid room."

"You can both go to the decompression chamber," Alan commanded. "You can give John oxygen there, Scott, and I'll be down to check on both of you in a moment."

Scott could see sense in the order. He tightened his grip about his brother's waist. "C'mon. Let's get some O2 into you."

John attempted to push Scott away. "I'm 'kay."

Both Tracys heard Alan's voice. "Is he, Scott?"

"I'm 'kay!" John repeated.

He was watched by a cautious and critical eye. "I think he's okay, Alan. He seems able to stand upright…" Scott caught his woozy brother as John wobbled. "More or less."

-F-A-B-

Down on Earth, everyone in the Tracys' lounge let out a breath of relief.

Virgil gave Bruce a sideways look. "And you were wondering why I want out of this game?"

Bruce unclenched his hands from where they'd been tied together in a concerned knot. "I wasn't wondering. I understand perfectly."

Jeff turned to International Rescue's resident medical man, who was staring intently at his tablet computer. "How are they, Brains?"

"Huh?" Not expecting to hear his name, Brains looked up. "S-Sorry, Mr Tracy. What did you say?"

"How are John and Scott?"

Brains switched screens on the tablet. "At p-present, I am not concerned about them."

Jeff turned back to the row of portraits. "I don't want to ask for a report, in case Gav's listening in."

He was saved from further stressing when the eyes in the penultimate portrait flashed. "Go ahead, Alan."

Alan was walking quickly through his spacecraft. "Just thought you'd want to know that I'm on my way down to check up on the fellas. Captain Reyes is watching the autopilot."

"Did the boys get inside before the radiation levels got too high?"

"I don't know. It all happened so fast that I couldn't tell. It could have been milliseconds either way." Alan reached the decompression chamber and entered through the exterior door, leaving the interior one closed so he wasn't exposed to the lower pressures his brothers were dealing with. He triggered a microphone. "How are you both feeling? Do you need me to come in there?"

John, who'd been lying on one of the beds with an oxygen mask over his face, removed the apparatus and sat up. "We're fine."

He looked a little pale, but Alan had to admit that, on face value, it was a fair diagnosis. Seeking confirmation, the younger man cocked an eyebrow at his eldest brother.

"John's right." Scott, who'd been reclining on the other bed, had also sat up. "We're okay. So long as we decompress for a few hours, we shouldn't suffer any long term affects."

Alan relaxed a little. "Did you manage to avoid the radiation?"

"We don't know." John grinned. "Why don't you turn the lights off and see if we start glowing?"

"You'd feel sick if you did…"

All three heard their father's voice. "Good work, Boys. What are you going to do now, Alan?"

"I've checked with the Hotel Planetinum and they don't need our help anymore, so we're heading back to Earth. I'll have to drop Captain Reyes off somewhere before we can head for home though."

-F-A-B-

Inside the Hotel Planetinum, without having to worry about crashing into their home planet, Fairstar's technical team had been working on resurrecting their other systems. With no warning, the gravitational field righted itself.

Dame Alona, unwilling to move from the chair that she perceived to be a safe zone, found herself upside-down, with her feet pointing towards the ceiling. She let out an indignant shriek.

Doing her best to forget about her own bruises, Shari Allison picked herself off the floor and hurried over to her. "Are you all right, Dame Alona?"

"Do I look all right?" the dumpy woman seethed.

"Shall I take Sher-Ping while you sit up?" Ignoring the low rumble, Shari reached out for the pug, who'd been tossed by the gravitational relocation onto her mistress's bosom.

Sher-Ping let her know what he thought of her and the idea.

"I'm just going to help her Ladyship get comfortable," she told the recalcitrant pug.

Sher-Ping growled again.

Shari resisted the impulse to growl back and leave them both to their own devices. "Do you think you could slide Sher-Ping to one side, Dame Alona? Then I'll be able to help you."

Dame Alona must have seen some sense in this, as she did what she was asked; Sher-Ping vocalising his disapproval the entire time.

One obstacle overcome, even if that obstacle insisted on trying to climb back onto the warm, soft pillow he'd landed on, Shari wondered how she was going to get Dame Alona upright, whilst allowing the lady to retain some dignity. She placed a cushion at the lady's side and stood back, holding another. "Will you allow me to place this under your shoulders, Dame Alona?"

With pointed reluctance, Dame Alona raised one shoulder off the chair's seat and then the other until she was bent into something of a V-shape.

Shari considered their situation. "Can you roll to your left, Dame Alona? The cushion next to you will make it easier for you to roll up and over the chair's arm."

"Need a hand?"

Shari turned and was relieved to see Stan Wilson standing there. Relief that was tempered by annoyance at his unprofessional smirk. She agreed that the situation was funny, especially since it had happened to one of the most obnoxious people that she'd met in a long time, but it still wasn't right that they should be publicly getting enjoyment out of Dame Alona's predicament. She replied with a formal: "We would appreciate that, thank you, Stan."

"Maybe we should unscrew the chair's legs from the floor and tip her out?"

Shari glared at her co-worker. "Perhaps you could guide Dame Alona upright from that side?" She pointed to the chair's left.

"Okay." He gave her a cockeyed grin.

Dame Alona allowed her legs to slide sideways down the wall. There was a moment where Shari thought that there wasn't going to be enough weight in them to counteract the blubber constrained by the chair, but Stan grabbed a flabby arm and started pulling.

"Careful!" Dame Alona scolded. "I bruise easily."

Stan, thinking that hippopotami had such thick hides that they probably didn't bruise, reached around her, grabbed her opposite shoulder, and, groaning with the effort, hauled. Shari, trying to be a bit more dignified about it all, did what she could to shove the Dame out of the chair.

Together, with a lot of voluntary and involuntary grunting, the three of them got Dame Alona upright.

"Why don't you go see which room is going to be Dame Alona's, Stan?" Shari suggested. "And I'll escort her and Sher-Ping there."

"Sure, Shari," he responded, and hurried away to the reception desk for a key and the chance to have proper laugh.

-F-A-B-

The couch rose out of the floor. "Hiya, Dad."

"Hi, Alan. How are the boys?"

"Getting stir crazy. They wanted to help me unload Captain Reyes, but I confined them to quarters." Alan had the expression of a man who'd enjoyed bossing his eldest brothers about.

"They're in the best place," Jeff approved. "Once Brains has given them the all clear they can leave the decompression chamber."

Alan looked about him. "Where is everyone?"

"Bruce has gone back to work to make up for the time he lost listening to the rescue. Brains and Virgil have got their heads together. Grandma's making dinner and Kyrano's helping her. I'm not sure where Tin-Tin's hiding."

"How did Gordon's meeting go?"

"He hasn't said, but he should be home within the hour."

Alan got up. "Then I'd better go and make sure the runway's clear before he lands."

"No need," his father told him. "Virgil did it for you."

"Virgil?"

Jeff nodded. "He used the Firefly."

"The Firefly?!"

"I watched him. He hasn't lost his touch."

"I wish we hadn't lost him. We could have done with his help today." Alan stretched. "In that case, I'll go and get changed. When do you want the debriefing?"

"After dinner will do. Hopefully Scott and John will be able to join us then. If not, they can take part remotely."

Dinner was ready a short time after Gordon had arrived back home. "What are you doing here?" he asked when John joined them at the table.

"I was homesick for Grandma's cooking."

Grandma chuckled and gave her grandson an affectionate kiss on the top of the head, before taking her place at the table.

Gordon shrugged. "I s'ppose you'll tell me what happened after the debriefing."

"Well, Gordon?" Jeff asked, after his first mouthful of his evening meal. "How did it go?"

"Total washout," his son informed him. "That guy's a complete waste of time."

Jeff frowned. "What happened."

"You know how sometimes you meet someone, and you can't take to them? I was like that with this guy. I tried to tell myself that this was because I was wanting to find Virgil and Harris wasn't him."

"You're not meant to be looking for me. You're meant to be looking for someone to replace me."

"You're a hard act to follow. Anyway, I told myself that that was the reason why I wasn't happy about Harris, and that I had to get a grip and give him a fair chance."

"And…" Scott asked, spooning in a mouthful of peas before piling up his fork with its next load. His afternoon's adventure had given him even more of an appetite than usual.

"And… And I can't fault his water skills. I even pretended to have a problem with my breathing apparatus to see what he'd do, and he didn't miss a beat. I couldn't have done better."

"So, why's he a washout?" Alan applied some butter to his potatoes.

"He's a total professional in the water – it's what happened afterwards that dropped him out of contention. He took proper care of his gear after our dive, made sure it was all washed down and had been checked over before he packed it away, but something was still nagging me that he wasn't the right man for International Rescue. So, I jammed a bit of cloth in my bag's fastening and pretended that it was stuck."

"Did he help you?" Tin-Tin enquired.

"Nope. There were a couple; I will admit, very attractive; ladies enjoying the beach. He was more interested in chatting them up than helping his dive buddy. I was still fighting with my bag; for real by the time he remembered I was there; when he said he was heading off with the two of them. He didn't even ask me if I wanted to come along!" Seriously disgruntled, Gordon bit into his carrot.

Alan smirked. "Did you get your bag closed?"

"Eventually."

"All right," Jeff agreed. "I'll tell Penny Harris's off the list and ask her to keep looking for a new operative."

"Bruce," Virgil said.

"Nuh-uh. Not me," Bruce looked at his friend with wide eyes. "I'm not as brave as you guys."

"I don't believe that, but that's not what I was going to say. Can you pass me the relish?"

"Oh." Bruce reddened. "Of course." He handed some of Grandma Tracy's speciality over.

Virgil took it and then hesitated. "Do you think I should eat this, Brains?"

Like Virgil, Brains hesitated, turning over the list of ingredients in his mind. "I-If you don't have too much." He watched Virgil as the latter doled a small amount onto his plate.

Virgil knew that he was under observation. "Brains got a message from Frank and Stein this afternoon," he announced.

Jeff looked at his son and then Brains, noting the latter's preoccupation and the former's attempt to pretend to be relaxed and unconcerned. "And…?"

"One of the other patients who's had some of the same abdominal procedure as me, has suffered complications."

"Complications?" Scott laid down his fork. "What kind of complications?"

"Do you want to explain it, Brains?"

Brains chewed slowly as he considered his words. "This, ah, individual suffered a crush injury to his abdomen during the earthquake. Bearston General replaced his stomach and part of his large intestine…"

"Is this going to be a gruesome, 'I don't want my dinner anymore', recitation?" John checked.

"I d-don't think so. The patient's body has started rejecting his new stomach. The present hypothesis is that the s-seeding tissue wasn't of a good quality and hasn't regenerated as effectively as hoped. Or, it could be that the patient hasn't stuck to his prescribed diet and the stomach tissue hasn't been allowed to heal."

The family were quiet.

"I've had no issues," Virgil reminded them all, "and Brains gave me a check-up this afternoon to make sure, but you needed to know in case something happens."

"But if this hasn't already happened to you," Tin-Tin began, "and you were the first person to receive the treatment, why should you have problems now?"

"Because this is a highly experimental and untried procedure, and no one knows what's going to happen. What we do know is that there've been some stages of my treatment where I've been behind those who've had less remedial work done to them. Relax…" Virgil tried to reassure his family with an encouraging smile. "None of us think it's going to happen, and Timoti and Bryce are trying to find out what's caused it to confirm that it's not a regular side effect. It's just something we need to be aware of."

Tin-Tin's lips formed a silent "oh".

The rest of the family's dinner was finished in silence.

_To be continued…_


	69. Chapter 69

_Thanks to those who asked after my job - which is being made redundant at some point in the indeterminate future. So I'm planning to live off my redundancy for a few months and write a novel - If I'm good enough._

_FAB_

_:-) Purupuss_

* * *

Halloween arrived, and Virgil was pleased that no reference to him being "Frank and Stein's monster" was made; aside from Gordon hanging a representation of the titular movie creation on his door.

It being one of his favourite days for playing tricks on all and sundry, Gordon's brothers took it upon themselves to keep him always in their sights and never short of something to do. This would, they theorised, mean that he wouldn't have the opportunity to get up to any mischief. However, they all agreed that even being under 24-hour watch wouldn't stop him for sliming at least one of them.

It didn't. By the end of the day there wasn't one person in the household who couldn't claim to have been caught by the red-headed prankster. Virgil just thanked his lucky stars that his less than stellar condition meant that the picture was the worst that he had to deal with.

-F-A-B-

It was with relief that the Tracys awoke to November.

Virgil joined his thermal-clad brothers in the climatic control room. "How's it going?"

Gordon grinned. "Great, Adam."

"Gordon..." Scott growled. "You know the rules." As Gordon gave an unconcerned shrug, he turned to the newcomer. "Here to see how your latest gizmo is working?"

"Brains' latest gizmo," Virgil corrected. "I only helped construct it."

"It's performing well. We've had the temperature all the way down to -90 degrees Celsius and it's performed flawlessly. Now we're warming it up to see if there're likely to be any thermal shock issues."

"Warming?" Virgil gave a visible shiver. His own concession to the room's below-island temperature was a polo-neck jumper. "How cold is it in here?"

Alan checked the thermometer. "Ten degrees and climbing."

"It'll have to climb a long way before I'll begin to feel the difference."

Concerned, Scott regarded his brother. "You shouldn't be in here without something warm on. How's your temperature regulation?"

Virgil held up his hand as a barrier against Scott's concern. "You don't need to worry. Now that I can eat Grandma's cooking, I'm getting a good layer of fat to insulate me."

"That's true," Gordon grinned. "You are definitely rounding out."

He punched Virgil playfully in the abdomen; Virgil sidestepping him with long years of practise - but not much mobility. "Ow!"

Scott, who still hadn't switched off his mother hen mode, frowned. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Scott! I'm fine! I just stubbed my toe, that's all. I can always get a new one."

As Alan snorted a laugh, Gordon folded his arms and pretended to be less than impressed. "How come you're allowed to joke about your health, and I'm not?"

"Because his jokes are funny," Alan told him.

Gordon stared at him. "_Virgil's_ jokes are funny, but _mine_ aren't?"

It was Scott's turn to laugh. "He's got you there, Alan."

Virgil shivered again. "What's the temperature now?" He checked the thermostat. "Fourteen degrees? Still too cold for me. I'll see you guys later. Let me know your results." Taking a firmer grip on his crutches, he prepared to turn for the door.

But Scott stopped him. "Virgil…?"

"Yes?"

"How's your hand?"

"My hand? Fine. Why…" Releasing his crutch, and letting it hang off his arm, Virgil automatically checked his reinstated digits. "Well… That's unexpected."

Staring at his left hand, all four Tracy brothers could see that the back of it was a livid purply-blue, with a clear demarcation line running around his wrist and down his sleeve. Turning his hand over, the line continued from his wrist, captured his little finger, veered across in a jagged line beneath his ring and middle fingers, and darkened his palm up to and including his index finger and thumb.

Virgil examined the discoloured area. "I suppose that's the new skin. I wondered how much they had to replace, and I guess I know now." A thought came to him. "I wonder if the rest of me's reacting in the same way?" Pulling his shirt out from under his braces, he checked his waistline to reveal a lighter version of the same hue. "Amazing! Is my tracheotomy scar the same?" He pulled down the neck of his jumper.

Scott was the first to find some semblance of his voice. "Does it hurt?" he squeaked.

"No."

"Don't..." Scott cleared his throat. "Don't you think Brains should see it?"

Virgil released the cloth at his neck, mercifully hiding the blue patch. "Probably." He gripped the crutch again and prepared to turn. "Except I'll be thawed out by the time I get there."

"Why don't you wait out there while we ask him to come down here?" Gordon suggested, keen to stop his brother from over-exerting himself. "So he can see it in the flesh, as it were. We can make ourselves scarce when he gets here if he wants to do a full examination."

"No point in unnecessarily disturbing him from whatever he's doing." Virgil headed for the door. "I can put my hand in the freezer when I get there."

Unconvinced that the walk from one side of International Rescue's complex to the other was a good thing, Alan held out his hand. "Do you want one of us to come with you?"

"No need for that. You've got work to do."

"But what if you collapse or something?"

Genuinely confused, Virgil stared at his kid brother. "Why would I collapse?"

"Because…" Alan gestured at the hand. "Because, that's not natural. Is it?"

"What about me is natural?" Virgil saw that his brothers weren't convinced that he was in the right shape to make it to the lab in one piece. "Honest, Fellas, I'm fine. This is nothing."

"Nothing that you, nor Brains, nor Timoti and Bryce, knew about until you came in here," Gordon reminded him. "Nothing might be a precursor to something."

"Fellas, I'm fine," Virgil repeated. "It's just the new skin reacting to the cold. I'll go and show Brains he'll be able to reassure you at dinner."

"He can reassure me now." Scott held the door to the climate control room open. "Sorry, Virg, but I'm not prepared to take any risks with your health. I'm going with you."

Virgil gave an exasperated sigh. "Suit yourself, but you're wasting your time."

"I'll let Brains be the judge that." The door swung shut behind them.

Alan turned to Gordon. "I can't believe he was so calm. If it had been me, I would have been running for Brains, screaming... If I, I mean he, could run... And if he screamed, which he never has..."

"He has... once." Remembering the circumstances behind that exception, Gordon swallowed. "I'm getting out of here. I need to get warm."

"Yeah. Me too." Alan acknowledged his brother's differential step to the side with a nod, and stepped out of the climate-control room into a warmer world of green...

"Gordon!" Alan wiped the slime out of his eyes. "It's not Halloween anymore!"

Through a veil of thick green goop, he saw his brother's cockeyed grin. "You guys wouldn't let me use it yesterday, and I couldn't let it go to waste."

-F-A-B-

Virgil's hand had warmed up and lost most of its discolouration by the time the pair of them reached the lab.

Scott held the door open for his brother. "Brains, there's something we think you ought to look at."

Brains, who'd been in deep concentration over his latest project, stared at him owlishly through his spectacles. "Is it important?"

"Could be."

"No."

"Virg…" This time it was Scott's turn to give an exasperated sigh. "Just humour me, okay."

"It's a load of fuss over nothing," Virgil told Brains. "You'll have to wait a moment to get the full effect." He walked across to a refrigeration unit. "Have you got anything important in here?"

"Ah… No."

"Good." Leaning his left crutch against a bench, Virgil pulled the fridge's door open and stuck his hand inside. "I hope you realise I'm getting frostbite for nothing, Scott."

"I hope it's nothing."

Virgil, checking every ten seconds to see how it was progressing, endured a minute with his hand in a fridge before he was satisfied. Removing his hand from the chiller, he held it up for Brains to see. "What do you think?"

Intrigued, the scientist slid off his stool and approached him. "Let me examine it."

Virgil relaxed as Brains prodded his hand, turned it over, and inspected it under a magnifying lens.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It feels no different to the rest of me."

"How did you discover this effect?"

"We were testing the carbonised-helix-stepper in the climate control room when Virgil joined us," Scott explained. "The cold affected his whole body."

"I guess you could call it my blue period," Virgil joked. "But we didn't look at my legs. They might not have reacted the same way."

"Everything else did."

Brains looked like he was eager to do more tests. "What temperature was the room?"

"Ten degrees when I went in there…" Virgil looked to Scott for confirmation. "And it had warmed up to fourteen degrees when we realised what was happening…" He found himself dragged over to a microscope. "Careful, Brains, I'm missing a crutch."

Brains seemed to unperturbed by Virgil's lack of support. "Rest your hand on the stage," he instructed, "and don't move."

"I won't move if I don't fall over."

"Here…" Scott got a lab stool and brought it closer. "Sit on that."

"Thanks."

Brains peered down the microscope's eyepiece and took some photos. "The colour's disappearing." He sounded almost disappointed.

"That's because I'm warming up."

"Well, Brains?" Scott checked. "Is Virgil right to be unconcerned?"

"And is it time for Scott to dial down his mother hen setting?"

Brains chuckled. "I-I'm not concerned. There must be some polymer residue that has an oversensitive reaction to low temperatures. I shall have to discuss it with Timoti and Bryce."

"Can I have my hand back now?" Virgil asked. He withdrew it from the microscope, massaging warmth back into it.

Scott kept a wary eye on the action. "I thought his hand had completely healed months ago. I'd assumed there would be no 'polymer residue' remaining."

"So, had I," Brains admitted. "I'll send Timoti and Bryce an email now to tell them about this development. I'm sure they'll want to examine it in more detail when we next see them, Virgil."

Virgil groaned. "Which means that I can look forward to being naked and very cold on Friday…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

He was right. But despite the chilling and lack of dignity during his check-up, he was in high spirits when he got back home. "Catch!" He threw one crutch at Alan and the other at Gordon.

Gordon looked at it. "Why are you giving these to us?"

Virgil smiled a triumphant grin. "I don't need to use them anymore." His grin broadened when he was rewarded with a multitude of beaming smiles.

"You don't?" Alan leant on the crutch he'd caught. "Primo!"

Gordon grinned. "Another literal step in your recovery, huh?"

"That's great news, Virg," Scott congratulated their brother. "We won't be able to hold you back now."

"I know I'm not going to win any speed records," Virgil admitted. "And I'm under strict instructions to use my crutches when I'm not inside the house, so don't throw them away just yet."

"Fair enough." Scott collected the two supports together. "Where do you want them put in the meantime?"

"Stick them in a corner somewhere. I'll need them when I go down to the hangars."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was the following day when International Rescue was summonsed, at an early hour, to the lounge.

Scott, the only one who'd been awake, active, and interrupted in the middle of a workout, pulled on a skivvy to keep warm. "What's the action?"

"It's our old friend: Fireflash," John explained to his father and three siblings. "They've been caught in the fallout from Mount Esterelf and are experiencing some disruptions to their engines. They haven't called us yet, but if they do, we're not going to have a lot of time to get there. I know it's not standard practise, but going on the craft's history, I thought a pre-emptive strike might be prudent."

The Tracys knew about the eruption of Mount Esterelf, as did most of the world. The actual explosion had been huge and wiped out much of the surrounding countryside. It was the volcanic tephra floating in the atmosphere that had caught the Fireflash's crew unawares. "Where are they?"

"Apparently they were trying to lose height to avoid the ash cloud. They're at thirteen thousand metres and dropping towards the Aelmead Mountains. If they crash there, the chances of any of the 600 people on board surviving are remote."

"How high's the tallest peak?"

"5084 metres."

"Any chance they could steer around the range?"

"It's nearly five kilometres long. And steering's been compromised with the loss of motive power."

"We understand, John," his father confirmed. "As you said, we don't get involved until we're asked to, but in this circumstance, we should make an exception. You'd better go with Gordon, Alan."

"F-A-B."

"Keep monitoring their communications, John," Jeff continued. "They may be able to resolve the issue without our intervention."

"F-A-B," the Space Monitor echoed.

"Of you go, Boys, but keep your communications links open at all times. With any luck, you'll be back before breakfast."

Scott's "F-A-B," was uttered as he rotated out of sight through the wall and into Thunderbird One's hangar. A short time later he was heard again, requesting clearance for launch. Jeff gave his approval and those inside the lounge endured a brief flash of light as Thunderbird One roared past their windows.

"Have the boys gone?" Grandma, unlike the rest of her family, had taken the time to get changed out of her night attire.

"Morning, Mother. Yes, but they could be back in short order. This is a JIC situation."

Grandma stared at her son. "Since when does International Rescue launch: _Just in case_?"

"Since when it's the Fireflash in trouble."

"Ah. I'll make a start on breakfast and leave it on the breakfast bar. Everyone can help themselves when they get in."

"Good idea."

"Thunderbird Two. Requesting permission to launch."

"Permission granted, Thunderbird Two."

"I'm getting another report from Fireflash," John announced. "Engines have stalled… Attempting restart… That was a failure… They're gliding…"

"Is that plane made for gliding?" Grandma asked.

Jeff shook his head. "She's built for speed, not unassisted flight."

"There's some talk about whether we should be asked to be involved," John told his elders. "The consensus seems to be that we'd never get there in time."

"What's Fireflash's height?"

"Ten thousand nine hundred metres."

"That's an over two thousand metres drop in five minutes. That gives us…"

"Thirty-six odd minutes. Hold on…" John held up a warning hand. "They've managed to restart one engine… in a fashion."

"Meaning?" Jeff brought a schematic diagram of the doomed craft on his computer.

"Meaning it's only operating at thirty percent thrust."

Grandma peered over her son's shoulder. "How many engines does it have?"

Jeff pointed to the screen. "Six."

"So…" She made some rapid calculations. "The whole craft's only operating at five percent capacity. Is that enough to give it any lift?"

"It's enough to slow the rate of descent, possibly giving us time to get there. What's her altitude, John?"

"Ten thousand seven hundred metres… I'm getting a report from Scott. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"Radio Air Terranian and tell them we're on the way…"

-F-A-B-

"Morning, Virgil."

"Morning, Bruce." Like his friend, Virgil, knowing that there was nothing he could do about the rescue, had taken his time getting dressed.

"What's the action?"

Virgil propped his crutches next to the door and started his slow walk towards the lounge. "I'm as much in the dark as you are."

Bruce grinned at his friend's slightly swaying gait. "Does that feel odd after all this time?"

"It does a little. I feel like I should be holding onto something." Virgil massaged his hand.

"At least you can do that with no fear of falling over."

"Do what?"

Bruce pointed at the massaging hands.

Virgil threw them into the air in exasperation. "I don't even realise I'm doing it."

Bruce chuckled.

"Looking forward to your last day?"

"Yes and no. Your family have been great," Bruce winked, "and the money's been fantastic, but I'm looking forward to getting back to a 'normal' life."

"You mean you're looking forward to getting back to Olivia?"

Bruce leered. "That thought never crossed my mind."

Virgil laughed. "Yeah. Right."

-F-A-B-

"ETA three minutes," Scott announced.

"F-A-B," John acknowledged. "Gordon's pushing Two to her limit, but he's about ten minutes behind you."

"I hope the Fireflash crew are managing to maintain altitude."

"Their rate of descent has decreased, but they're still on a collision course with the Aelmead Mountains. If they can keep it together, they _might_ be able to miss them and ditch in the sea beyond, but I don't hold out much help for any survivors in either scenario. I hope Gordon's got Thunderbird Four on board."

"What's the weather like in that part of the world?"

"Wet. There've been reports of torrential downpours in the area."

"Great."

"Yeah. It's washing ash out of the sky."

"I know." Scott looked out through a grimy viewport as he closed in on Fireflash's location. "It's like flying through porridge."

"Watch your jets."

"Naturally. You'd better warn Thunderbird Two."

Gordon received the news stoically. "Thanks for the heads up, John. ETA, roughly… twelve minutes."

"We're going to have to get Virgil to teach you his secret to the perfect ETA."

"I'd rather that he showed by example." Gordon saw John open his mouth and waved a hand to silence his brother. "I know. It's not going to happen. It doesn't mean that I don't want it."

"I know, Gordon. I'm the same."

Alan, standing at Gordon's shoulder, looked at the video screen linking Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five. "Has Scott come up with a plan yet?"

"Not that he's told m… Hold on. Go ahead, Thunderbird One."

"What's Thunderbird Two's ETA?"

"About eleven minutes."

Scott's brothers saw his jaw muscles tense at the less than precise estimate, but he made no comment.

"What's the plan, Scott?" Alan asked again.

"There's an airstrip north of their present location. If we can encourage her to turn without losing too much height, they might be able to land there."

John was checking his maps and stats of the area. "The runway's too short for a standard landing."

"I was afraid of that. Do you have the Elevator Cars on board, Thunderbird Two?"

"Affirmative. Since it's the Fireflash, we figured she'd either need them or Thunderbird Four. In the absence of any water this side of the Aelmeads, we opted for the Elevator Cars."

"Thank heavens for that. But first we've got to make sure that she can reach them. She's finding it hard enough to remain aloft in a straight line, without trying to do any manoeuvres. We're going to have to do all we can to help her…"

-F-A-B-

John had just reported in that Thunderbird Two had a visual on the Fireflash, when Virgil and Bruce made it to the lounge. They were welcomed by those already there.

"Morning, Boys," Jeff greeted them.

"Morning, Father."

"Morning, Mr T. What's the action?"

"It's the Fireflash." Despite his concerns about the mission, Jeff grinned at Virgil's subsequent expression. "That's right; International Rescue's favourite aircraft. She's caught in the ash fallout from Mount Esterelf. Her intakes are clogged, and she's lost most of her thrust."

"Will we, ah, International Rescue get there in time?"

This time Jeff managed to avoid smiling at Virgil's unintentional slip. "Thunderbirds One and Two left as soon as we heard there might be problems."

Grandma bustled into the room. "You'll be wanting your breakfast, Virgil."

"I can get it, Grandma. Now that I don't need crutches, I don't need help carrying it."

"I'll go. You'll want to stay and listen to what's happening."

"You can stay. I can get my breakfast myself."

"Let's all go," Bruce suggested, breaking the impasse. "Then we can all have breakfast in here and listen to the action." He led the way out of the lounge and towards the breakfast bar. "What's the story about Fireflash and International Rescue?" He held a plate out to Virgil and gave one to Mrs Tracy.

"With the number of times that International Rescue's been involved in saving it, it must be jinxed," Virgil told him. "It was our first rescue."

"I remember that one. I was as amazed as the rest of the planet at what you guys achieved, and as curious as to who you were."

"Tin-Tin was on that flight," Virgil told his friend.

"She was!?"

"And Virgil was in the Elevator Car that rolled," Grandma added.

"You were!?"

Not wanting to recount that story now, Virgil fast-forwarded to the next time that International Rescue was involved with the fated aeroplane. "Remember when it was the target of saboteurs?"

"Yes… Didn't one crash, killing all on board?"

"We weren't called out to that disaster, but we had been monitoring transmissions. We discovered that Fireflash was giving a wrong location when she sent her mayday, which is why the plane was subsequently grounded."

"I'm not surprised."

"The first test flight after the International Air Ministry had run all its safety tests also crashed. Fortunately, only the pilots were on board and Gordon managed to rescue them."

"I don't remember hearing about that one."

"The IAM played it down to avoid panic. They said the plane ran into trouble, not that it had crashed into the ocean and sunk to the sea floor. Once again it had been giving a wrong location. So, on the _next_ test flight, Scott travelled as the co-pilot and Thunderbird Two flew shotgun." Virgil paused, remembering that day.

Bruce spooned some fruit onto his plate. "Murphy's law must state that it was a perfect flight."

"Oh, no," Grandma corrected. "It lost all power and was diving towards the ocean too. And it was reporting the wrong location. But Scott had Mobile Control on board and sent through the correct data. Gordon had to be winched on board Fireflash to find out what was wrong. But he wouldn't have made it if it hadn't been for Virgil keeping Thunderbird Two steady while he made the transfer." She hugged her grandson's shoulders.

Virgil made no comment about his part in the rescue. "It was Gordon who discovered that there was a saboteur on board. And he managed to keep Fireflash airborne long enough for it to land safely."

Bruce leant against the breakfast bar. "I guess the Fireflash's manufacturers were pleased that it was sabotage and not their plane that was causing problems." He took his first mouthful.

"Pity they didn't ground her permanently." Picking up his breakfast, Virgil headed back into the lounge. "Have they got there yet?"

"Just," John responded. "They're going to do what they can to keep her airborne and direct her to the nearest abandoned airfield. They're going to use the Elevator Cars for the landing." He saw Virgil freeze, his spoon halfway towards his mouth.

Aware that this was probably the last time that he was going to have indirect, yet direct, involvement in one of International Rescue's missions, Bruce leant forward. "Is there something wrong with the landing gear?"

The spoon started moving again.

"No, but the airstrip's too short for the Fireflash. Without the Elevator Cars' superior braking, they'd run out of runway before they could come to a complete stop."

"And that would be bad."

"But, to reach the airfield, they're going to have to try to turn Fireflash north."

"Have they lost steering?"

"Everything onboard the Fireflash is powered by the engines. With only one of them working at 30 percent, she's barely got enough power to run the fasten seatbelts signs, let alone manoeuvre."

"Can't they wait until she's out of the ash cloud and then restart the engines?"

The Tracys let Brains answer this one. "Volcanic ash is a-abrasive. It will have already damaged the engines and other flight surfaces. It will have dulled the leading edges of the turbines, making them less efficient."

"Oh."

"Th-The usual action, when a plane approaches stalling speed, is to increase thrust to the engine. In this situation, it causes the engines to burn at an increased temperature, which melts the ash and causes more damage to the engine."

"Ah."

"Even Thunderbirds One and Two, when they return to base, will have to have a complete check and their windscreens replaced."

"If the Fireflash is in such bad shape, then how do you, and I mean International Rescue, keep a plane airborne?"

It was Jeff who replied. "They were going to attach the balloons, but the ash is preventing them from getting a good seal on the plane, so Thunderbird Two's going to attach the grabs to her and try to hold her aloft." Once again, John saw Virgil's spoon halt its progress.

Bruce looked between the Tracys and Brains, who was staring at the computer in his hands. "Is that possible?"

"No."

Bruce turned to his friend. "Why?"

Virgil, his stomach in knots, had given up on eating. He almost threw his plate onto a nearby table. "The grabs aren't wide enough to get a good grip. Plus, Thunderbird Two won't be able to hover above Fireflash and produce enough lift for them both to maintain altitude."

"But Thunderbird Two can hover close to the ground, can't she?" Bruce protested. "I saw her do that at Tyler Gorge. Why can't she hover over a plane?"

"Two's not big enough..."

"But Thunderbird Two's huge! Fireflash is bigger?"

"She's one and half times longer and four times heavier than Thunderbird Two. Basic physics says that, even _if_ everything was in their favour, they've got no chance of keeping her airborne! No chance at all! The grabs' cables aren't long enough. It's hot in that part of the world and that, along with Fireflash's shape and proximity, will reduce the amount of lift that the VTOL jets can produce."

"But Mount Esterelf's miles away. Surely the heat from the eruption can't travel that far."

"I'm talking about usual weather patterns. Hot air is less dense, which means Thunderbird Two will need more power to stay airborne – without the stress of a longer, heavier aircraft hanging beneath. Plus, aside from the fire risk from being so close to Fireflash, Thunderbird Two won't be able to operate on full power because the ash from Mount Esterelf will be clogging its jets."

"But they're still going to try?" Bruce looked around the room before returning his attention to Virgil. "Your brothers won't give up, will they? Not with all those people on board."

"They won't give up," Jeff soothed. "That's our motto. Never give up, at any cost."

"Even if that cost is our lives." Virgil pushed himself out of his chair. "When Thunderbird Two runs out of power and crashes."

"Scott's trying to think of something else, Virgil," John's attempt at reassurance didn't have the desired effect. "He's on the scene and he knows what he's up against better than we do."

"There's nothing he can do! Nothing except watch hundreds of people, including our brothers, get killed!" Needing the quiet sanctity of a world far away from the prospect, Virgil stalked towards the patio doors.

Bruce watched his friend's slow, but dogged, progress out towards the stairs. Then he turned back to the rest of the Tracys. "I'm sorry. I got caught up in the excitement of my last rescue and I kinda forgot that it's all happening for real. I didn't want to upset him, and I guess I asked too many questions… Is it really that serious?"

Jeff gave a sombre nod. "Virgil knows what he's talking about."

"Oh."

"There's one thing you've got to remember, Bruce."

Bruce, looking hangdog, glanced up at the Space Monitor's portrait.

"If Virgil were out at the danger zone now, and if he was at the controls of Thunderbird Two, you can bet he wouldn't hesitate to do exactly whatever Scott told him. Even if he knew full well the chances of success were slim and that there was the probability that something catastrophic would happen, he wouldn't give up."

"John's right." Grandma turned to her son. "What that boy of yours needs, Jeff, is to re-join International Rescue."

"It's not me that you have to convince, Mother."

In silence that followed, Bruce collected together the abandoned plates and took them to the kitchen. When he returned, he was carrying Virgil's crutches. "He's outside, so he needs these."

"Give them to me." Grandma reached out for the supports. "I'll talk to him. He won't want to upset your last day here."

Bruce, with the feeling that the day was going to be upsetting for more than just him, handed the crutches over to his elderly friend.

Grandma found her grandson standing by the pool with his back resolutely to the house. "Virgil?"

Instead of turning to face her, he threw his hands up in exasperation. "Why is everything so out of control?!"

"What did you say?"

Now Virgil faced his grandmother, his face showing that he only just realised the meaning behind his words. "You think Scott's feeling out of control?" His right hand massaged his left.

"I don't know. Is he?"

Virgil considered what his body was telling him.

"You know as well as I do that Scott; that all of your brothers; know the limitations of what they're attempting. If there was an alternative, like the balloons, that's what they would be doing. The fact that he's having to rely on something that may not work, is bound to be preying on his mind."

Virgil hung his head. "I know."

"And you also know that if you can think of something else to try, he'd be more than glad to hear it."

"I'm not a part of the team anymore." Shoving his hands into his pockets, Virgil looked out to sea. "I resigned from International Rescue."

"That doesn't mean that they wouldn't value your input."

"I'm out of practise…" The hands started their unconscious massage again. "And I don't have any ideas."

Seeing the visible signs of the stress he was feeling, Grandma held out Virgil's crutches. "You may need these."

Virgil considered telling her that he didn't need them, and then told himself not to do anything stupid that might set back his recovery… The sooner he was one hundred percent better, the sooner he could get on with his life.

Even though he had no idea what he was going to do with it…

Grandma slipped her arm through his. "What you need for your health, and mine, is to get well away from the house. It would do us both good to go for a walk. Are you coming with me?"

Virgil sighed. There was nothing else he could do.

_To be continued…_


	70. Chapter 70

Scott's initial plan had been to use the balloons. A plan that he'd almost given up as impossible when he'd seen the thick layer of volcanic ash that coated the Fireflash.

The theory behind the balloons was that Thunderbird Two would fire suction cups at the fuselage of the aeroplane. The suction cups would almost weld themselves to the plane's surface before the balloons would inflate, giving the Fireflash the necessary lift to give International Rescue time to at least consider their next plan of action.

But for the suction cups to work, they'd need a clean seal, and clean wasn't a word you could use to describe the distressed aircraft at this moment. "This is Thunderbird One calling Fireflash."

"Thunderbird One?" Scott heard the surprised response. "You mean International Rescue?"

"That's right."

"You guys got here fast."

Scott didn't comment on the speed of his arrival. "Can you give me a rundown on what systems aren't operational?"

"It would be quicker to give you a rundown on those that are… Which would be none… This is Captain Hanson, by the way. Would I be talking to Tracy?"

"You would be, Hanson, and I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you again."

"Likewise. But at least you've given us hope. Fireflash isn't designed to glide."

"I remember, but you're doing as good a job keeping her airborne as you did last time."

"That's because my co-pilot's nearly as good as the one I had last time."

"What's your co-pilot's name?"

"Braun."

"I'm glad to know that there's someone who Hanson holds in high esteem at his side, Braun."

"Erm, thank you." Both Scott and Captain Hanson heard the hesitant pride in Braun's reply.

"What are you going to do, Tracy?"

"Thunderbird Two should be here any minute. Once she arrives, we'll find some way of keeping you airborne. Are any of your manoeuvring systems active?"

"Negative."

"Okay. We're going to have to try to turn you north. There's an airfield there you're going to land on."

"We saw that, but the runway's too short."

"Not with what we've got planned. Do you remember our Elevator Cars?"

"Remember them? They're legendary within Air Terranian and at London Airport."

"You'll be landing on them. They'll have the braking capacity to stop you safely."

"Understood."

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two."

"Excuse me, Captain. Go ahead, Thunderbird Two."

"We have a visual… At least as much as a visual as it's possible to get through this ash."

"Prepare the balloons, Thunderbird Two. We're going to have to help Fireflash get as much height as possible before we attempt to turn her."

"How much ash is on the fuselage?"

"Too much, but that's not going to stop us from trying."

"F-A-B." Gordon turned Thunderbird Two, so she was broadside to the stricken aircraft and checked his aeroplane's sensors. "Locked onto targets. Firing suction cups in three… two… one…"

Two discs shot out of the green transporter's undercarriage and thumped against the longer, sleeker craft's fuselage.

They held.

"Deploying balloons."

As Gordon said the words, he backed Thunderbird Two away, allowing two limp bags to be dragged clear. Above Fireflash's nose and in front of the tail, two large sacks started unfolding.

Staying far enough away from the action, so that he couldn't be a hazard, but was close enough to have a ringside seat, Scott watched the balloons inflate. "It's working…?"

Thunderbird Two had also dropped back. Alan, at Gordon's side, watched the ballooning structures. "I don't believe it. It's holding!"

Two's crew heard Scott's voice. "What's your altitude, Fireflash?"

Captain Hanson gave his response. "Six thousand, seven hundred metres and holding."

"Yes!" Gordon held up his hand and Alan high-fived it. "That's part one completed."

"Good," they heard Scott say. "Keeping it shallow, bank until you're on a northward heading."

"Understood," Hanson responded.

There was a moment's silence on the airways.

Eager to see the results of their rescue attempt, Alan looked over Gordon's shoulder at Thunderbird Two's control panel. "Is anything happening?"

"They don't appear…"

"Fireflash to International Rescue."

Scott responded. "Go ahead, Fireflash."

"Ailerons are not responsive. Rudders are not responsive. Elevators are not responsive. The ash has damaged them all."

His brothers could imagine Scott's expression upon hearing that news. But his voice remained calm and he sounded in control. "Don't worry about the elevators, the balloons will keep you aloft. Concentrate on one of the ailerons."

There was another pause before Hanson's voice was heard again. "That's a negative."

"All right. We're not beaten yet. Thunderbird Two, you're going to have to install replacements."

"You're up, Alan," Gordon told his brother. "I'll try to keep her steady."

Alan was already standing at a remote-control unit. "Lowering port aileron."

Once again keeping a watchful distance, Scott saw a long flat panel descend from Thunderbird Two's underside. "Want me to spot for you, Thunderbird Two?"

It was Alan who answered. "Every bit of help would be appreciated."

Zooming around until he was adjacent to Fireflash's left wing, Scott gave the signal. "Lower another point five."

He heard Alan's response. "Lowering point five."

"Point two."

"Point two."

"Stop! You're level with the wing."

This was the tricky bit. At present the replacement aileron was riding behind Fireflash's port wing, lurching in the turbulence off the larger craft. With a: "Let me know if I need to change height," Alan leant forward on a lever.

International Rescue's aileron unit moved forward.

"You need to lose height, Thunderbird Two," Scott commanded. "Point zero three."

The necessary adjustments were made.

The aileron unit moved forward, its leading edge open and ready to slide over the Fireflash's wing. A force field was switched on, guiding the aileron over the defunct original.

No one heard the snap, but a light on Alan's console glowed green. "Made it!" He released the connection between the aileron and Thunderbird Two.

"Moving to starboard side," Gordon announced and Thunderbird Two flew up, behind Fireflash, and descended above the right wing.

Scott was just as quick getting into position. "You're on target, Thunderbird Two."

This procedure went as smoothly as the first, and both Thunderbirds dropped back, gaining height so they could look down onto the crippled aircraft.

Scott pulled his microphone a millimetre closer. "All right, Hanson, we're going to make Fireflash bank to starboard. Do what you can to keep her steady."

"Understood."

"Lowering port aileron and raising starboard aileron," Alan told all those listening. "Banking to starboard."

Fireflash's right wing dipped slightly; her left one lifting towards the sky. For a moment, everyone thought that the audacious plan was going to work.

That was until…

"The balloons!" Gordon's shout echoed throughout Thunderbirds Two, One, Five, and base. "They're slipping. Bring her back to the level, Alan!"

But it was too late. The balloons' grip on the Fireflash had been tenuous at best. The aeroplane's change in inclination had pulled against both suction units, ripping the front balloon clear. As the aircraft's nose dropped, the dramatic change in the forces against the tail unit were too much. The second balloon was also ripped free, disappearing on the jetstream.

Fireflash was dropping again.

Even in the isolated pilots' cabin, Hanson and Braun thought they could hear the screams and shouts of dismay of their passengers. "Tracy! What happened?"

"The ash from the volcano disrupted the seal," Scott explained. "We'll have to go to plan B."

"Plan B?" Gordon queried, Thunderbird Two already over Fireflash's nose. "You mean the grabs?"

"I know it's not ideal, but it's the only option we've got left. Concentrate on maintaining height. Alan, you operate the grabs. I'll control the ailerons and get her to bank."

"F-A-B."

Held firm on a length of high tensile cable, the grabs snaked down out of Thunderbird Two's undercarriage. They opened wide, and from their vantage point in Fireflash's tail, Hanson and Braun watched as the huge metal jaws settled over their plane's nose.

Thunderbird Two's vertical take-off and landing jets fired. Fireflash's nose tilted upwards, but her heavier and broader tail continued to drop.

Gordon felt Thunderbird Two tremble under the strain. "I'm not going to be able to hold her for long."

"Just keep her airborne," Scott feathered the aileron controls. "I'll try to coax her onto a northbound heading."

"Make it quick."

"I daren't make it too quick. She'd destabilise you."

The heavens opened. Ash that had been floating in the atmosphere was washed out of the sky and all over everything in its path.

Red lights started flashing and sirens blaring.

"The jet units!" Gordon exclaimed. "The ash is clogging them!"

"Don't apply more power!" Scott warned. "You'll only make it worse!"

"I know…"

What followed was a series of overlapping yells, heard throughout International Rescue's network.

"The grabs are slipping!"

"Don't let them damage the plane."

"I can't hold her…"

"We're losing power…"

"Tail's dropping further…"

"She's not turning…"

Jeff hoped that Virgil wasn't listening in, as he watched the action via a video link from Thunderbird One.

"We've lost thrust!" Gordon had only one option remaining. "I'm going to have to bail! Release the grabs!"

"Releasing…"

There was barely time to hear Alan's report, before Thunderbird Two was rolling to starboard, dropping past the Fireflash's fuselage. She fell tail first, the hard, rocky landscape below growing closer by the millisecond. There was a cough from the mighty aircraft, smoke blew out of her forward jets, and she slid backwards back onto the horizontal and away from the danger zone.

"Report, Thunderbird Two!"

Jeff heard the almost hidden anguish in Scott's order.

"We're okay, Scott. The air's cleaner down here, and we're moving away from the ash fallout. I'll drop Alan and the Elevator Cars off at the airstrip. That'll give the jets a chance to clear before I return. Then you and I can do whatever we need to get Fireflash to safety."

"F-A-B." Jeff heard the almost hidden relief.

Brains got up and left the room.

Scott changed frequencies. "Are you still with us, Hanson?"

"Still here, Tracy. How's your team?"

"Delivering the Elevator Cars to the runway. Just keep Fireflash on a steady heading until they get back."

"We're doing our best, but she's not responding to anything we do."

"I'll feather our ailerons to keep you on a steady course." True to his word, Scott attempted to do just that, but his sensors were telling him that something was wrong. "They're not working."

"Not working?" John had, up till now, kept the airways clear while the rescue was in action. "Ash build up?"

"At a guess." Scott tried manipulating the ailerons again. "No. Still negative."

"You're going to need them operable if you're going to have any hope of getting the Fireflash to the runway."

"I know, and we haven't got the time nor resources to install replacements. Where's Brains?"

"In the loun… No, he's not."

"I haven't got time to discuss this with him." Scott pushed forward on Thunderbird One's accelerator and sent her shooting forward until she was several kilometres ahead of the stricken aeroplane. "This is Thunderbird One to the crew and passengers of Fireflash."

His voice was heard inside the aeroplane's passenger cabins and flight deck. "_Thunderbird One is about to make two supersonic runs past Fireflash to clear ash off the fuselage. Do not be alarmed, but please do all you can to block your ears and protect your hearing against the noise. The run will start in fifteen seconds…" _He set an automatic countdown in motion, its monotonous recording heard throughout both craft.

"What are you going to do?" John asked.

Scott lined his craft up with the ailerons that International Rescue had installed. "Make a run close to the wings and hope the sound waves create enough vibrations to jar the ash free."

"You're going to hit the Fireflash with a sonic boom? Two sonic booms?!"

"That's the plan." As the countdown finished, Scott took a deep breath. "Cross your fingers for me, John."

"My fingers and everything else." John watched through Thunderbird One's cameras as Fireflash grew closer and closer at Mach 1. He, like Scott, didn't hear the sonic boom behind the Thunderbird as she passed above the port wing. A quick U-turn and Thunderbird One made the same run over the starboard side of the aircraft. "Well…?"

The sensors were glowing green.

"It worked!" Scott cheered. "Thunderbird One to Fireflash."

There was a definite pause. "This is Fireflash. Sorry about the delay, our ears are still trying to recover."

"Sorry about that, but at least it seems to have worked. We have regained some control over Fireflash."

"I'd say that's good to hear… Except that my ears are still ringing."

It was another ten minutes before Gordon reported in. "Elevator Cars ready for action. Returning to danger zone."

"Good, Thunderbird Two. What state is the runway in?"

"In the state that you'd expect a deserted runway to be in: rough. Even if it were long enough, there's no way that a plane could safely land on it."

"Will it cause problems for the Elevator Cars?"

"I left Alan filling in the largest pot holes with self-levelling foam. His major concern is matching Fireflash's speed when she lands… And whether we'll be able to keep her in the air long enough to get there… So, what's the plan?"

"Do you remember that old movie we watched the other day?"

"Which one?"

"The one set in 1944 about the aerial defence of Great Britain, with the wooden sets and even more wooden acting?"

"It was boring. There weren't any submarines. And _you_ only watched it for the planes."

"Remember how the RAF combated the unmanned German V-1 missiles?"

"Those things they called Doodlebombs?"

"Buzz Bombs or Doodlebugs."

"I think I remember. Didn't the Air Force flip the things out of the air?"

"They didn't do that exactly. The fighters flew close enough to the V-1s, so that, without touching them, their wings would slide underneath the enemy crafts' wings and disrupt the airflow. This would, in their terminology, 'topple' the V-1s out of the sky before they could reach their target."

"And that's your plan?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"But we don't want to topple Fireflash out of the sky. We've been trying to keep her in it."

"We're not going to topple her. We're not even going to touch her. We're going to use Thunderbirds One and Two's wings, in unison, to use the same process to give her lift."

"You're hoping that the same effect will occur on each wing at the same time, at the same rate, and will negate any negative forces?"

"Right."

"It's going to be tricky."

"When is it ever not?"

"We're going to have to be synchronised to the millisecond. If we're a millimetre out, it could be disastrous.

"I know. Are you in?"

"You know I am…" Through Thunderbird One's video camera, a green shape came into view, quickly growing larger. "The ash cloud appears to have dissipated."

"If the ash is thinning…" it was Captain Hanson, "should we try to restart our engines?"

"Negative," Scott responded. "They will have already received too much damage."

"Understood."

"Have you got your ears on, Alan?"

"Affirmative. I know it's pointless saying this, but it sounds risky."

Scott confirmed that it was pointless by not responding. "Are you able to take over the manipulation of Fireflash's ailerons?"

"F-A-B."

"Thunderbird Two, slave your airspeed to mine. Then we've only got to worry about working together vertically and horizontally."

"Scott…" Alan sounded concerned. "I know you're the best pilot we've got, but you'll be, in effect, flying three aircraft simultaneously."

"We don't have time to discuss this." Thunderbird One's wings extended out from her body. "Thunderbird One. Getting into position."

Gordon had already moved Thunderbird Two around, so she was close to Fireflash's port wing. "Thunderbird Two. In position."

"Thunderbird One to Fireflash."

"Fireflash receiving."

"We are about to attempt to induce lift to your wings. We will control all lift and banking. Do not attempt to make any changes to your flight path or pattern."

"Understood."

"I'll ask you to read out your altitude every hundred metres."

Glad that he wasn't completely redundant, Captain Hanson responded with another: "Understood."

"And keep a clear head."

"Roger."

Hanson heard Scott's first instruction. "Move in, Thunderbird Two. Twenty metres aft. Twenty metres below. Twenty metres in from wingtip to wingtip."

Mirroring the instructions, Gordon moved into place. "In position. Transferring airspeed control to Thunderbird One." He felt Two's speed adjust accordingly. "Just remember that I'm not built to go as fast as you."

"From now on we maintain that wingtip position."

"F-A-B."

"Move forward twenty metres."

Gordon, knowing that his airspeed was equal to Thunderbird One's, only had to concentrate on keeping Thunderbird Two on an even keel. The mighty green aeroplane's wing slipped below Fireflash's as, mirrored on the starboard side of the craft, Thunderbird One's port wing did the same.

"Matching airspeed with Fireflash. Gain altitude at one metre per second until you are one metre below Fireflash's wing. Begin in five… four… three… two… one…"

Both Thunderbirds rose higher until only one metre separated them from the Air Terranian aircraft.

"How close did those fighter pilots get?" Gordon asked.

Scott's voice was taut with concentration. "One hundred and fifty millimetres."

Gordon felt his mouth go dry. One hundred and fifty millimetres sounded a lot, until you converted it to fifteen centimetres; or nought point one five metres; or a hand span; and then remembered that you were rising beneath something that was falling.

He concentrated on the task at hand.

He heard Scott's voice. "We'll increase altitude in one five zero millimetre increments."

"One five zero," Gordon echoed. "Got it."

"Begin first ascent in five… four… three… two… one…"

They rose half a foot.

"And again."

They rose again. And again. Carefully mimicking each other's actions until Captain Hanson reported a minuscule decrease to their altitude loss.

"Thanks, Hanson. Right, Virgil, time to start the turn. Gain one five zero millimetres and bank to starboard one degree in five… four… three… two… one…"

Gordon did as he was told, Scott making an equivalent adjustment on the other side.

Fireflash turned.

Despite that early sign of success, Gordon didn't feel like celebrating. Instead he checked his maps and other readouts. "We're not going to make the airfield unless we increase the rate of turn."

"Then that's what we'll do. Gain one five zero millimetres and bank to starboard a further one degree in five… four…"

The countdown reached "one" and Scott mirroring his actions, Gordon made the smooth transition.

"_Altitude three_ _eight zero zero metres."_

None of the Tracys acknowledged Captain Hanson's report.

"Almost on a heading to the runway," Gordon told everyone who was listening. "Start levelling off."

"Affirmative," Scott agreed. "Reduce height by one five zero millimetres and straighten up one degree in five… four…"

Fireflash drew closer to the level.

"Reduce height again by one five zero millimetres and straighten up one degree in five… four… three…" When Scott reached "one", Thunderbird One gained altitude and changed her configuration; keeping her port wing parallel to Fireflash's.

"_Altitude three_ _seven zero zero. Runway dead ahead."_

"We'll stay with you for as long as we can, Hanson," Scott promised.

"Thank you. Thanks for everything."

-F-A-B-

On the ground, Alan had been doing some quick calculations. If he were to start from a dead stop, the Elevator Cars would only be up to Fireflash's landing speed by the time they reached the end of the runway – far too late to ensure a safe stop. He needed a run-up, and the only one available to him was the access road leading to the airstrip.

Deciding that it was a no brainer, he sent the Master Car and its subsidiaries trundling single file down the road. It would be a staggered start, but at least each car would already have a fair head of steam when they hit the runway. The timing was down to him.

He reached the end of the long straight road, did a complicated three-point turn that took out some fences, and brought his Master Elevator Car to rest at the head of his entourage.

He sat there, idling.

-F-A-B-

"_Altitude two zero zero zero."_

"All right, Fireflash. It's down to you now," Scott informed the crew. "Leave your landing gear retracted and try to make as normal an approach as possible. The Elevator Cars will make the necessary adjustments. Thunderbird Two and Thunderbird One will stop assisting you at one thousand metres and I'll control ailerons to try to reduce your airspeed. Any questions?"

"Probably, but I'll only think of them when we're down."

"Thank you, International Rescue," Braun blurted, as his captain ordered everyone on the flight to assume the crash position and remain there until the plane had stopped moving. "Thank you for giving us a chance."

There was no point thanking them until they were safely on the ground, Scott thought. There were so many unknowns and variables. Would Fireflash make the remainder of its journey unassisted, or would it pitch nose-first into the unyielding earth? Would the crew have enough control over their plane to allow them to land on the Elevator Cars? Would the uneven surface of the neglected runway cause problems? Would Alan be able to stop the Elevator Cars in time? If he didn't, there wasn't a fire crew on hand to extinguish any fires and help survivors to safety.

Memories of International Rescue's first rescue flared up.

-F-A-B-

Time to gun it.

The Master Elevator Car set off at speed, the other two following like a team of ducklings heading for the pond. The lead car ploughed through another fence, sending chicken wire and galvanised metal tubing flying as it straightened out their path to the runway. The other two cars increased their speed, trampled some rubbish into the dirt, drew level with one another, separated, and fell into V-formation behind their master.

-F-A-B-

An alarm told Scott that Thunderbird One was a kilometre above the ground. "Reducing airspeed," he announced to everyone listening. "They're in your hands, Alan. Good luck, Fireflash."

"F-A-B."

As Thunderbirds One and Two dropped back, Hanson and Braun took a firm grip on their control yokes. They were pleasantly surprised to discover that Scott's supersonic run had cleared some of the ash blocking their engines, increasing their control over the aeroplane. For the first time in what seemed to be hours, they felt quietly hopeful.

A video camera showing him the scene behind and above him, Alan saw the inverted T-shape that was Fireflash draw closer. A beep from his console told him they were past the point of no return.

The three Elevator Cars picked up speed.

-F-A-B-

"It's too short!" Braun yelped. "We'll never stop in time!"

"International Rescue wouldn't do this if they didn't think we had a chance," Hanson reminded him. "Remember London."

"I was in New York at the time."

"Braun!" Hanson barked with more intensity than he'd intended. He decided that his best course of action was to concentrate on leading by example. "Turning point five of a degree to starboard."

Fireflash made the smallest of adjustments.

Braun watched as the nose seemed to rise up. "Tail's dropping!"

Scott had already seen the potential disaster and, with a deft manipulation of International Rescue's ailerons, had negated it. "You're looking good."

Alan wasn't sure if the moral-boosting words were intended for him or Fireflash's crew, but he accepted them as a reassurance that things were going well. He accelerated the Master Elevator Car.

The ground was drawing closer. From Hanson and Braun's perspective, the three Elevator Cars looked as likely to support their weight as kiddie go karts.

And then they made contact.

Scott raised the ailerons, trying to increase the downward thrust.

"Applying brakes!" The Elevator Cars' wheels locked, leaving a trail of smoke and tyre residue behind them.

Their destinies out of their control, Hanson and Braun watched as a grove of trees and a mountain range seemed to be racing towards them. With nothing else he could do, Hanson sent a message to those in the passenger hold. "Remain in crash position! Repeat! Remain in crash position! ... Get down, Braun!" He obeyed his own instructions.

Alan, hoping that the new and improved compound that his vehicles' tyres were made from would resist blowouts, was the only one with any control over the lives of those above him. "Applying retros!"

This was a new feature, added to the Elevator Cars by Brains after Fireflash's first contact with International Rescue. Jet engines in the front of each vehicle blasted out in an attempt to reduce the aeroplane's momentum.

"We're slowing!"

_Is it enough? _Gordon, at the end and off to the side of the runway, wished that they had the Firefly on board. If those vehicles didn't stop soon, they'd need all the firefighting equipment they had available to prevent a massive loss of life.

Alan could see how close it was getting too. In one last, desperate manoeuvre, he cut the forward jets and threw all three Elevator Cars into a handbrake turn.

Fireflash gave a lurch to the right, losing connection with the Elevator Car on that side. The starboard wing dropped, digging into the grass that ran alongside the runway's edge. It clipped the tarmac and its tip was ripped clear, sending the aeroplane spinning off its life-rafts and onto the concrete. Fuel spraying out of the severed wing, it continued to revolve, the lost avgas acting as a lubricant against the runway's rough surface.

The wooded boundary drew closer.

Alan sent both auxiliary Elevator Cars around the plane in a pincer movement, waited until Fireflash was facing its original orientation, and then, spraying fire-retardant foam ahead of them as they went, accelerated the cars forward. Both impacted against the wings with a report that reverberated throughout the airfield.

Fireflash stopped moving.

Thunderbird Two was already down, facing away from the emergency. As frightened passengers and crew started disembarking via the hastily inflated emergency ramps, Gordon sent four buses roaring out of the pod. Turning the one he was piloting side-on to the downed jet, he lowered the entire wall of the bus outwards to create an access way. "Get in!" he ordered, his voice echoing out of the loud speakers.

His words were redundant, as evacuees could see that this was the only way to safety. They crowded onto the first bus.

Alan, using almost as much speed as he had used to catch the Fireflash, roared in the Master Elevator Car across the tarmac to the pilots' emergency hatch. "Climb onto the roof." he demanded.

Hanson and Braun obeyed, clinging to the surface that had only recently supported their wreck of an aeroplane.

Taking care not to dislodge them, Alan drove back to Thunderbird Two. There he hopped out of his cab and assisted the two pilots down. "Hanson: stay here. Get all your passengers and crew inside." He pointed into the pod, which was acting as a barrier against the threat of possible explosion. "Do not let anyone leave until you've received the all clear. Braun: come with me." He led the way into the cavernous shell. "This is the passenger hold. Tell everyone to go in and sit down."

The first bus was full when Gordon raised its side again to close it. Leaving the second bus to take his place, he roared around his Thunderbird, stopping parallel to the open pod. "Get out now!" he ordered.

His call was echoed by Hanson who, aided by his uniform and demeanour, encouraged everyone out of the relative safety of the bus, onto the tarmac, and up the pod's ramp.

The second his vehicle was empty, Gordon was driving back to the danger zone. Once again, his place taken was by bus Two.

Scott had also brought Thunderbird One into land. Using suction units to climb the side of the aeroplane and towing two hover-stretchers behind him, he skirted the frightened evacuees, forced his way inside, and went in search of those who hadn't been lucky enough to be able to escape under their own steam.

After battling through what seemed to be an almost never-ending river of frightened humanity, he came across three cabin crew kneeling by a young man who appeared to be unconscious.

"He wanted to see what happened, so he got out of the crash position," an Air Terranian employee explained.

Scott didn't waste time on a full examination. "I know you know what you're doing," he reassured the flight team, as he settled a hover-stretcher next to the unconscious man. "Get him onto this and give me a call when he's ready to be moved."

"Shouldn't we wait until medical staff get here?" one of the team asked.

"They could be hours away," Scott told him. "And if Fireflash blows, we won't have hours. Keep him as immobilised as you can. Don't move him without a neck brace. Call me when you're ready." Getting to his feet, he continued his search for survivors.

The first was a woman in hysterics; wailing and rocking backwards and forwards in her seat. It was only through his quiet and reassuring manner and a gentle guiding hand, that he got her to her feet and moving towards the inflatable ramp. Once on the tarmac he handed her over to a kind-hearted couple, who took her under their wing and led her to the safety of a waiting bus.

The woman never realised that it was one of the gallant and noble men of International Rescue who had helped her in her worst hour.

The gallant and noble man of International Rescue re-boarded the aeroplane.

"Scott!" Only a close brother would have picked up that single note of almost panic in Alan's shout.

Scott, his remaining hover-stretcher floating beneath the ceiling above him as he pushed past stragglers and advised a good many of them to leave their bags behind and concentrate on evacuating, finally made it to his brother's side.

The younger man was crouched next to woman who was holding a baby. The woman was rigidly immobile, the remains of tears on her cheeks; but she, Scott could tell, was determined to remain strong for her child. "My baby's not moving."

"There's a pulse and she's breathing." Alan's words were reassuring, despite that panicked note.

Scott crouched down, so he too was at the woman's eyelevel. "What's your baby's name?" he asked, flicking at the tiny foot.

There was no response.

"Mona."

"And yours?"

"Jenna."

"Okay, Jenna, we're going to get Mona out of here and to hospital, where she'll be looked after." Scott began to prepare the hover-stretcher. "Alan, go and get the Giraffe."

This order was made for more than to ensure that mother and baby had a smooth journey out of the Fireflash. Something had upset Alan and he needed to be kept busy; preventing him from dwelling on whatever had disturbed him.

Whether Alan understood the reasoning behind the order, Scott didn't know, but with a brisk "F-A-B", that order was acknowledged and acted on.

"Can you keep Mona still until we get her out of here?" Scott asked. "I don't want to move her more than necessary, until we get to the sickbay."

Jenna's stare bored into his. "I will hold her and protect her forever."

He grinned, as much to reassure her as an acknowledgment of her determination. "I thought so." Raising it up to sitting height, and bending it so it had a backrest, Scott indicated the hover-stretcher. "Sit on this and you will both have a smooth ride out of here," he promised, guiding her into position. "Now, I'm going to strap you to the stretcher. This is to immobilise you, so we can keep any movements to Mona to a minimum."

Jenna was a picture of steely-eyed determination. "Do what you have to, to save my baby."

"Let me know if it's too tight." Scott made a point of applying the fastenings, so they were firm, but not so firm that the mother's legs lost their circulation. He would have liked to have constrained her torso as well but knew that he couldn't do that without unwanted movement to the precious bundle in her arms. "Comfortable?" He squeezed a pillow onto her lap as additional support.

Jenna nodded, but Scott fancied that she would have said yes even if she'd been sitting on a bed of nails; so determined was she to do the best for her daughter.

"Right. You're going to follow me. Yell, if necessary." Scott moved in front of the stretcher, and started walking through the aeroplane, the hover-stretcher following close.

They reached the original hover-stretcher and the Air Terranian crew.

Jenna and Mona easing to a stop behind him, Scott crouched down next to the unconscious man. "Any changes to his condition?" he asked, raising the sides of the hover-stretcher to immobilise the patient.

"No," he was told. "He's hardly reacted to anything."

"I know your duties mean you've got to check the craft to see if anyone else has been left behind, so I'll take care of him. Evacuate as soon as you're sure Fireflash is clear."

"Will do," the leader of the team responded.

Once again Scott started walking towards the exit, this time with two hover-stretchers following in single file.

Hurdling some of the cattle class seats as he struggled to get past the final evacuees, Alan joined them. "How's Mona?" he asked Jenna, hiding his concerns from all except his brother. He applied a small oxygen mask to the baby's face.

The responding smile was stiff and unnatural. "She hasn't moved."

"It won't be long, and we'll have you both out of here," Alan promised. He unhooked something from behind his back and grinned. "We'll take the secret emergency exit." Firing up the laser he pointed it at the cabin's wall and started cutting a hover-stretcher-sized hole.

"Don't worry, it doesn't generate sparks," Scott reassured the mother, as the first upwards cut was completed and Alan changed the laser's angle of attack.

It was only seconds before both Tracys were able to pull the section clear.

Looking through the hole, Alan sent a command to the Giraffe. The new and improved unit trundled closer, raising its neck until it was level with the floor. He stepped out onto it, before turning and extending his hand. "First boarding call."

Jenna's stretcher moved through the newly cut gap and onto the Giraffe's platform.

Alan held the hover-stretcher steady. "Going down."

The descent was smooth and swift; the Giraffe extending its neck forward until the platform was level with the ground. Alan stepped off, allowing the hover-stretcher to follow.

The Giraffe began ascending back to where Scott and the other patient waited.

Taking his time to ensure that the process was as bump-free as he could make it, Alan clipped his hover-stretcher into a transportation unit. "We've got to wait for the others," he admitted, and glanced up. "But it won't be for very long."

The Giraffe's head was already settling next to the transporter and Scott stepped off, guiding his stretcher to the other side.

He clipped the injured young man in. "You load everyone in Thunderbird Two, Alan, and I'll check that the plane's fully evacuated."

"F-A-B." Alan stepped onto the steering platform at the rear of the transporter and pressed the button that brought it to life.

He motored around Thunderbird Two's pod; passing Gordon, who'd left the driving of the buses to each buses' automatic pilot – programmed in during his first journey. Now he was concentrating on helping the final evacuees – those who either through injury or lack of mobility were the last to abandon Fireflash.

It wasn't long before Air Terranian's flagship craft was declared deserted and everyone strapped in and waiting for Thunderbird Two to lift off.

John had made arrangements with various authorities for Thunderbird Two to touch down in the grounds of the nearest hospital able to take casualties. The trip was made in quick time, and those who needed medical help, along with their companions, were offloaded and escorted towards the accident and emergency department.

After a short bunny hop to a nearby lodge, one which had the room to accommodate an aeroplane-load of people, the remainder of the passengers were offloaded from Thunderbird Two. Relieved to be well away from any hint of danger, and with many of them desperately in need of a change of clothing, they accepted the hospitality of the lodge and waited for a representative of Air Terranian to make an appearance.

For International Rescue, it was time to return to the danger zone.

Scott claimed the seat next to Alan. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

"Nothin'."

Scott glanced at Gordon's back, but his brother appeared to be concentrating on flying the Thunderbird. "Something happened with the baby."

"Mona."

"Yes. Mona."

"Nothing happened. I just…"

"Have you fellas…?" Gordon had twisted in his seat, so he could see his brothers, but was silenced when Scott waved him away. Recognising that now was not the time for idle chit-chat, he returned his attention to his control yoke.

Scott turned back to his youngest brother. "Yes?"

"What if I caused Mona's injuries? What if she was fine until I did that handbrake turn and Fireflash fell off Car Two? You're not supposed to shake a baby. What if the jolt when Fireflash hit the ground did whatever's wrong with her?"

"You saved 600 lives, Alan. That's 600 people, who could have died if you hadn't done everything you did. Six hundred and one, if we include that you could have been caught up in it all. Plus, we've got no way of knowing if that was when she was injured. It could have been the impact when Fireflash landed on the Elevator Cars. You had no control over how hard that landing was. It could have been when I did the supersonic run. It could have been when Fireflash lost altitude when she first ran into trouble. It could have been a culmination of multiple events. Beating yourself up over the last thing that happened in a long line of knocks isn't going to do Mona or Jenna any good."

"You didn't see Jenna's look when I first met her. You didn't see the despair in her face."

Scott rubbed Alan's back. He'd seen that look often enough over the years. "I can imagine. But you did something to help her, Alan. You gave her hope. And you got Mona to medical care."

Alan gave a sombre and silent nod.

"Okay?"

There was the nod again.

Gordon could hear that whatever the conversation behind him was about, it was over. "Want to see the damage?" he offered, setting Thunderbird Two into a hover.

Scott got to his feet, pleased that Alan chose to follow him. Both men wandered over to stand on either side of their brother, looking down to the devastation below.

The long elegant form of Fireflash was no more. Part of the wing was halfway down the runway, which was streaked with Air Terranian grey paint, bits of composite materials, aircraft fuel, and gouges to its less than pristine surface. Pools of fire-resistant liquid had puddled under what remained of the wings. The Master Elevator Car was parked off to one side, away from all the carnage, whist the other two were jammed into and under both of Fireflash's wing junctions.

Gordon grinned up at his younger brother. "Nice work, Alan. That's how to total a plane without causing any damage."

Alan managed a wry grin.

"Let's get those Cars put away and head for home," Scott suggested. "I don't know about you guys, but I didn't have any breakfast and I'm starving."

"That's hardly headline news." Gordon brought Thunderbird Two into land.

They were about to leave the flight deck when they received a message from Thunderbird Five. Representatives of Air Terranian and the International Air Ministry were on their way to view the damage and arrange the recovery of the wrecked Fireflash. They were most grateful to International Rescue for their help and amazed at the speediness of their response. What's more, the young man was conscious and reporting no discomfort to his extremities, and the baby was awake and responding to stimuli.

"And that, my brothers," John crowed, "is what I call a result!"

Alan and Scott high-fived each other, before sharing one each with Gordon.

"Mona's going to be okay?" Alan checked.

"They'll need to run further tests to check there's no long-term damage, but the signs are good."

Scott hugged his brother's shoulders as Alan visibly relaxed. "See. Nothing to worry about. You did good, Alan."

"Very good," Gordon agreed. "By the way, Scott, thanks for the compliment."

His eldest brother's frown was a picture of confusion. "Compliment? What compliment?"

"You called me Virgil."

"Virgil?"

"When we were trying to land Fireflash."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"You did, Scott," Alan confirmed. "I was listening, and I heard you. Right, John?"

"Huh?" John appeared to be distracted. "What?"

"Did you hear Scott call Gordon _Virgil_?"

"Oh, yeah." John's eye's flicked away from the camera. "He did… I mean; you did."

Scott turned back to Gordon. "All right, so I called you Virgil. Why is calling you the wrong name a compliment?"

"If you thought it was him flying alongside you and not me, I must have been doing all right."

"You did all right, and I never doubted otherwise." Scott noted the Space Monitor's preoccupation. "What's wrong, John?"

"It's…" John dragged his eyes away from the screen. "Probably nothing. You can check it out when you get home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Scott clapped his hands together. "Come on, Fellas. Time to pack up."

_To be continued…_


	71. Chapter 71

Grandma was right, Virgil decided. The further he got away from the house and the reminders of the dangers that his brothers were in, the better he felt.

He stood on the golden sands, his grandmother at his side, looked out across the blue Pacific Ocean, and felt the early morning sun on the side of his face – warm, despite the chill of the breeze.

"Even after all these years, I still can't get used to that."

Wondering what his grandmother was talking about, Virgil turned to face her.

Grandma Tracy had her back to the sea and was staring up at the volcanic peak that towered over them. "I'm used to the land being flat," she admitted. "Like this." She waved an arm over the never-ending expanse of water. "But that…" She gestured up to the summit. "Just plain feels wrong. That's why I like my walks along the beach. I don't have to look at the mountain."

Virgil regarded the extinct mound of basalt and scoria. It was something that he'd never considered, but then he'd spent much of his life in different parts of the world; initially as an Air Force brat and latterly in various educational and employment institutions and locations. He hadn't spent the majority of his time on Earth surrounded by nothing but the flat, waving, golden fields of wheat. "Don't you like living here?"

Instead of responding, Grandma took his left arm and started walking; awkwardly because of his reliance on his crutches. "You should join me on my morning constitutional," she offered. "The exercise would do us both good."

"I'd only slow you down."

Deciding that her grandson's left crutch was more of a hindrance than a help, Grandma took it from him. "Let me carry this. We both know that you don't need it."

Surprised by his grandmother offering to help him to disobey medical orders, Virgil allowed her to slide the crutch from his hand. "Are you supposed to be supporting me, or am I supposed to be supporting you?" he asked, when she took his arm again.

"We're all here to support each other. You know that." Carrying the crutch, Grandma started walking again. "That's why you can't stop yourself from thinking about what your brothers are doing right now."

"I couldn't stop myself, because Bruce was asking questions and it was polite to answer them." Virgil fixed his attention on the kelp waving in the sea.

"John could have answered them. Or your father. Or Brains."

Virgil concentrated on putting his weight on his sole remaining crutch, not leaning on his grandmother, and making sure that he didn't lose his footing on the shifting sand.

"You can't tell me that you weren't analysing what your brothers were dealing with and trying to work out if there was anything you could do to help them…"

"No, I wasn't."

"…And being frustrated that you couldn't think of anything or do anything to help… Now, be honest with me, Virgil Tracy," Grandma scolded when she saw that he was about to protest again. "You know, and I know, and your brothers know, and your father knows that you're never going to be able to give up on International Rescue, just like that. You've been a part of organisation for so long that you can't just stop thinking about it cold turkey."

"Hardly cold turkey. I spent a year focussing on things other than International Rescue. In fact, International Rescue barely crossed my mind all the time that I was in hospital. I don't need it in my life anymore, Grandma."

"Maybe not now, when your focus should be on getting better, but it won't be long before you're going to have to decide what you're going to do for the rest of your life. And when that time comes, you'll know that you're not cut out to be only an artist, or only a musician, or even only an engineer. You need more than those things. You need International Rescue."

Virgil's jaw had firmed into a stubborn line. "Maybe I do need more than being _only_ an artist, or a musician, or an engineer. But I know for a fact that I _don't_ need International Rescue. I haven't missed it once."

Grandma felt the muscles in his arm tighten. If his right hand hadn't been occupied holding himself upright with his crutch, she was sure it would be massaging the one clasped in her fingers. "Are you sure about that?"

"Grandma!"

"All right, all right," she said, taking a metaphorical step backwards. "All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Don't shut out International Rescue just because for a short time it seemed to be the right thing to do. No one will think the less of you for changing your mind." She shivered. "Is it me, or is it getting colder?"

"It's getting colder."

"Misty too."

The cold breeze that had sprung up was mixing with iodine particles released by the kelp and spray from the breakers rolling against the rocky reefs that jutted into the bay, and the resulting light fog was bathing everything in a damp mist. It being late spring and neither of them having intended to be out on a walk this early, Virgil and his grandmother hadn't considered putting warmer clothing on this morning.

"We'd better go back up," he suggested. "Shall we take the steps in the next bay?"

"Can you manage them?"

Letting go of her hand, Virgil held his out for his left crutch. "With that I can."

Striding out with more purpose, they proceeded forward, turning the corner that led into the bay with the stairway that led back to the villa.

It was like walking into a waterfall. The bay was awash with white, foggy, damp air.

Grandma shivered again. "Let's go back."

Virgil was mindful of not only his reduced mobility, but his grandmother's less than youthful gait. "I think you're right. The steps will be too slippery now." Taking a firmer grip on his crutches, he glanced down at his left hand, the back of which was blending into a mottled blue. "Maybe we should try to warm up at one of the ducts?"

The ducts were intended to improve the ventilation of the air that circulated through the underground hangars. Depending on what the temperature was above ground, they would expel either warm or cool air, meaning that, on a day like this, the outflow should be warmer than the breeze chilling the beach.

Her wet clothes sticking to her, Grandma agreed that this sounded like a good idea.

They hurried onwards, Virgil wishing that he was strong enough to walk as fast as his grandmother.

Obviously aware that his steps weren't as quick as hers, Grandma dropped back. "Are you feeling all right, Dear?"

"I'm fine, Grandma. How about you?"

"C-Cold," she admitted. "I can feel it in my bones." She stumbled over a ridge in the sand.

"Won't be long and we'll be able to warm up. You can go on ahead if you like."

"I'm not leaving you behind. You're just as cold and damp as I am."

"Almost," Virgil corrected. "My leather waistcoat's stopped some of the water from getting through."

Grandma stumbled again and he reached out for her, dropping his crutch in the process. "Grandma?"

"I'm all right, V-Virgil. The cold's aff-fecting my arthritis, that's all." Looking unsteady, Grandma moved towards a large boulder. "I th-think I'll sit here for a bit."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Virgil corrected, as he tried to balance on one crutch and lift his dropped one with his foot. "The duct's only ten metres away. We'll be warmer there."

But Grandma had already claimed her makeshift seat. "In a moment, Dear. I just need to rest."

"Please, Grandma. You can sit when we get to somewhere warm. It's too cold here."

She gave a lethargic nod. "All right." She smiled at him. "You're a good boy to worry about your old grandma."

But she didn't move.

Starting to feel concerned, and ignoring his dropped crutch, Virgil moved closer. "Come on, Grandma," he cajoled. "It's only fifteen steps and then you'll be nice and warm. I promise." He reached out to assist her. "You don't want me to have to call someone to help us, do you?"

He thought the mild threat would be enough to get her moving, and he was right. With a groan, she got to her feet.

Virgil slid his arm about her waist. "Lean on me…"

"I-I c-can't lean on you."

"Yes, you can. Now start walking."

She managed one faltering step. "I don't think I can. It's m-my arthritis, you know?"

"I know, but you're going to have to walk. My legs aren't strong enough to carry you." But it seemed that Virgil wouldn't have any choice as his grandmother slumped against him. "Grandma!"

She barely responded.

Dropping his other crutch, Virgil wrapped his left hand beneath his grandmother's knees and hefted her into the air. "Wake up, Grandma… Please!" He felt her body shivering against his.

Then her shivering stopped.

He lurched forward. Once upon a time he would have carried her light weight with ease, but now sheer grit and determination were the only things that kept him from falling.

The mouth of the duct grew closer, the wafting leaves from its exhalations seeming to wave him on. Sure that each step was going to be his last, and determined that it wouldn't be, he staggered onwards.

His legs finally gave out on him when he felt the first warming breath of air. Collapsing to the ground, he lost hold of his grandmother, who fell out of his weakened arms and across his legs, pinning him down. Scrabbling for his watch he sent a signal to Brains to bring a hypothermia kit and a stretcher. He'd have to rely on the timepiece's inbuilt GPS to give their exact location. He didn't think he had the energy to speak the words.

But he knew he had to do more.

"Gran'ma!" Virgil pulled the elderly lady closer, but she was unresponsive. "C'n you hear me, Gran'ma?" A quick check at her throat for a pulse gave him a moment's relief. He knew that he'd lose her one day, but he was determined that today wasn't going to be that day.

And if it wasn't going to be _that_ day, he knew he'd have to do more. He pulled off his waistcoat, slipped his arms out of his braces, and then removed his shirt, glad that the leather of the outer garment had prevented some of the moisture from soaking the shirt's torso. Ignoring the breeze against his bare back, he did his best to hold Grandma's head in line with the duct's warm air as he towelled her hair dry. Then he wrapped the shirt around her head to help her to retain some heat.

But her head wasn't the only part of her body cooling at an unsustainable rate. Her wet, thin cotton dress was draining life-sustaining warmth out of her. She needed to be freed of it and she needed something warm to take its place.

Without a second's thought about what he was doing and who he was doing it to, Virgil stripped her dress and her undergarments off her torso and held her close – bare chest to bare chest. He held her tightly, rubbing his arms up and down her unclothed back and try to transfer as much of his heat into her body as he could.

It felt like he sat there for hours, slowly chilling as his body leached heat into the cold surroundings and with the circulation to his legs being cut off by the weight across them. Later he was to discover that Brains' journey from the lounge, to the medical supplies room, and then down to the beach had only taken twelve minutes, but now it felt like forever.

-F-A-B-

If there was one thing that Brains knew for certain – well, one of the millions of things that the genius knew – it was that none of the Tracys would set off a medical alert frivolously. Any alarm would either mean a genuine emergency or a practise drill, and each scenario was to be treated in as serious a manner as the other. He therefore didn't ask questions nor waste time commenting to the others in the lounge when he'd received the alert. Instead he'd left one rescue and went hunting for the one closer to home.

But, aside from the fact that someone needed treatment against hypothermia and that it was the sickliest member of the team who'd sent the message, he knew nothing of the severity of the emergency. He was therefore shocked to see Virgil sitting topless on the beach, holding something… someone? close to him. "V-Vir…"

"Brains!" Virgil gasped. "You've got t'elp her!"

The words weren't out of his mouth before Brains, a survival blanket unwrapped and waiting, was on his knees and reaching out for… "M-Mrs Tracy?"

"Sea fog," Virgil babbled. "Soaked. Tried to get to duct 'cos knew would be warm, but couldn't. Help her, Brains," he pleaded.

"I will." Brains wrapped one survival blanket around his elderly friend, tossed another at Virgil, and then discarded the shirt headwrap and replaced it with a third blanket. Calling a hover-stretcher closer, he rolled Mrs Tracy onto it; wrapping even more survival blankets around her, along with several self-heating gel packs.

Virgil, correctly interpreting the tossed survival blanket as an instruction that he was to use it to keep his own body warm, wrapped it about his shivering, partially blue torso and head. Rolling to the side, he stretched out for a support, but couldn't reach it. "Can you pass me my crutches?"

All of Brains' attention was on his seriously ill patient.

Virgil was shivering so much, that his survival blanket was rattling. "I can't walk without them."

He received a glare that spoke more of Brains' concerns for Grandma than any genuine anger. "Use the 'chair." A second hover-stretcher floated to Virgil's side, folded itself into a chair shape, and settled onto the sand. It sat there, beeping quietly as it waited to be occupied.

Knowing that he had no other option, Virgil dragged himself into it. "How's she?"

Brains grunted a non-committal response. "Need to get to the infirmary, stat." This glance at Virgil was more out of concern than irritation. "Can you follow us?" He handed over a self-heating gel pack.

"So long as you're looking after her: not a problem." Virgil snapped the disc in the pack and held the gel-filled pouch of delicious warmth against his chest.

He followed Brains towards the house, neither of them taking a detour to let the rest of the family know of the disaster that had befallen them.

The first to discover that something was wrong was Kyrano. The flash of light off Virgil's survival blanket arousing his curiosity, he stepped directly into the Fireflash-free drama. "Mister Virgil? Why…?" Shocked, he barely had time to register the still figure on the hover-stretcher as Brains hurried onwards. "Mrs Tracy!"

"We got caught by a sea fog," Virgil explained, shivering as he pulled the survival blanket closer around him. "She's got hypothermia. Brains is looking after her."

"You too are cold," Kyrano noted, thinking that Mrs Tracy wasn't the only person whose body temperature was dangerously low. "Go to your room, Mister Virgil, I shall bring you something warm to drink."

Despite his desperate need to confirm that things weren't as bad as he feared, Virgil obeyed the instruction. He knew he was cold; possibly mildly hypothermic himself; and the sooner he could warm up, the sooner he could check on his grandma.

He wheeled himself into his room, turned on the heating and went to stand. He fell back into his chair; his legs unable to hold him.

A revitalising shower was out of the question, so he dialled up his room's temperature before pulling a polo neck jersey out of a chest of drawers. A quick glance in the mirror as he dragged the top over his head revealed a patch of deep purply-blue at his throat.

His purple hand was less easy to ignore. He disregarded it as he put a second jumper on over the first.

He was in the process of pulling on dry trousers when Kyrano returned.

Dragging the survival blanket over his legs to hide the skin that remained in view, Virgil accepted the steaming mug. After his first, deep, drink, he felt the heat from the liquid flood his body. "Thanks, Kyrano." He wrapped both hands around the mug, grateful for this extra source of warmth. "You're a life saver."

Kyrano's eyes were solemn as he took in the blue-pigmented skin of his friend's left hand and the silver blanket that hid Virgil's lower extremities. The younger man hadn't been quick enough to hide his red-veined and blue legs from him. "No, Mister Virgil. It is you who are the life saver."

At once Virgil was on the alert, even as he drank again. "Have you heard how she is?"

"I have heard nothing. But Mister Brains will inform us as soon as there is news." Kyrano regarded Virgil's state of semi-dress. "Do you require assistance?"

"I'm trying to get out of my wet clothes."

"Can you not stand?"

"I carried her a couple of steps. My legs haven't recovered yet." Virgil finished his drink. "But they should be okay soon."

"Do you require assistance?" Kyrano enquired again. "You are cold."

"And the best way you can help is to get me another drink just like that one." Virgil held out the empty mug. "Thank you, Kyrano."

He'd managed to get completely changed, including finding a glove to hide his hand by the time Kyrano returned. "Any news?" Draining much of the second mug's warming contents, he set the cup to one side.

"No…" Kyrano hesitated. "Your father. He should be informed."

This was not an appealing task. Feeling neither stronger nor warmer, Virgil wheeled himself to a cupboard. Reaching inside, he pulled out a spare pair of crutches.

"You have the strength to walk?"

"I'll be fine. But I don't want Father to see me in this chair. It'll only make him stress unnecessarily and he's had done enough worrying over me this past year." Taking a firm grip on the crutches' handgrips, Virgil attempted to push himself upright.

Kyrano stepped forward as the younger man fell back, nearly toppling out of the armless chair. "Mr Virgil."

"Don't worry about me. It's Grandma we need to worry about." Annoyed by his lack of mobility, Virgil glared at his crutches. "Help me up, Kyrano."

"No."

Surprised by the firmness of the syllable, Virgil looked up at his friend. "Please?"

"I shall inform your father." Kyrano handed him the mug again. "You must stay here and recover. When I return I will ascertain if you are well enough to walk. Then I will take you to the infirmary."

"I'll be fine." Virgil accepted the mug. "But if you hear how Grandma is…"

"I shall inform you instantly."

"Thanks."

Leaving his charge, Kyrano walked quickly towards the lounge. The mood in this room was much lighter than the one he'd just left.

"Kyrano!" Jeff beamed at him. "Good news! The boys have got the Fireflash down safely."

Kyrano inclined his head. He'd forgotten about the drama on the other side of the world. "This is indeed good news."

"There are some passengers that have been injured, but things could have been a lot worse. Thunderbird Two's taken everyone to safety and now they're returning to the danger zone to pack everything away. They should be home before dinnertime."

"Virgil will be pleased. I wonder if he knows?" Bruce got to his feet. "Is he still outside?"

"No. Mister Virgil is in his room." Kyrano held out his hand to his daughter. "Come to me, Tin-Tin."

"Father?" Puzzled by his request, Tin-Tin obeyed and allowed him to put his arm behind her back and guide her closer to Jeff Tracy's desk.

Jeff, entering something into his computer, was just as puzzled when he looked up at is friend's unexpected approach. "Kyrano? You look like you've got a bee in your bonnet over something."

"Mr Tracy… It is good that you are seated."

"It is?"

Tin-Tin felt her father's grip of her hand tighten. "Father? What is wrong?"

"It is Mrs Tracy, Mr Tracy…"

"Mother?" For the first time in many minutes, Jeff realised that he hadn't seen her since she'd left to talk to his son. "Where is she?"

"Mister Brains has taken her to the infirmary."

"Infirmary!" Jeff launched himself to his feet. "Why?"

"I do not know Mister Brains' diagnosis, but I believe that she may be afflicted by hypothermia."

"Hypothermia?" Jeff paled. "You mean 'exposure' hypothermia?" He slammed his hand on the button that lifted his desk up towards the ceiling.

"Yes, Mr Tracy…" Kyrano hesitated for a millisecond. "She was unconscious when I saw her."

Too impatient to wait for his desk to get out of his way, Jeff dove beneath it, rolling out the other side. With a cry of: "Mother!" he ran from the room.

"How did she get hypothermia, Kyrano?" Bruce asked, as he and the others followed at a slower, but still speedy, pace.

"I do not know."

"Father?" Tin-Tin looked almost as pale as Jeff had been. "Is it serious?"

"I do not know, my Daughter. But Mrs Tracy is not young. Any illness has the potential to be serious…"

-F-A-B-

Bursting in through the doors, Jeff ran into the infirmary, pulling up short at the sight of the still figure. "Mother!"

"Mr Tracy!" With no choice except to leave his patient, Brains hurried across to his employer. "You shouldn't be in here."

"But…" Jeff cast a haunted look at the bed. "How is she?"

"I'm trying to f-find that out."

"Kyrano said she has hypothermia."

"Yes."

"How?"

"I don't know all the details. I just know that she needs my help."

"Please, Mr Tracy." Kyrano stood in the doorway, holding it open for his friend. "Let Mister Brains help your mother."

Jeff nodded his agreement, but couldn't seem to move. His mother had been there all his life: strong, resolute, and the rock that he clung to when his world seemed to be caving in on itself. He could never remember her being ill – if you didn't count the time that she and Alan had been trapped on the San Miguel Bridge by Victor Gomez. Then Jeff had had the reassurance that his sons were racing to help her and that a full medical team was within a short flight away.

"Please, Mr Tracy," Kyrano repeated as he and Tin-Tin ventured into the room. Placing a gentle hand behind Jeff's arm, he tried to ease his friend away from the bed. "You can not help your mother standing here."

"Yes." Tin-Tin took Jeff's other arm. "Mr Tracy. Please, come with us. Brains will care for her. Your mother is strong. She will be all right."

Numb, Jeff allowed them to drag him out the door. He found himself in the hallway outside the infirmary, with no real recollection of how he got there.

"How is she?"

This was the voice of one of his sons, Jeff remembered. His mother's grandson. That this grandson was being steadied by a pair of crutches, and had his left hand hidden inside a glove, didn't even register. "I-I… I don't know, Virgil. Brains didn't say." He frowned. "Where are your brothers?"

Glances passed between the rest of the group.

"They're at a rescue…" Virgil explained. "Remember?"

"They are on their way home, Mr Tracy." Tin-Tin reminded him. "They will return soon."

"Oh… Of course…" Jeff dragged himself together. "But John's on Thunderbird Five. He shouldn't be alone… He should be here… Just in c…" He swallowed. "Virgil. Will you go and get him?"

Virgil placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "If that's what you want, of course I will, Dad… But Tin-Tin will have to come with me."

Both Kyranos baulked at the idea. Tin-Tin; because she believed that, in a masculine household, the feminine touch might be needed. And Kyrano; because he was concerned about the health of Thunderbird Three's pilot.

But, knowing Jeff's need to have his family about him in this unfamiliar situation, neither of them said anything.

"I could help Brains," Bruce offered. "I'm sure I don't know as much as you, Tin-Tin, but he'd probably appreciate another pair of hands."

She managed a smile at him. "Thank you, Bruce. I shall go and prepare Thunderbird Three for launch. I will see you there, Virgil."

"Thanks, Honey. I'll be with you as soon as I can." His crutch hanging off his right arm, Virgil caught Bruce by the elbow. "You'll call me if there's any change in Grandma's condition?"

His friend managed a reassuring smile. "'Course I will."

Kyrano, torn between his divided loyalties to his daughter and his friend, hesitated before making a decision. "Mister Virgil. Wait."

Knowing that it was easy for the older man to catch him up, Virgil didn't slow his steps. "Yes, Kyrano?"

"Is this wise? You were nearly as cold as your grandmother."

"I'm fine."

"I saw. Your hand, your legs, your throat; they were blue. You were cold."

"And I've warmed up since then, thanks to you. I must be nearly normal by now." Virgil stopped walking and checked his wrist monitor for his temperature, hiding the readout from Kyrano when he saw that it was a couple of points lower than normal. "Close enough." Grasping the handle of his crutch again, he resumed his walk.

Kyrano stayed at his side. "It is not that I do not trust you, Mister Virgil. I know you have had practise at flying Thunderbird Three. But there is much at stake here. More than your life. You saw your father. He is in much distress. If something were to happen to you… Or Tin-Tin…"

Knowing that his friend's concerns were valid, Virgil refused to feel slighted. "Nothing's going to happen. I'll admit that I'm still cold, and that my legs haven't recovered yet, but I'll be sitting throughout the flight, so I won't need to use them. All I have to do is get Thunderbird Three off the ground, through the atmosphere, and pointed at Thunderbird Five. Tin-Tin can handle the rest of the journey. If worst came to the worst, John would be able to dock both craft remotely. And then he'll be piloting for the return journey. There's nothing to worry about."

"But you…"

"There's nothing to worry about, Kyrano," Virgil repeated as they stopped next to the couch. "I appreciate your concerns, but I'm not in any danger and neither is Tin-Tin. I wouldn't endanger her life." He sat down, glad to rest his legs, even if it was only going to be for a short time. "Please. Go and look after Father. He needs you."

-F-A-B-

Bruce hesitated for a moment. It was clear that Jeff Tracy needed emotional support, but he wasn't sure if he, a mere employee (albeit one closer to the family than most), was the person to supply it. He wished Kyrano would hurry back.

Getting two chairs, he placed them into the hall; outside the infirmary. "Why don't you sit down, Mr Tracy? Kyrano will be back in a moment and he'll sit with you. I'm going to go and see if Brains needs my help."

"You?" Jeff frowned. "What about Tin-Tin?"

"She's gone to get John."

Jeff made a silent "Oh" and Bruce waited for the words to sink in. "But John's on Thunderbird Five."

"That's right."

Jeff seemed to regain some of his thought processes. "How will she get there? I mean, who's piloting? She hasn't had the training."

"She's going with Virgil."

"Virgil!?"

"You asked him to go. Remember?"

"I did!?"

"Yes…" Bruce saw the sombre Kyrano approach them. Taking this as a cue to leave, he let himself into the infirmary. "Would you like the assistance of a menial first aider, Brains?"

"Bruce?" Brains glanced his way from where he was pumping warmed saline through one of the many IVs. "It m-might be more, ah, appropriate if Tin-Tin were to assist me."

"And she would if she could, but she's gone to get John."

Brains was more awake to what Bruce had said than Jeff had been. "How? She can't pilot Thunderbird Three alone."

"Virgil's piloting."

"Virgil!?" Now Brains showed genuine alarm. "He shouldn't be doing that. If he should be anywhere, it's in here."

"In here?" Bruce's exclamation echoed some of Brains' alarm. "Why?"

"Because he was with Mrs Tracy, and was just as damp and cold as she was."

"He seemed all right when Mr Tracy asked him to get John. But I did wonder why he was using his crutches inside. He was wearing a glove too."

"Probably hiding his cyanosis." With a concerned glance at his patient, Brains took a step towards a communications console. He stopped when, with a quiet beep, a light shone red.

"Too late?" Bruce guessed.

"Y-Yes. Thunderbird Three has launched."

"I wouldn't worry. Tin-Tin's no muffin and she'll look after him. And I'm sure she knows more about flying Thunderbird Three than you give her credit for." Bruce could see that he hadn't eased Brains' concerns. "She probably knows what to do, but hasn't bothered getting the bit of paper to prove it."

"Perhaps…"

"You know, the first time I saw Virgil's aviation license I asked him if there was anything he couldn't fly. He said: 'spaceship, but that he was working on it.' I thought he was joking."

Brains returned to the bed's side. "There is something you can do, Bruce. Call Thunderbird Three and check that Virgil's all right."

-F-A-B-

The launch had gone without a hitch, apart from Virgil still feeling chilled. He dialled the temperature up another degree.

"Virgil…" Tin-Tin complained. "It is too hot in here."

"Sorry. I guess I'm compensating for the shock. I don't think I can remember Grandma ever being sick."

"I know. I cannot either." Tin-Tin regarded her friend in sympathy. "You are looking a little pale. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"A hot drink would go down a treat." Virgil smiled at her. "Thanks."

Tin-Tin walked over to the door. "I will not be long."

She left Virgil alone. He shivered and increased the flight deck's temperature another degree, before he heard a familiar beeping sound. "Thunderbird Three."

"Virgil? It's Bruce."

"Bruce?" Seeing his friend's worried face, Virgil felt his stomach flip. "Why are you calling? Is Grandma…"

"Whoa! Calm down. Brains is looking after her. We're more worried about you at the moment. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Brains tells me you were as cold as Mrs T was."

"Not quite. I had more layers on, so I didn't get as wet."

"You might not have got as wet, but you're not in the condition to be zooming halfway to Mars."

"I'm not zooming halfway to Mars. We won't even be going halfway to the Moon. Don't worry about me, Bruce. I feel fine. Kyrano gave me a couple of drinks to help me warm up before we left, and Tin-Tin's getting me another now. We'll only be gone for about three hours and if Brains has any concerns can give me a check-up when we get back. Until then, _if_ he's got any concerns, he can check my stats." Virgil held up his arm. "I've still got my wrist monitor on."

Bruce looked off screen. "He's got other things to worry about."

"Then tell him to stop worrying about me and to concentrate on helping Grandma get better."

Bruce sighed. "You've got your family's stubborn streak all right. Okay, but call us if you're feeling off colour in any way."

"And call me if there's any change to Grandma's condition."

Bruce managed a smile. "That's a given. Take care of yourself, Virgil."

"Will do, Bruce. And you take care of Grandma."

Bruce's smile broadened a millimetre. "F-A-B." He switched off and turned back to Brains. "Well, he says he's okay. I guess all we can do is trust his judgement." He stepped closer to the bed. "What can I do?"

"Do you know the treatment for hypothermia?"

"I've done some first responder training."

Brains indicated a mobile trolley at his side. "That is the equipment I may need. Memorise it and be ready to hand it to me if I ask for it."

-F-A-B-

Jeff had finally got it together. Having injured sons was one thing. Being International Rescue, he expected that and, he told himself, could deal with it. Having his mother less than one hundred percent fit was another matter.

He remembered a time, all those years ago, when after a short, confusing, burst of activity from the adults about him, he'd been bundled off to his Nana's house for what had seemed to be forever. When he'd been returned to his mother's side, she'd seemed to be clingier than before; something he appreciated. That was until he'd had enough and wanted to go outside and play with his building blocks in the sandpit.

It was decades before he'd learnt that that was the day when he'd lost the chance to be a big brother.

He couldn't think of any other time when his mother had been too ill to be by his side.

Kyrano said nothing. He sat there, allowing his quiet presence to be a comfort to his friend.

"I should be telling the boys."

"There is little you can tell them. They are already on their way home. If they were to attempt to return at a speed that is faster, they may endanger themselves. Better to tell them when they arrive, or should you have news."

Reluctantly, Jeff agreed. "What's Virgil doing flying Thunderbird Three?"

"He has been practising."

"I know, but it's not the same as genuine space flight."

"He knew you were distressed and had concerns for Mister John. He wished to alleviate that distress."

"By making me worry about him as well?"

"You do not need to worry about Mister Virgil. Tin-Tin will care for him."

"Yes." Jeff managed a small smile. "I'm glad Tin-Tin's part of the team."

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin wasn't glad that she was a part of the team. Not when she felt that she was melting into a pile of sludge. "I'm am sorry to complain, but does it have to be this hot, Virgil?"

"I guess not." Virgil turned the temperature down a couple of degrees.

Tin-Tin fanned herself. "Thank you."

"I think you should be the one to communicate with John. He's already going to be wondering why Thunderbird Three's been launched without him being told. Hearing my voice as well could freak him out. But don't tell him anything yet. There's no point worrying him unnecessarily. We'll wait till he's in here, with us."

Tin-Tin accepted his argument. "Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Tin-Tin? I've been tracking Thunderbird Three. What's going on?"

"Prepare for docking, Thunderbird Five," she instructed, using formality to sidestep the question. "And place Thunderbird Five onto automatic transmission transfer. You are returning to Earth."

"Returning to Earth? You've come to take me home?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"We will explain everything on the return journey."

"Okay… I'll be ready."

-F-A-B-

"How is she doing, Brains?" Bruce asked.

"Well. Her temperature is rising."

"If that's the case, do you think we should tell Mr T? He's desperate for news; especially good news."

Brains agreed that Bruce had the right idea. "Tell him that he can come in and sit with her. But…" he held up a warning hand. "…caution him that it is still too early to be overly optimistic."

"Will do." Bruce exited the infirmary.

As soon as he saw him, Jeff sprang to his feet; Kyrano finding his a beat behind him. "How is she?"

"As tough as old boots," Bruce told both men. "She hasn't woken up yet, but Brains is cautiously positive about her prognosis."

"When can I see her?"

"Now. She'd probably be glad to hear your voice."

Jeff approached the door with caution, pushing it open quietly. "How is she, Brains?"

He wasn't reassured by Brains' first words. "She has yet to regain consciousness." Then Jeff was relieved to see a smile. "Otherwise, she's doing well."

Jeff pulled up a chair next to the bed, took his mother's hand, taking care not to jog any IV lines, and said: "It's all right, Ma. I'm here. You only need to worry about getting better."

-F-A-B-

Virgil had controlled Thunderbird Three's docking with Thunderbird Five, which had proceeded without a hitch.

As soon as he'd received the all clear to board, John hurried through the access way. "What's the stor…" He stopped: convinced he'd run into a wall of fire. "Whoa! It's like a sauna in here!" Pulling the neck of his uniform away from his throat, he took another step before stopping in astonishment. "Virgil?" He looked around in a failed attempt to find the third crew member. "Who's piloting?"

Virgil had already reached under his seat to retrieve his crutches. "You are," he said as he got to his feet, relieved to be free of all responsibilities. He walked across to a passenger seat.

"But…" John watched his brother's slow progress. "What's going on?!"

"We're wasting time, John. Get Three moving and we'll tell you."

John claimed the pilot's seat, checked that both access hatches were sealed, and disengaged the docking clamps. "Well? … Tin-Tin?"

"The last we heard, she was improving," Tin-Tin informed him, "but your grandmother's ill. Your father thought you should be home with the rest of the family."

John paled. "Grandma? Ill? How?"

Virgil saw his loss of colour. "Are you up to piloting home, John?"

"Uh… Yeah… I'm fine. What's wrong with her?" John put Thunderbird Three into reverse. "It must be bad if Dad felt it was necessary for you to collect me."

"She has hypothermia," Tin-Tin explained.

"Hypothermia?" John stared at her. "How the heck do you get hypothermia on a tropical island?"

"I do not know. She was already in the infirmary when Father told Mr Tracy and myself. Mr Tracy insisted that Virgil collect you and Virgil asked that I assist him."

John sent Thunderbird Three in a graceful U-turn back to Earth. "Do you know how it happened, Virgil?"

"Yeah," Virgil sighed and Tin-Tin looked at him in surprise. "You know when I threw my toys out of my cot over the rescue…"

John wasn't prepared to accept that attitude. "I know that you were able to express the same thoughts that we all had, but couldn't say because we had to act like professionals."

"Whereas I'm an amateur and can speak and act like a total imbecile."

"You're not an imbecile…" John considered adding that all Virgil needed to do was give the word and he could lose his amateur status, but decided against it. Then he decided against his decision. "We all respect your choice to not be a member of the team, Virgil, but don't forget that if you ever decide to change your mind, there's not one of us who won't welcome you back with open arms."

Virgil shook his head and pulled his outmost jumper over it. "That's not going to happen." He balled up the top and put it on the floor next to him.

"Okay." John had said his piece. "What happened?"

Virgil smoothed down his hair. "Grandma suggested that we go for a walk on the beach. There was a southerly blowing, which was cold enough to make things uncomfortable. So, thinking that we could take the steps back up to the house, we walked around Apollo Point into Eos Bay. We walked smack into a sea fog. We knew the stairs would be unsafe for either of us to use, so we retraced our steps. But by this point we were both soaking wet and the southerly felt like it was coming straight off the South Pole." He pulled his glove off with a snap and examined his skin-coloured hand. "I was literally turning blue from the cold, but I had my waistcoat on and it gave me an extra layer of protection. Grandma wasn't so lucky. She was only wearing cotton or something and she went downhill really fast. Thinking that we could both dry off and get warm, I carried her to the Aurora Beach duct…"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" John held up his hand. "You did what?"

"Carried her."

"_You_ carried her?"

"Yes." Virgil's right hand massaged his left. "We were lucky that it was as close as it was. I couldn't have made it any further."

"How far?"

Virgil shrugged. "About ten metres."

"Virgil…" John sat back in his seat. "I can't believe what you're telling me."

"I couldn't just leave her!"

"I know that. I'm simply astonished that you had the strength to carry the both of you."

"I didn't have the strength." Virgil's voice went quiet. "When we fell, I couldn't even push her off my legs. I couldn't lift her into the outlet's exhaust to help warm her up. It was all I could do to hold her against me until Brains got to us. He took her straight to the infirmary."

"What did he say about her condition?"

"He didn't have time to say anything. He was in a hurry to get her inside to where she could be warm and dry. I haven't spoken to him since. Only Bruce; who's helping him."

"And what did Bruce say?"

"Not a lot…" Virgil looked down as his right hand massaged his left. "Only that they were worried about me."

"I'm not surprised, if you were that cold that you turned blue. I am surprised that Dad risked asking you to fly Thunderbird Three."

Virgil was silent.

"Your father didn't know about Virgil's role in your Grandmother's collapse," Tin-Tin elaborated. She fixed Virgil with a reproachful glare. "None of us did."

"Brains did," Virgil corrected. "And your father. He was looking after me. If he'd had any concerns he would have spoken up. And Brains has been monitoring my wristband."

"What could he have done from thousands of kilometres away?"

Virgil didn't respond directly. "We had faith that you could handle anything."

"I would have appreciated knowing that there was a chance that I might have had to handle something!"

"I did what I had to, okay! It's my fault that Grandma's lying unconscious in a hospital bed!"

"It wasn't your fault!" John could see that his brother had been more affected by events than he was letting on.

So could Tin-Tin. Despite her annoyance at being kept in the dark, she left her place at the auxiliary console. "No one thinks it was your fault, Virgil," she soothed, wrapping him in a warm and comforting hug.

"Tracy Island calling Thunderbird Three."

It was the communications man who answered. "Thunderbird Three. Go ahead, Bruce."

"Hiya, John. Just to let you know that there's no need to rush. Your grandma hasn't regained consciousness, but she is showing signs of improvement. Brains says it's just a matter of waiting for her to decide when to wake up. And you know she's got a mind of her own, so she's not going to do that until she's ready."

Thunderbird Three's crew let out a sigh of relief.

"How's Dad?" John asked.

"Not as stressed as he was. He's sitting with her, which is probably good for both of them."

"I take it no one's told Thunderbirds One and Two what happened?"

Bruce looked surprised. "I don't know. I assume not or else you wouldn't have had to ask that question. The airwaves would have been running hot… Erm… How's Virgil?"

"I'm fine, Bruce."

"Did you hear that?" John checked. "He says he's fine."

"Good." Now Bruce looked relieved. "We hadn't realised how cold he'd got."

John glanced at the figure sitting on the lone seat away from the control area. "So he tells me. Tin-Tin kinda guessed by the way he had the both on them on slow broil."

Virgil managed a chuckle, and even Tin-Tin gave a half smile as she returned to her seat.

"How far are you from home?"

"About an hour. Tell Grandma she's to behave herself. We'll be seeing her soon…."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Thunderbird Three returned to Earth minutes before the rest of International Rescue flew into radar range.

The crews of Thunderbirds One and Two, unaware of the personal disaster that had nearly befallen them, and still riding the high that had come with the successful rescue, were unprepared for the shock that was to greet them in the lounge.

Virgil had only just sat at the piano to wait for them to complete their post-flight tasks. "Good. You're home."

"Virg?" Scott watched as crutches were collected and used for support before his brother walked towards them. "Why are you using those things? You're inside."

"Because… Because things haven't been quiet here since you left."

"What do you mean 'haven't been quiet'?" Gordon waited until Virgil reached his brothers before adding. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Nothing. I'm fine… But…"

Virgil didn't get the chance to continue when someone hustled into the room. "You're back!"

"John?" Alan frowned at the unexpected newcomer. "Who's manning Thunderbird Five?"

"No one."

"No one?! Why are you here?"

"I've just come from the infirmary."

"Infirmary?" Concerned, Scott took in his younger brother's choked voice and his reddened eyes. "Have you got a cold?"

What John had, was a reaction to the sight of his grandmother, lying corpse-like in a hospital bed and his father's desolate expression. He had thought that the trip back from Thunderbird Five had been long enough to prepare him for anything. That was until he'd entered the infirmary... "This man here…" he put his arm about Virgil's shoulders and thumped his brother on the chest with more force than Virgil thought necessary. "…saved our grandmother's life."

"What!?" Three pairs of eyes returned to Virgil.

"I don't know about saving her life," Virgil challenged. "But Brains says that he thinks she's going to be all right… When she wakes up."

"When she…" Alan goggled at him. "What happened?"

"We…"

Once again Virgil was interrupted.

"Good." Jeff's sons were astonished at how drawn and careworn he looked. "You're home."

"What happened, Dad?" Alan repeated. "What's happened to Grandma?"

"We'll explain it all later. Right now, we should all be in the infirmary with her." As he retraced his steps, Jeff turned to his middle son. "I'm sorry that I insisted that you go and get John, Virgil. I wasn't thinking straight."

"I'm just glad that I was able to do something constructive to help."

"You weren't in a fit state to do anything."

"I was fine. I would have said something, or Kyrano would have stopped me, if I wasn't."

"Well… Thank you."

They reached the infirmary, Jeff indicating that Virgil should take his seat. He was quickly supplied another chair by Bruce; who, recognising that this was family time, made a quiet and dignified withdrawal.

The men of the Tracy family stood in subdued silence around the bed.

"Will someone tell us what's wrong with her?" Alan hissed.

"H-Hypothermia," Brains explained.

"Hypothermia? How?"

"She went for a walk and got wet and cold."

"Where?"

"Apollo Point."

"What was she doing down there during a rescue?"

"Erm… Getting some fresh air," Brains offered, deciding that any potential recriminations, either self-imposed or directed at another, should be delayed until everyone was in a better frame of mind.

Scott laid a hand on his father's shoulder. "John said that Virg saved her life."

"Then he knows more than I do," Jeff admitted, glancing across the bed to his seated son. "I haven't heard the full story yet."

"I don't think I've ever seen Grandma sick," Gordon whispered. "Have you?" he asked to no one in particular.

"I've been trying to remember," Jeff told him. "And I can only think of twice before. If she's ever been unwell, she's tried to keep it from me… From us…" He looked down on the still form. "Come on, Ma." He reached out and caressed her cheek. "Your boys are all here and it's time you woke up. We need you to keep us in line."

As if she'd heard and understood him, Mrs Tracy stirred.

"Grandma?" Virgil grasped her hand firmly. "Wake up, Grandma. Please…"

She must have heard the pleading note in his voice, as her eyes flickered open and tried to focus on him. "V'g'l?"

"I'm okay, Grandma."

"C'ld."

"It was cold, but you're warm now. We both are."

Her eyes closed and she dozed again.

No one moved.

When she awoke the second time, she regarded each of them one at a time, her eyes roving over them as if she was analysing them for any sign that they were the ones who were in less than perfect health.

Finally, her eyes rested on her son. "Jeff'rs'n."

"I'm here, Ma."

"Y're pale."

"Am I?"

"When'd you last have somethin' t' eat?"

"When did I last eat?" Eating had been the last thing on Jeff's mind. "Erm… This morning…?" With all the excitement of the morning, he couldn't remember eating breakfast. "Last night…?"

"Go get something to eat." Grandma's eyes roved over her boys again. "All of you."

"We're all right, Grandma," Gordon insisted when the roving eyes rested on him. "We're more worried about you."

"You don't need to worry about me," Grandma's voice was stronger and more authoritative now. "You need to keep your strength up for your next rescue." She turned her attention to Scott. "What happened to the Fireflash?"

He smiled. "The media are saying that International Rescue pulled off another miracle."

"Anyone hurt?"

"It was a success." Scott glanced at Alan. A gesture that his grandmother didn't miss, and which was filed away for future reference when she felt stronger.

Her eyes moved and she frowned. "John? Why are you here?"

"I decided that I needed a holiday," he lied.

She hmphed. "Did someone send someone to get you?" Her accusing eyes moved back to her son.

"You had us worried," Jeff reminded her. "And we…" He glanced back across the blankets. "I didn't want John worrying alone."

With an exasperated shake of her head, she looked back to the other side of the bed. "How are you, Virgil? It was really cold, wasn't it?"

"Freezing cold," he responded, trying to manage a reassuring smile. "But I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

He patted her hand, relishing the peace that came with knowing that she was awake. "Never felt better."

"Good." She fixed her gimlet gaze on her boys. "Now, go and get something to eat… All of you!" she added when she saw several mouths open in protest. "I'm in bed, so I assume that means I'm supposed to rest, and I can't rest with you lot looking at me. Now, get out of here!"

"Come on, Boys." Jeff chuckled. "I think we've been given our marching orders."

"Yes, you have," he was told. "And I expect you all to come back and tell me about the rescue later."

"We've still to have the debriefing," her son told her. "If the team has no objections, we'll hold off having that until you can join us."

-F-A-B-

It was later that day when most of the family and their closest friends retired to the lounge.

"I'm sorry, Bruce." Jeff Tracy looked over the evening paper and his spectacles at the young man. "We were supposed to take you home today. I'm afraid that events rather overtook us. If everything's okay, we'll fly out tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it, Mr T," Bruce reassured him. "I'm glad that I was able to help. It goes some way towards thanking you all for how great you've been to me, especially Mrs T." He patted his tummy. "I'm sure I must have gained kilos, thanks to her cooking."

Virgil claimed a seat on the couch next to his eldest brother. "You'll soon lose that when you start cooking for yourself."

"Bachelor food." Bruce made a face. "I. Can't. Wait… You guys have spoiled me."

"You'll have to ask Olivia to give you some tips."

Gordon, who'd been out for an evening dip in the tide, entered through the patio doors carrying something. "I've been down to Aurora Beach. I found these." He propped a pair of crutches against the wall and dumped his bundle onto the floor. Hauling a leather item out of the pile, he held it out towards Virgil. "I think this might be yours." His arm still extended and holding the waistcoat, he pulled something else clear. "And this."

Virgil screwed his face up at the sight of his sand-filled shirt. "I don't know how many times I'll have to wash that before it stops being scratchy," he complained. "Would you mind throwing them into the laundry, Gordon?"

"I guess this needs to go to the laundry too." Gordon held up a cotton dress. A small item of clothing fell free and he bent down to add it to his collection. Straps and a couple of cups dropped from his fingers and the undergarment fell back to the floor just as quickly. "Is that what I think it is?"

Scott leant around his brother to see. "What?"

"Grandma's bra?"

All eyes on him, Virgil gave what he hoped was an unconcerned shrug. "You know the best way of transferring heat to a hypothermic person when they're unconscious and you have no other equipment."

"We know it," Alan agreed. "But to do it! To Grandma!"

"I didn't have an option until Brains got there."

Jeff put his newspaper to one side and removed his spectacles. "I think it's time we heard the full story, Virgil."

"Not until I've offloaded this lot." Gordon, keeping all the other clothing items between him and his grandmother's undergarment, scooped it off the floor and hurried out of the room.

He was back a short time later; throwing himself into a chair with a: "Begin."

Virgil had been dreading this, but he'd known it was something that he couldn't avoid. He sat forward on his seat, his elbows resting on his knees, and his eyes watching without seeing as his right hand massaged his left. "When you guys left on your rescue, I could imagine clearly – way too clearly – what you were going to have to deal with and how. And I couldn't see a way that you could pull off that rescue successfully, without someone getting hurt." Twisting in his seat, he looked at Scott. "How did you pull it off, anyway?"

"Later." Scott nudged him. "We need to hear your story first."

"Right…" Virgil's 'attention' returned to his hands. "Well… I got tied up in knots over what I thought was going to happen… So, Grandma suggested that we go for a walk on the beach… To get away from it all. The breeze was a little chilly, but neither of us thought it was that bad... Until we rounded Apollo Point…"

He continued telling his story, adding in as much detail as he thought was necessary to give those listening a full understanding of what had happened. "…She was complaining that her arthritis was hurting, but it had to be the hypothermia and I was too cold to notice… She went downhill so quick… I've never seen anyone crash so quickly…" His voice caught, and Scott reached out to him, laying a comforting hand across his shoulders.

The rest of the group waited in silence till he gathered himself together.

He cleared his throat. "I managed to get her to her feet again, but that was when she collapsed. I knew that she… That we both needed to get warmed up, and that the outlet from the Aurora Beach duct would be the quickest way to do it. I nearly freaked out when she stopped shivering, so I picked her up and carried her…"

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_!" Jeff's exclamation was an echo of John's from hours earlier. "You did what?"

"We were, maybe, ten metres from the Aurora Beach duct. So, I carried her there."

Frowning, Alan leant even further forward. "On _your_ legs?"

Virgil decided to deflect some of their concerns with a little levity. "Depends on how technical you want to be."

"Virgil! … You haven't hurt them, have you?"

"I don't think so. They're tired, maybe a little strained, but they're not sore. No more than normal, anyway. A couple of days on the crutches and they'll be fine."

He felt Scott's hand tighten on his shoulder. "How about your abdomen?"

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"And before anyone starts," John interrupted, "and I know I said I wouldn't, but I've already given Virgil the 'we respect his decision, but he's welcome to change his mind and re-join International Rescue any time he feels like it' speech."

"So did Grandma." Virgil managed a wry smile. "And I told her the same thing I told you. It's not an option."

"We understand, Virgil," Jeff conceded.

"What happened then?" Gordon asked. "Did you make it to the duct?"

"Just. But by the time I got there I'd lost all my strength. I couldn't have walked any further. It was all I could do to buzz Brains and then pull our clothes off us, try to dry Grandma, and hold her against me." Virgil would have rather skipped these details, but he knew that if he didn't tell his family now, he'd have to repeat it to them, individually, later.

He continued on; detailing Brains' actions, the journey up to the house, and Kyrano's assistance and evident concerns – with a small smile of gratitude directed in the man's direction. He glossed over Jeff's numb reaction to the news, wanting to spare his father the embarrassment.

He finished up by praising Tin-Tin and John's professionalism during the trip in Thunderbird Three. "…We got home a short time before you guys did, so you know the rest." He yawned.

"Are you tired, Virgil?" his father checked.

"A little. It's been a long day, and Tin-Tin and I," Virgil grinned across at his friend, "have travelled further than anyone."

"Technically," John amended, "as Thunderbird Five was moving parallel to the Earth at an orbital velocity of 3.07 km/s, I'm the one who's travelled the furthest out of any of u..."

Gordon threw a cushion at him.

With another yawn Virgil stretched out the length of the sofa, resting his feet in Scott's lap. Scott, after the obligatory complaint that he was a human being and not a footstool, let him.

Virgil eyed his big brother. "It was Grandma who came up with the idea that the reason why I originally stressed out over the Fireflash rescue was because I was channelling your feelings of being out of control." He missed John's quiet grin and the rest of the group's surprised expressions. "Did you have any idea that I was fearful about Grandma?"

Scott shook his head. "Nope. I had too much going on where I was to be worrying about what you were getting up to back here. I'm just glad that you were able to take control. Both to make things easier for me and Grandma."

Virgil shifted a cushion so it was behind his head. "It's your turn. I've told you my story. Time to hear yours."

"Okay…" Scott began by detailing the condition of the Fireflash when he came upon her, and how he could see that, if International Rescue were going to make this rescue a success, he'd have to think outside the box.

He'd just reached the part where Thunderbird Two had joined him in the skies near the Aelmead Mountains when he heard a quiet: "Scott."

Scott glanced over to his father and saw a pointed head nod in the direction of the brother lying partially across him. It only took a quick look at that brother to see why.

Virgil's eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. His right hand lay relaxed, no longer massaging his left.

Alan snickered. "I think someone's ready for bed."

"After the day he has had," Tin-Tin told him, "he deserves an early night."

Kyrano stood. "I shall prepare his bed ready for him."

John levered himself out of the chair and came to stand behind the arm of the couch. Without touching his brother, he mimed sliding his hands beneath Virgil's shoulders. "How are we going to do this? Wake him or carry him?"

Cautiously, hoping that he wouldn't wake his somnolent brother, Scott slid his hands beneath Virgil's legs. When there was no reaction, he tightened his grip. "Carry him."

"Right." But John was less successful at sliding his hands beneath the sleeper.

Virgil awoke. "Wha'!?"

"It's okay, Virgil," his father reassured him. "We were just going to help you to bed."

Swinging his legs off Scott until he was sitting on the edge of the chair, Virgil rubbed his tired eyes. "Did I miss much?"

"We'll tell you all about it later," Scott promised. Standing, he held his hand out. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed."

"I've got your crutches," Jeff informed his middle son, as his two elder boys helped him to his feet.

"Roll on the day when I' got the en'gy to stay awake f'r allofit, and the strength to stand on m' own," Virgil grumbled.

"It won't be long now," Jeff promised. "Sleep tonight, and that day will be a day closer."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

The next day didn't feel any closer, Virgil mused, as he was helped out of the Odonata and onto the tennis courts by Bruce. On the other side of the aircraft, Grandma slapped away Jeff's hand before accepting a walking stick. "Stop fussing, Jeff. I'm all right."

"I'm just trying to help, Mother."

"You're fussing over nothing."

"We'll let the doctor decide that."

"There's nothing wrong with me, Jefferson!"

"I know, but Brains would like a second opinion to reassure himself. He's not used to caring for anyone, urm…"

"As old as me?"

"I was going to say feminine. He's used to caring for men."

"Young men."

"Well… Yes. The boys."

"I'm as fit and as active as any one of your boys, Jefferson. It would take more than a little cold air to knock me back."

"I know that, Mother, but I think it's for the best if we make sure. Don't you?"

Virgil looked at Bruce and rolled his eyes. Bruce did his best to hide his laugh when the two elder Tracys walked into view. He nearly lost it when Jeff, just as his son had done, rolled his eyes at his mother's complaints.

She'd baulked at Brains' suggestion that she allow a medical doctor with experience of her age group to give her a check-up in case there were any hidden issues, but had agreed to join the journey when she'd been told that Virgil was going to have an examination in Bearston. This, Brains had explained, was so that the medical researchers behind his recovery could be reassured that he hadn't done any damage to their work.

This had met with Grandma's approval. And, if it so happened that the doctor was available to see her, well, that would stop the Tracy men from stressing. She'd accepted the use of the cane for the same reason. _Not_ because she felt unsteady and the stick gave her confidence, but because it would stop her menfolk from worrying unnecessarily.

Fortunately for both the male Tracys, Grandma didn't see their eye-rolling facial contortions. "How are you feeling, Virgil?"

"I'm fine, Grandma." Virgil knew better than to reciprocate the question. "It was a good trip, wasn't it?"

"It was. Your father may be an old woman, but he's a good pilot."

This time Bruce couldn't stifle his laugh. He turned pink when his boss glared at him.

What followed was another mild argument when Grandma insisted that she could help Bruce carry his bags. Jeff, putting his foot down as he withdrew the first load from the aeroplane, told her that the cases weren't going anywhere and there was nothing stopping Bruce and himself from making as many trips as were necessary. Bruce, protesting that he didn't expect anyone named Tracy to assist him, since he owed them all much more than they owed him, only added fuel to the fire. Whilst, Virgil, knowing that any offers of help from his quarter would be rebuffed, just stood back and waited for the contest of wills to reach its natural conclusion.

Finally, Bruce and Jeff carrying two bags each, the four of them pushed their way through the overgrown shrubbery and past the fenced-off and covered swimming pool.

Virgil shivered in the cool of the autumn. "It's nearly as cold as it was at Apollo Point." He pulled his warm jacket closer about him.

There was a squeal of "Bruce!" and Bruce had his bags knocked out of his hands, before he was choked by a smothering embrace.

When he finally emerged, he was all smiles. "I've missed you, Sunbeam."

Olivia hugged him again. "And I've missed you."

"Gee…" Virgil deadpanned. "We would never have guessed."

"Oh…" It was Olivia's turn to blush. "I'm sorry. It's good to see you all. How are you, Virgil? Mrs Tracy?"

Virgil felt like he needed to make a recording. "I'm fine, thanks."

For once, Grandma didn't complain about the reference to her health. "And I'm fine too. Thanks to your young man here. He assisted Brains with my care while Tin-Tin and Virgil went to get John."

Olivia treated Bruce to a look that made him feel like he was the hero of the hour. Something he appreciated, even if it was a bit of an exaggeration. Picking up his luggage again, he treated his eldest friend to a cheeky grin. "Well, if there's one thing we've learnt, Mrs T, it's that strength, tenacity, and plain ol' stubbornness doesn't come down through the Tracy line. It's through yours."

She chuckled. "I don't know about that. Jeff's father could be as stubborn as a mule at times. I think Jeff inherited his pig-headedness from the both of us."

"The boys' mother had a stubborn streak too," Jeff recollected.

"No wonder," his mother told him. "She had to deal with you and five sons."

There was another delighted squeal, and it was Grandma's turn to find herself caught up in an enthusiastic embrace. "It's so good to see you, Mrs T," Lisa gushed. "When Bruce told us that you had hypothermia, we were so worried about you. But you look wonderful."

This time it was Grandma who blushed. "I feel wonderful. Thanks to Virgil."

"Thank you, Virgil!"

Virgil should have expected it, he knew that, and he could only assume that he'd figured that he would be excused the crushing hug because of his health and events of yesterday. He made a mental note to never make that assumption again. "You're squashing me, Butch!"

The big man let go. "S'rry." He gave a sheepish grin. "Just wanna thank ya for lookin' afta Mrs T."

"I know. Just go a bit easy next time, huh? I'm already made up of spare parts. I don't want any more."

Feeling a tug on his trouser leg, Virgil crouched down, using his crutches for support. This hug was just as enthusiastic as Butch's, but felt a lot less like being squeezed through a mangle. "How are you, Virginia?"

"Good!" Ginny gave a nod.

"Enjoying preschool?"

Ginny gave another nod and then screwed up her nose. "Don't like Jimmy."

"Who's Jimmy?"

"He's a boy," Ginny enlightened the surrounding adults. "He puts bugs down my dress."

Virgil feigned surprise. "Don't tell me a big girl like you doesn't like bugs."

"Don't like hurting bugs. Bugs never hurt me. I like bugs."

"I'm glad to hear that. Do you tell Jimmy to stop hurting bugs?"

"Uh, huh." There was the nod again. "Didn't stop."

"So, what are you going to do to get him to stop?"

An impish grin, reminiscent of an honorary uncle, crept upon Ginny's face. "I put mud down his shirt."

"You did what!?"

"She put mud down Jimmy's shirt." This was to the accompaniment of a resigned sigh from Lisa.

An innocent face stared up at Virgil. "Didn' wanna hurt bugs."

"We were called in to see the teacher. He was not impressed."

Virgil, with a little help from his crutches, his father, and Bruce, and with his legs complaining after crouching for so long, got back to his feet. "I hope Jimmy's parents were called in too."

"They was. Though' it was funny." Butch's less than straight face showed he wasn't convinced the incident was all that serious, either.

"So, it's all sorted?"

"Sorted." This head nod was by Butch. "Jimmy 'pologised an' Ginny 'pologised an' all's good."

"Why are we standing out here talking?" Lisa asked. "You must be ready for a rest after such a long trip. Shall we go into the house?" Taking the one of Jeff's bags, and ignoring his mild protest, she started walking towards the Tracys' home away from home.

"All ready for the big competition, Lisa?" Bruce asked, as he, his arm about Olivia, fell into step.

Lisa rubbed her baby bump. "If I can fit into my overalls by the end of the month. But don't worry, Mr T, I've been getting plenty of practise. I won't let ACE down."

"I know you won't," Jeff assured her. "You made us all proud when you won the Tristate Welding Competition, and to be invited back to take part in their fiftieth anniversary event is a huge honour."

"Huge being the operative word," she groaned.

Bruce chuckled. "Just be glad that they're having the competition at the end of November. If they were holding it next year, you might not be able to get near enough to the table to weld. And imagine if the kid decided to make an appearance part way through the event? All the other entrants would start welding up stretchers, and birthing units, and all sorts."

"And what does a 'birthing unit' look like, Bruce?" Virgil teased.

"Erm. I think I'd leave that side of it to you. You've probably had more experience than I have."

"D'ya think y'll be well 'nough t' fly us, Pal?" Butch queried. "Me an' Lisa was discussin' i' las' nigh'. We'd undastand if y' though' y' wern' fit 'nough."

"Don't panic," Virgil reassured him. "I flew most of the way here, and I shouldn't have any difficulties with the full trip by the end of the month. And, with any luck, I'll be shot of these things by then." He indicated the crutches.

"And if Virgil can't fly you, I'll arrange for an air taxi," Jeff reassured ACE's top welder and her husband. "If you're going to represent the company, the company can pay for your transport."

Lisa gave a delighted grin. "I'm looking forward to it. It should be a lot of fun."

_To be continued…_


	72. Chapter 72

Trying to shelter under what appeared to be the tiniest of eaves, Virgil knocked on the door of the small unit. "All set?" he queried, when the door was almost pulled off its hinges.

"Nearly," Butch grunted. "Lisa's jus' sayin' g'bye t' Ginny an' her mother."

"Well, do you think we could come in while she does that?" Bruce queried. "We're getting soaked out here!"

"S'rry." Butch stood aside and let his two friends inside his home away from home.

Lisa looked up from where she was kneeling on the carpet, talking to her daughter. "Hello, Boys. We won't be long… How's your grandmother, Virgil?"

Virgil had had a stressful month since the hypothermia incident. It had seemed that every member of the household had continuously venerated him as a hero; and in a family of heroes, this was seriously trying. He was glad to get away, even if it was only for a couple of days. "You wouldn't know anything had been wrong, physically. But she's sticking close to the house… Of course, that could be that the rest of us are so determined to keep an eye on her that we're not letting her escape." Taking care not to drip on the carpet, he smiled at the older lady in the room. "How are you, Mrs Riley?"

"I'm well, thank you, Virgil. And you?"

"Getting better every day."

"I'm glad to hear it. And how are you, Bruce?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Virgil waited until, after one last hug with Ginny, and with Butch's assistance, Lisa got to her feet. "Ready?" he checked.

"Yes."

"Good, but I think I should warn you that this isn't going to be an easy trip."

Instantly all the adults' faces creased into frowns of concern. Ginny, not understanding the seriousness of her honorary uncle's words, but recognising the seriousness in everyone's reaction to them, took her mother's hand.

"What do you mean, _not easy_?" Mrs Riley queried.

Virgil indicated the window. "There's a storm on the way. It's not as bad as the one we flew through after the social club trip, and the Odonata's stronger than the turboprop we flew in then, but it's not going to be a smooth flight. I'll try and steer around the lumpy bits, but it's going to be rough in patches." He tried to reassure Lisa with a smile. "I'm telling you now, because I know you're not a good traveller and I'd hate for you to get to the venue and not feel well enough to compete."

"Do you think that's likely to happen?" Lisa checked. "I don't want to let ACE down."

"Like I said, I'll try to make the flight as easy as I can. I don't think there'll be much turbulence on the flight out. We just need to leave as soon as possible now to give us time to make detours… It's the return journey that could be uncomfortable. You might like to grab an overnight bag and be prepared to spend the night away from home if it all gets too much."

"Ah." Bruce gave a sage nod. "So, that's why you told me to take a change of…" He turned pink. "A toothbrush."

"It's over to you, Lisa," Virgil told her. "If you're at all worried about yourself or the baby, then we can call it off."

"No." Lisa pulled herself up straight. "I'm not letting ACE down. If you think we can get there without too many problems, Virgil, then I know that we will. And I hope we're not trapped there. I promised Ginny we'd be home tonight." She smiled down on her daughter. "That's why we're not staying for the full festivities."

"Good." Virgil grinned. "Go get your things and let's get going. I'll meet you at the Odonata. I should have done the pre-flight checks by the time you get there."

"I'll come with you," Bruce offered, as his friend turned on his crutches. "In case you need a hand."

"Thanks, Bruce."

The pair of them were joined in quick time by the Crumps, Lisa carrying two small bags and Butch a third, along with a much larger and heavier welding unit. They all clambered into the aircraft.

Virgil hung his wet coat and crutches in a locker and spun the passenger seat about so that Bruce could sit facing their friends and act as a conduit between the passenger compartment and the pilot's seat.

It was a convivial trip to the neighbouring state, thanks to Virgil's careful manoeuvring around storm cells. They touched down into bright sunshine and transferred to a waiting car; courtesy of Jeff Tracy.

The competition venue was abuzz with activity. Banners proclaiming that the Tristate Welding Competition was proud to be celebrating its 50th anniversary bedecked the hall. Bleachers surrounded the auditorium, and in the centre of it all, ten tables, lengths of metal, and various pieces of metalworking equipment awaited the competitors.

Butch stayed by Lisa's side as she signed in and was directed to her table. Using as much care as he would have lowering Ginny to the ground, he placed the welder on the table top and gave it a good luck pat. "You 'kay, Liesel?"

Lisa gave him a less than full smile. "Would you believe I've just been hit by a case of nerves?" She rubbed her baby bump. "Either that or Windsor's decided that it's time to get some exercise."

"Don't dist'rb ya mother," Butch told the bump. "She go' work t' do."

"But what if I come last? What if I make a mess of the welding and it's full of craters, and spatter, and…"

"Liesel, Liesel… Y'all be 'kay," Butch reassured her, holding both her hands as he kissed her on the forehead. "Y've had pl'nty of pract'se an' y're one of the bes' weldas in the country. An' me and the boys'll be watching, an' cheerin' ya on." He pointed up into the bleachers, to where Bruce and Virgil were sitting, holding a banner of their own aloft. "Lisa's ACE!" the banner declared.

Lisa managed a nervous chuckle. "I _so_ hope I don't let ACE down."

"Ya won' an' no one thinks ya will." Butch pulled a dog-eared piece of paper out of his pocket. "I go' tol' t' give ya this before ya started."

Lisa opened the envelope and pulled out a card. The cover, with the words "Good Luck" emblazoned across the top had clearly been drawn by Virgil, but the inside contained a typewritten script – wishing her well and reassuring her that, whatever the outcome, ACE was, and always would be, proud of her. It was signed by each member of the company; Jeff Tracy's and Hamish Mickelson's signatures annotated with the postscript that they wished they could have been present, but that their commitments to rebuilding ACE had prevented it.

Holding the card against her chest, Lisa beamed up at her present and former co-workers, who waved again and pointed back at their banner.

"I hope they don't interview her and she calls the baby Windsor," Bruce muttered. "Or worse still, tells them who it's named after!"

Having heard variations of this refrain many times, Virgil chuckled.

"An' this," Butch pulled another, even more crumpled, card out of his pocket, "is from me an' Ginny."

The picture and writing in this card were less neat than the earlier, but for Lisa it was so much more precious. _Love you, Mama,_ Ginny had scrawled, _Good luk_, whilst Butch's untidy hand read: _Go get thim, Honney. Show thim your more than a prety face_, followed by a: _I love you, Liesel._ Running around the perimeter of the card was a series of _X_s and _O_s.

"And I love you too, Butch Crump. Thank you," Lisa told him with a kiss, before carefully putting both cards into her bag so they wouldn't get burnt by flying sparks nor creased more than they already were. She pulled out some neatly folded, brightly coloured, material. "Can you help me get into my coveralls?"

"Shure." Butch held his wife steady as she slipped her overalls on; wriggling to get them over her protruding abdomen.

She zipped them up to her neck and withdrew an equally bright welding helmet from the bag. "How do I look?"

"Like a winna," she was told. "Ya're the best lookin' welder here."

Lisa laughed, and kissed her husband on the cheek.

Bruce watched their interactions. "It took me ages to get used to thinking of them as a couple," he admitted. "Now I can't imagine them being apart."

"Me neither. How is their relationship?" Virgil asked. "Each time I've seen them, they've seemed happy enough, but they were good at hiding their troubles while I was in hospital… Except when they dragged me into it," he amended.

"Why do I get the feeling that there's something that none of you are telling me?"

"That's because it's none of your business."

Bruce was unconcerned by the rebuttal. "I haven't heard or seen anything to make me think things aren't working out for them; even with Lisa's pregnancy mood swings. Butch's broad shoulders really get a workout sometimes; but not as bad as it was. When things were at their worst, leading up to when they were threatening to split, the tension was really noticeable; even when they weren't around… Since then… Well… I've heard arguments, but nothing like before. More like lovers' quarrels."

"That's a relief."

A voice rang out over the loudspeaker. _"Would all competitors please approach their tables. Those who are not competing today are asked to take their seats in the gallery."_

"I gotta go," Butch told his wife and kissed her. He picked up the bag and turned to leave.

"Butch!"

Butch turned back. "I gotta go, Liesel," he repeated.

She reached into the bag. "I want this with me," she said, pulling out the card he'd given her. "I want all three of the most important members of my family close by me." She tucked the card inside her overalls. "There!" She nodded a Crump head nod. "I'm ready for anything now."

"Y' are." With a: "G'd luck, Lisa," one final squeeze of her hand, Butch retreated to the bleachers, knocking a few heads with the bag and tramping on a few toes as he pushed his way along the row to his seat next to his friends.

Bruce looked past Virgil towards him. "How is she?"

"Go' some nerves," Butch admitted. "Bu' she'll be righ' now."

The three men watched as their friend, standing out like a beacon in her overalls of fiery orange amongst the less showy blues and greys, and with a logo of what appeared to be a cross between a phoenix and some kind of aircraft on her back, listened intently to the adjudicator's instructions. She and the other competitors nodded their understanding, before all returned to their allocated tables.

"And now," the announcer crowed, "it's time to meet our competitors. From Allen Engineering we have…" The name of Allen Engineering's competitor was drowned out as his supporters got to their feet, yelled, cheered, and clapped. The announcer had to wait until they'd settled down before he could talk to the overalled man at his side.

He then had to repeat the performance with the next competitor…

And the next…

"And now we have Lisa Crump from Aeronautical Component Engineering…"

Virgil, Bruce, and Butch were all on their feet, waving their "Lisa's ACE!" banner and cheering.

"…Lisa was the Tri-State champion from six years ago. I must say that that's a bright coverall, you're wearing, Lisa. Does the logo on the back mean anything?"

Lisa, showing no signs of her nerves, turned so the picture on the rear of her overalls were visible to all. "You know that ACE was destroyed in the August earthquake last year, and that members of our team were rescued by International Rescue." She glanced up at the bleachers. "Because of that, our CAD draftsman came up with the logo. It's a phoenix, in the form of a Thunderbird, rising from the rubble. It's why I don't have many supporters with me today, because our team's back at ACE, working hard to rebuild it again."

"It looks like you've got one supporter who's closer to you than most," the announcer quipped. "I hope he isn't going to get in your way."

Laughing Lisa rubbed her pregnant belly.

Virgil only just managed to hide his laughter when he heard Bruce whisper. _"Don't tell them his name. Please don't tell them his name!"_

"We all wish ACE well in their resurrection," the announcer enthused. "And wish you, and your assistant, good luck, Lisa." He was carried on a wave of chuckles to the next competitor.

It was another ten minutes before, finally, the competition was underway.

For those who didn't know and understand the minutiae that went into creating the perfect weld, the competition would have been boring. For engineering experts Virgil and his friends, the process of creating a new construction was riveting – literally when one rattled into life. They watched the sparks that flew from the end of each competitor's welder, cheered Lisa on from the bleachers, and examined closeups of her work and that of the other competitors on their phones, courtesy of the tiny robotic cameras that hummed around each contestant.

Resting his phone on his lap for a moment, Virgil watched as Lisa walked around her creation, stretched, and then bent back over her work. "She keeps on doing that stretch-thing. Do you think she's all right?"

"Probably Windsa," Butch told him. "She said he was movin' about."

"Looks uncomfortable."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed as Lisa stretched again. "I think she's lucky that she doesn't have to work at the moment, Butch."

"She said she's missin' it. All the weldin' practise she's bin gettin' has made her wanna go backta ACE."

"It'll be a few months before the building's finished," Bruce admitted. "But it's a pity she's not a part of the reconstruction team. I'm really enjoying it. Most of the guys are. It's makes us feel that we're a part of ACE's resurrection. And…" Deliberately turning to Butch, he pretended to cut Virgil out of the conversation. "It means the Big Cheese is getting some cheap labour. No wonder he's rolling in it. He makes us do all the work!"

Virgil grinned as Butch guffawed.

"_Competitors… Ten minutes remaining,"_ the loudspeaker announced. _"I repeat, ten minutes before it's time to down tools."_

Bruce checked the video on his phone. "Will she have everything finished by then?"

Butch was unconcerned. "Yeah. She'll be sweet."

"If your kid doesn't put his foot into it."

…

"_Five minutes remaining."_

Bruce and Butch were on their feet cheering and encouraging Lisa on. Virgil, to ensure that he wasn't caught up in the tangle of arms and legs, waited until everyone around them had done the same before he stood. "C'mon, Lisa! C'mon, ACE!"

All the competitors were working frantically – desperate to finish and equally desperate to ensure that the finished product was to their exacting, and the judges' even more specific, standards.

"_Ten seconds remaining!"_

"C'mon, Lisa!"

"C'mon, ACE!"

The crowd began the countdown.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

A buzzer sounded. The welders were silenced. Welding guns were placed onto table tops and welding helmets pushed back.

Lisa ran her arm over her head, her hair sticking to her forehead. She took a deep breath and rotated her shoulder muscles to relax them.

Around her, her fellow competitors did the same.

"_We will all withdraw to the adjoining hall for refreshments,"_ the announcer told the crowd, _"while the adjudicators consider their decisions."_

Knowing that it would be foolish to try and descend from the bleachers now, whilst everyone else was funnelling into the narrow aisles, Virgil reclaimed his seat. He felt beneath it. "Where are my crutches?"

"Let me look." Bruce crouched down and peered through the gap. "I can't see them. They must have got knocked down to the floor when everyone stood up." He looked over his shoulder at the river of people descending. "I'll take the shortcut and get them." Taking care not to stand on any of the seats, he hurdled the rows below. After giving Lisa a brief word and a congratulatory hug, he pushed through the throng and disappeared.

Lisa walked to the edge of the seats and waved up to her husband and friend.

Frustrated, Butch looked across to the seemingly never-ending river.

"Don't worry about me," Virgil told him. "Take the shortcut."

His long legs easily stepping over the seats in front, Butch hurried down to the floor. "You done good, Liesel!" He swept his wife up into an embrace.

"I hope so."

"Course y' have. I was watchin' it all. ACE will be proud o' ya."

"I'll second that." Once again trying not to stand on the seats, Bruce clambered up a couple of rows until he was able to stretch the crutches out and Virgil could grab them. "Need a hand?"

"No. I should be all right." Using the crutches as a balancing aid as much as a support, Virgil squeezed his way along the row and followed the stragglers down the stairs. "Well done, Lisa," he said, hugging her.

She looked over to where the judges were standing around the first table. "I hope I was good enough."

"No worries." Virgil twirled his finger in mid-air. "Spin around so we can see your logo," he instructed.

Lisa did as he requested, holding her arms forward so the material was stretched tight. "Mrs M and Ashley made the coveralls," she said over her shoulder. "It was either that or wear a pair of man's size XXL. I would probably have a mile of leg and sleeves to deal with. Winston designed the logo and printed it out."

Bruce admired the Thunderbird rising from the ruins. "Great design," he said as Lisa dropped her arms and turned back to face them. "Maybe it should become ACE's new logo?"

"That would be a wonderful idea," Lisa enthused. "What do you think, Virgil?"

"It's not my call, but…" He screwed up his face. "Normally, I can't see Father having any issues with it, but, under the circumstances…" he glanced about him and lowered his voice, "it might reveal more than intended."

"Oh." Lisa's face fell. "I didn't think of that."

"Then m'be a variashun?" Butch suggested. "Somethin' th' same bu' diffr'nt."

"Something designed by a world-class artist." Lisa slipped her arm through Virgil's and beamed up at him.

"I'm not sure about world-class…" But Virgil was already toying with variations on Winston's design that wouldn't shout out that ACE had had a hand in the manufacture of the mighty Thunderbirds. "Shall we get something to eat while we wait for the verdict?"

In the adjourning hall people were milling around, trying to balance cups and plates.

Bruce pointed across to a couple of empty chairs. "Do you two want to sit down while we get you something to eat?"

Recognising that his crutches would just get in the way, unwilling to walk without them while all these other people were jostling about, and frustrated by his lack of independence, Virgil followed Lisa across to the chairs.

She was almost immediately accosted by a journalist wanting to know her story, that of ACE, and how it felt to be competing for such a prestigious prize when nearly seven months pregnant.

Virgil spent the time checking the conditions for the flight home on his phone. He could hear rain beating down on the roof of the hall at a volume that gave him hope for an easy take off. It was the flight into Bearston that he was more concerned about.

He heard Lisa say: _"And this is my husband,"_ and looked up to see that their group had been joined by Butch and Bruce. "Thanks," he pocketed his phone, accepted his cup, and looked at the plate that Bruce held out to him. "Have you been getting instructions from Brains?"

Bruce grinned. "Yep. He said I was to limit your fat and salt intake. So, I've played it safe. If you want any more, I can go back for seconds." He sipped from his own drink. "Checking the weather forecast?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Not wanting to upset Lisa, Virgil shrugged.

"Ah…" Bruce understood. "Right."

The three men chatted amongst themselves as Lisa finished the interview.

"_Ladies and gentlemen. The decision as to who has won the Tristate Welding Competition has been made. If you would all like to return to the main hall…"_

"Bother!" Lisa exclaimed. "I haven't had anything to eat yet."

"Here," her husband held out the plate. "Y' c'n eat an' walk at th' same time."

"I'm going to look like a pig." But still Lisa feasted on the delicacies that Butch had selected for her.

The lower seats had all been taken, so Virgil, Bruce and Butch had to climb to the top of the bleachers to find three adjourning seats.

"She's looking nervous," Bruce commented.

"Yeah." Butch gave him a nudge. "Where'sya banna?"

"Oh." Bruce pulled the banner out of his bag. Assured that, as there was no one behind them to be annoyed by their performance, the three men held it high and waved it to get Lisa's attention.

She didn't appear to notice.

"It's been a gallant contest and a fair fight," the man holding the microphone announced. "And the adjudicators have had a hard decision. They all agree that, in the fifty-year history of the Tristate Welding Competition, never before has the quality of the competition been so high, nor the judging so close. In fact, all ten competitors are within ten points of each other. If we could award each competitor a medal, we would… Maybe we should get them all to make their own?"

There were tense chuckles from the competitors and the audience.

"I know you're all waiting to find out who won the challenge…"

"We's waitin' fer ya t' shut up," Butch muttered.

"So, I won't keep you waiting any longer. In tenth place, and as I said, only ten points adrift of the winner… Duffie Schaudt of Argos Products!"

Duffie accepted his certificate with as much grace as someone, who'd in effect come last and didn't want to seem disappointed, could do.

Ninth place was read out. And eighth. And the draw for seventh. As the numbers drew closer and closer to the top three, the tension in the hall was rising.

Fifth place was announced …

"And in fourth place, only one point outside the top three… Lisa Crump of Aeronautical Component Engineering!"

Lisa did better at hiding her disappointment than some of the earlier competitors. She gave her workmates an enthusiastic wave and accepted her certificate with a gracious smile. She applauded as third and then second places were read out and the winners presented with their medals.

Allen Engineering's representative's name was once again drowned out as his supporters cheered when he accepted his gold medal and the cup.

"We would like to thank all ten competitors, and their companies, for helping us celebrate fifty years of the Tristate Welding Championship, and acknowledge those who, for various reasons, were unable to join us today. And we would like to thank you all…" the announcer indicated his audience, "for being such enthusiastic supporters of your teams. We look forward to seeing you all for tonight's celebratory dinner… Thank you." He switched off his microphone.

This time it took longer for any of the men to descend from their lofty vantage point, since the rest of the spectators seemed to all be standing back to allow everyone else to climb down.

Lisa had packed away her gear by the time they reached her.

"'M proud o' ya, Liesel," Butch told her, picking his wife up and spinning her around. "Ya did grea'. Ginny's gonna be proud o' her mama."

"Careful, Butch," she scolded, and he gently placed her back on the floor. "Windsor's sitting where he shouldn't."

"Oops. Sorry."

Despite her husband and friends' enthusiasms, Lisa seemed less than pleased with her result. "I'm sure I could've done better."

"Nothing wrong with fourth," Bruce told her, rewarding his friend with a congratulatory hug. "Only one point from the top three! ACE is going to be proud of you."

"Do you think so?"

"We know so." Virgil held up his phone. "I've already had a message from Father. He said to send his and Hamish's congratulations. He also said to tell you that he'd hired several big screen TVs, so everyone could watch the competition. The entire ACE workforce was cheering you on. They're celebrating now."

"That's nice." Lisa wriggled. "I've got to go... Would you boys mind taking care of this while I…?"

They all told her to go and that they'd take care of it.

She returned about quarter of an hour later. "There was a queue," she explained. "But I'm ready to leave whenever you are, Virgil."

"You okay, Liesel?" Butch asked. "Ya look a liddle pale."

She shrugged and took his hand. "I'm disappointed that I've let ACE down."

"You haven't," Virgil reassured her. "You're fourth; in the top half; and ACE is proud of you."

"He's right," Bruce agreed. "To be only three points behind first, is nothing to be sniffed out."

Virgil checked his phone again. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? The weather forecast isn't great, and I can guarantee a rough journey. I've checked and there are a couple of vacancies at tonight's dinner and rooms available at the hotel, so if you and Butch want to stay for the celebrations, Bruce and I can grab a bite somewhere else; and we can fly out first thing tomorrow morning."

"I haven't got anything to wear for the dinner," Lisa told him. "I can't wear my coveralls. And I promised Ginny we'd be home as soon as we could." She hugged Butch's arm, almost pulling him towards the door. "My mother's wonderful, but I don't want to impose on her too much."

"Guess we're heading home then." Bruce picked up one of the bags on the table and slung it onto his shoulder. "Bring the welder, Virgil."

They hardly got wet as they were driven from the venue and to the aeroplane. Virgil was less lucky as he, crutchless, did the Odonata's pre-flight checks. He accepted Bruce's assistance into the craft. "All set?"

Bruce buckled himself up into his backwards facing seat. "All set."

"Last chance to back out," Virgil warned. "We don't have to go to the dinner. We can entertain ourselves in town."

Lisa had a tight grip on Butch's hand. "No, I'm ready. Let's go home."

As Virgil contacted the control tower, Bruce made himself comfortable. He looked across to the couple travelling opposite him. "Won't be too much longer before Bearston's not home for any of us."

"Won' be soon 'nough." Butch gave a sage nod. "Ashslee's stayin' a bi' longer than sh'd like. Ol' Mega's more int'rested in getting' ACE ready than tha'r house. Think sh's a bi' annoyed wid him."

"I don't blame her. Mr Watts has always been obsessed with ACE. But, at least it gave her time to work on your coveralls, Lisa. Can I have a look at the logo again sometime? I may have a few ideas for a variation myself."

"Here." Butch held out his phone. "Ya c'n copy i' from tha'."

"Thanks." Bruce accepted the phone and transferred the image across as they all felt the plane start to move. "Oops. Better get into the launch position." He handed Butch's mobile back and pocketed his own.

"Ya wen' in a Thunderbird Three fligh' simulashun, didn' ya? Wha' was i' like?"

"Smoother than what we're about to experience, I think. Just remember every space launch you've seen on television and in the movies, and then forget about them."

Up front, Virgil was having a final conversation with air traffic control. He was reminded that the storm front was moving slowly. "That's why I'm planning on circling Bearston and coming in from the south."

"Understood. Have a good flight."

As Virgil accepted his invitation to take to the skies, he wondered how good a flight it would be.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Even taking the long way around and attempting to remain in clear air wasn't proving to be that effective, Virgil found as they soared further into their flight. They'd been in the air half an hour and, with the route he had planned, they were going to be flying for roughly three quarters of an hour more.

Just out of interest, and to see if he could still do it in an unfamiliar craft and in tricky circumstances, he noted the time and estimated how many minutes it would be before they touched down in Bearston.

He forgot his estimate when he heard a sound – half a scream, half a whimper – from the compartment behind him. Virgil had heard that sound several times before – its timbre and tone telling him that something was badly awry. It started a second before Bruce unclipped his belt and bolted from the chair and out of view….

_To be continued…_


	73. Chapter 73

It hadn't been a bad flight, so far, Bruce had mused as he'd sat in his chair, facing the Crumps. A little rougher than he would have liked, but nowhere near as bad as that social club flight from Alan Tracy's race when they'd literally crashed and burned. The noise of the rain pelting on the fuselage had been dampened to a gentle hum by the Odonata's no-expense-spared composition; which could have made conversation possible if Lisa hadn't clamped her mouth firmly shut to prevent anything less pleasant from spilling out. Butch had hold of her hand and was patting it in what was probably meant to be a reassuring manner, but which Bruce thought would have had him screaming in annoyance if he'd been in Lisa's shoes… And if she hadn't been grey and clutching a sick bag tightly.

Conversation with Virgil may have been possible, if the pilot wasn't in full concentration mode – his eyes scanning every gauge and meter, hunting out the safest, smoothest, path through a mess of storm cells. Bruce would have liked to have known how far out they were from Bearston, so he could reassure the Crumps that they wouldn't have to endure it for much longer, but he didn't want to risk breaking Virgil's concentration with something so trivial.

He tried to think of variations to the new ACE logo, but thoughts of Thunderbirds led to thoughts of disasters, and Bruce didn't want to go down that track.

But the unexpected whimper/scream drove all his thoughts out of his head, as he pulled his safety harness free and lunged forward.

-F-A-B-

Butch didn't mind flying. Even the excitement and drama of the social club return flight hadn't put him off it. Doing two laps of the track in the company of the best race car driver in the world had more than compensated for that.

But he knew that Lisa didn't like flying. At least, it wasn't that it made her unhappy. What made her unhappy was the turbulence… and being sick. And when Lisa was unhappy, Butch was unhappy. And when Lisa was unhappy, Butch was prepared to do anything to cheer her up again.

But here, trapped in a flying tin-can and secretly disappointed because the best welder in the world had only come fourth, Butch didn't know what he could do to make the love of his life happy. And so, he sat there; and stroked her hand so that she'd know that he was there and that he'd care for her no matter what happ…

The whimpering scream that she let out when she doubled over in pain, made his blood run cold. For a split second he froze, unsure what to do. Fortunately, in that split second, someone much more knowledgeable in first aid than he was took control.

"Lisa…?" Trying not to topple over as he crouched at her feet, Bruce looked up anxiously into his friend's face. "What's wrong?" There was an echo of his question from the cabin behind him.

Her arms wrapped around her abdomen and folded nearly double over them, Lisa squeezed her eyes shut. "M-My stomach hurts."

"Do you feel like you're going to be…" Unwilling to say the 'S' word in case it set her off, Bruce finished his question with: "Do you need a bag?"

"Here, I go' one," Butch reassured his wife, holding the sick bag open.

"N-No, don' f-feel like 'm going to…" The aeroplane hit a squall and gave a lurch, and Lisa grabbed the bag that Butch was holding.

At a loss, as to what else they could do, both men waited until she'd finished.

"Lie down," Bruce suggested. "These seats flatten into a bed, and we can strap you into that. You'll probably feel better then."

Tears, he wasn't sure if they were of distress, fear, or pain, ran down Lisa's cheeks and she looked at him mutely – asking him for the help that he wasn't sure he could give her. "I-It's m' baby."

Dry-mouthed, Bruce stared at her, as Butch's grasp of her hand tightened. "What?"

"M' baby. There's something wrong with my baby."

"Okay. Don't panic. What are you feeling?"

Lisa squeezed her eyes shut. "It' like cramps… Only worse. Much, much worse."

"Right." Bruce didn't even try to imagine what she was going through. He looked around. He had travelled on the Odonata often enough to have a reasonable idea of what its luxuries and features were and where they were hidden. He pressed a button at the side of the last seat and all four adjusted their contours until they had formed a flat mattress. Risking that he wouldn't be bucked into the sky, he stood up and pulled two blankets out of a locker that looked nothing like a storage compartment.

Then he crouched on the floor again. "Lie down, Lisa, with your back against the wall," he instructed. "Give her a hand, Butch."

"'Kay." With a gentleness that most people would have never associated with someone of his size and appearance, Butch did as he was told; taking Lisa's shoulders and helping her to lie along the seats as Bruce guided her legs up.

"Why me?" she cried, curling up into a foetal position. "It's always me. At ACE. On the flight home. I'm a jinx! If anything's going to happen, it'll happen to me!"

"Ya'r no' a jinx," Butch told her.

"You'll feel better now you're lying down. Here." As Bruce unfolded the first blanket he gave both Crumps a nervous smile. He felt as sick as Lisa had been. "We'll put this over you to keep you warm," he promised, draping it across her legs and lower torso. He then laid a second blanket over her body and let Butch, with great tenderness, tuck it around her shoulders. "Now, Lisa, we're going to strap you in to stop the storm from flinging you about, but stay on your side, in case you need to use one of the bags. Can you take care of that, Butch? When you've finished…" He flipped down a dickie seat from the wall, next to Lisa's head. "…sit there and strap yourself in."

"'Kay."

"Take these." Bruce held out a handful of sick bags and wondered if he should keep one for himself. "Stay by her in case she needs them."

"'Kay."

"I'll go and have a word with our pilot."

"'Kay." Butch seemed to have lost all contact with his speech cortex.

Bruce crawled over to the pilot's seat and, bracing himself, got as close to Virgil's ear as he could, praying that their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

"What's going on, Bruce!" Virgil had kept nine tenths of his concentration on keeping the Odonata on an even keel, one tenth on the CCTV, and now had transferred one tenth to his friend. "What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. All I know is that she's bleeding."

"What?!" Virgil glanced over his shoulder. "Where from?"

"She's pregnant! There aren't too many outlets available!"

"How much?"

"She's not haemorrhaging, but it's enough to be a worry."

"What's causing it?"

"I don't know. I'm an engineer, not a midwife." Bruce swallowed. "What if she goes into full-blown labour? What if the baby starts arriving? What if I have to..." He swallowed and his voice went quiet. "You know... Expose her."

Virgil, having enough to deal with, with a bucking aeroplane as he tried to keep the flight as smooth as possible for those in the back, had no time for squeamish behaviour. "It's no different from when you had to cut her top off to do cardiac compressions on her."

Bruce looked at him with wide eyes. "It is, Virgil. Believe me. It is." He looked over his shoulder into the passenger cabin. "All okay, back there?"

It was Butch who responded. "'Kay."

"Butch…" Lisa reached out to her husband. "I'm scared."

Butch, with an effort, managed to regain control of his vocal chords. "Ya don' need ta be. Ya go' Bruce lookin' afta ya. He's saved ya life, an' Virgil's, an' Mr Watts, an' tha' guy who had the heart attack's. An' look who's flyin' us. Virgil! He's wi' International Rescue. He's a Thunderbird pilot!"

"But he's not with International Rescue anymore."

"Ya think tha' mattas? Jus' cos he's not one in name, don' mean he's no' one at heart. You an' I both know tha'."

Woebegone, Lisa nodded.

Butch held her hand tight. "Is there anythin' I c'n do far ya, Liesel?"

"Sing." Lisa curled tighter around her restraints and sniffed. "I feel better when you sing."

"Sing?" For a moment, Butch lost his vocal abilities again. Then he dug deep to find them again. "What'ch wanna hear?"

Lisa held his hand tightly. "Anything."

-F-A-B-

Virgil didn't take long to think, although the sound of a strong baritone from the compartment behind him did give him pause. "Do you know where the 'second aid' kit is?"

"Yeah." Bracing himself against the bulkhead, Bruce nodded. "I think so."

"Get it out. There's a monitor in there. Put it on Lisa's finger, so we can track her stats."

Bruce, trying to retain his customary professional and calm demeanour when under stress, looked at his friend hopefully as Virgil reached for the radio. "Are you going to call International Rescue?"

"I'm going to call air traffic control first." As Bruce withdrew into the passenger cabin, Virgil made contact and explained their situation. "…We're in a TA-Odonata and have VTOL capabilities. Can you direct us to the nearest hospital able to accommodate us?"

"Just a moment. We're trying to do a triangulation to direct you to… Okay. The nearest is called Bearston General…"

"I know it." Better than Virgil was willing to admit.

"But you have to go through the storm to get there. Our advice is to turn back to the Mare Mercy Hospital in Heartham. You'll have a smoother ride, if not a quicker one."

"Is the Mare Mercy going to have the facilities to help her?" Virgil had a feeling that he had heard that Bearston General had a top-class obstetrics ward, but had never had the need to find out.

"Ah…" The air traffic controller sounded hesitant. "I don't know."

"Can you find out what our best option is? The Odonata can cope with the storm, but I don't know that Lisa can."

"I'll see what we can find out and get back to you ASAP." The radio link went dead.

_And while you'll doing that, I'll get some medical advice of my own._ "John! Put me through to Brains: stat."

John Tracy, although surprised to hear from his brother and to hear that brother's abrupt demand, was nevertheless trained well enough not to have any reaction other than to obey. "He's in the lounge. I'll put you through."

Virgil heard another familiar voice. "V-Virgil."

"Brains! Lisa's gone into premature labour or something. I'm sending you through our location and Bruce is attaching a scanner."

"Want Alan and me to fly out there?" Scott, as he tended to do when their father was away from International Rescue's base on business, had been hovering around the centre of operations.

"Negative. It'll take even Thunderbird One too long to get here; it's too dangerous for an air-to-air transfer; and it'll look suspicious if International Rescue turns up just for a medical emergency."

"Okay. What's your plan?"

"The ATC are suggesting that we double back to the Mare Mercy Hospital in Heartham. The closer option is Bearston General, but we'll have to fly through the storm to get there. What's your recommendation, Brains?"

"Can you send through Lisa's stats?"

"As soon as I'm receiving them, I will."

"How many weeks pregnant is she?"

"Weeks? The baby's not due til February. Hang on… Butch!" Virgil yelled over his shoulder. "How many weeks pregnant is Lisa?"

He was surprised by the promptness of the answer after the song was silenced. "Twen'y nine." Butch loomed over his shoulder with an iron grip on the back of his seat. "We has a chart on th' wall a' home, an' we're usin' i' t' help teach Ginny her numbers." The Odonata gave a lurch to the side and he was thrust against the edge of the pilot's chair.

Virgil turned back to the radio. "Did you get that Brains? She's twenty-nine weeks pregnant. Anything else Butch can tell you?"

"Has she experienced any other anomalies during her pregnancy?"

"Nope."

"No."

"Right…" Those who knew him could tell by the tone of Brains' voice, that he was deep in thought.

"Thanks, Butch," Virgil said. "You'd better get back to Lisa and strap in. If I need you, I'll call."

"'Kay."

The big man was replaced by Bruce. "The sensor's on her finger. Now what?" There was a moan from Lisa, followed by a retching sound. "Butch just made it."

"Are you up to inserting an IV into her? It sounds like she's going to need fluids."

"I've never inserted a line into a real human before, but I should be okay… If you can hold this crate absolutely steady for as long as it takes."

"If I could guarantee you that, I would. Let me know when you're going to make a start and I'll do my best. I might have to go into a hover or something."

"Thanks, Virgil." Bruce clapped him on the shoulder and then fell backwards when the Odonata gave another lurch. Virgil checked the CCTV and was glad to see his friend get up and, deciding it was safer than walking, crawl over to the second aid box. "Are you receiving Lisa's stats, Brains?"

"Y-Yes… I-I wish we could get the baby's. I need to know how it is before I can decide on the next course of action…" Brains, the Tracys could hear, was musing out loud rather than conversing with anyone. Then his tone changed. "Virgil!"

"Yes?"

"Are you still wearing your wrist monitor?"

"Of course, I am. It's welded on and I can't take it off."

"Can you cut it off now? Cut on the weld line and you won't damage the electronics."

"I'm with you… Butch!"

"Yeah?"

"Can you come here? Bring the scissors out of the second aid kit."

Bruce handed the big man the scissors in question before, staying on his knees so he could keep his centre of gravity down low, he laid a bag of saline and an intravenous line next to the distraught woman. "I'm going to put an IV into you to replace some of the fluids you've lost," he said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. "Virgil's finding out the location of the closest hospital and we're going to land there. Okay?"

Lisa grabbed his hand, and held tight. "Bearston. I want to go to Bearston."

"I know, but that might not be an option, Lisa." Bruce squeezed her hand. "I know you want to go home, but there's a humongous great storm between us and there. We're going to do what's best for you and Windsor. Okay?"

She gave him a timorous smile, which stopped just short of being brave. "Bruce…" she gestured that he should get closer.

She looked so miserable, that it was all Bruce could do to not wrap her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be fine. Instead he did as she requested. "Yes?"

Lisa glanced across to where her husband was leaning into the pilot's cabin. "I… I am… I hoped that we'd get home before I had to…" She glanced down and two tears rolled down her cheeks, the higher one dripping off her nose. "I know I should've said somethin', but I was scared…" She swallowed. "Before we left, I discovered… that…"

"I already know, Honey," he whispered. "But we won't tell Butch just yet, right?" He glanced over his shoulder at the two men behind him. "We wouldn't want him to collapse onto our pilot, would we?" He squeezed her hand again.

"I just wanted to get home. I needed to be close to Ginny."

"I know. I understand. Don't worry. Virgil won't let us down… Although…" Bruce snuck another look across at the cockpit, "I'm beginning to think that he's the jinx. Next time he offers to fly us somewhere, I don't think any of us will be willing to take him up on his offer."

"It's not his fault."

"No... I know it's not."

"He's a good friend."

"Yeah, he is," Bruce agreed. "And that's why he, and I, are going to do our utmost to make sure that both you and the baby are just fine…"

-F-A-B-

"Here's the scissas."

"Good." Virgil held his arm out, across his body. "See my wrist monitor?"

"Yeah."

"See the weld line on it?"

"Yeah."

"You need to take those scissors and cut it off on that line."

Butch didn't query the instruction. "Okay." He grasped Virgil's wrist and attempted to slip one of the blades underneath. "Ya've gain' t' much weight." Flipping the scissors over, he tried the other blade.

"I never thought I'd be disappointed to hear that. Just do what you've got to, Butch. Rotate the bracelet and twist my arm to see if you can get it from another angle."

Butch tried again, Virgil trying not to grimace as the points threatened to pierce his skin and it felt like his arm was going to be twisted off. "Need a knife."

"There'll be a scalpel in the second aid kit."

"Righ'." Butch disappeared. He was back again a minute later. "This wha' ya mean?"

Virgil glanced across at the thin metal blade. "That's it. Can you cut it now?"

"Hang on." Butch sat side-saddle on what had been Bruce's seat and strapped himself in. "Don' wanna go flyin' mid-operashun an' cut ya. Give me ya arm."

Virgil attempted to reach across, but he couldn't reach far enough and maintain control of the bucking aeroplane. "It's not going to work."

"We ain' beat yet."

Virgil admired Butch's tenacity. He had no doubts that his friend was worried sick, but he wasn't letting his fears overcome him.

Somehow, Butch wedged his bulk behind the pilot's seat. "Can' flap abou' now," he boasted. "Give me ya arm."

Virgil held it up and felt Butch grab it. He was glad that the operation was taking part out of his line of sight. He was having enough trouble trying to hold the Odonata steady with one hand and both tiring knees, without seeing Butch wield a sharp implement close to his ear and his radial artery.

He flinched when he felt the tiniest of nicks.

"S'rry…"

Virgil felt the bracelet fall free.

"Gottit," Butch said in satisfaction, before Virgil heard a clatter. "Dropped th' knife."

"Don't worry about it." Virgil claimed his arm back, relieved to be able to grasp the control yoke with both hands again. He felt Butch push himself out from behind the seat.

-F-A-B-

Brains stared at his tablet's screen, seeing the flatline that was stretching across it. "Frank and St-Stein must be having kittens."

Scott looked at the middle portrait that showed his brother in deep concentration. "How will you explain the monitor to the authorities?"

Brains glanced up. "It's standard medical technology, not International Rescue's."

"Ah. I forgot." An urgent beeping sound from Brains' tablet told Scott that at least one urgent message was coming from further south. "Time for you to report in and explain."

-F-A-B-

"Now wha'?" Butch looked to Virgil for advice.

"Hopefully Lisa's not allergic to the adhesive. Get some of the sticky tape bandage from one of the first aid kits, it won't matter which one, and tape the monitor, so the electrodes are against her skin."

"Where?"

Fair question. "Where do you want the monitor, Brains?"

Brains disconnected the frantic call from Australasia. "Expose her abdomen. Follow the linea nigra down until the mid-point between the umbilicus and the…"

"Hold on, Brains!" Even Virgil was having trouble following the explanation. "Follow the what?"

Scott was looking over Brains' shoulder at an anatomical picture of a 26-week pregnant woman. "Stick it onto her tummy, about ten centimetres below her tummy button."

"Horizontally or vertically?"

"Erm…" Brains had to consider the question. "Vertically."

Butch nodded. "Righ'!" He retreated back into the body of the craft.

"But don't uncover Lisa too much!" Virgil yelled after him, mindful of what the as yet oblivious man might find. "Try to keep her warm."

It was a different male voice that he heard in response. "We're ready, Virgil," Bruce yelled. "Keep the plane as steady as you can."

Virgil stopped all forward momentum and held the Odonata as still as he could. "That's as good as I can give you," he called back.

"_It'll do."_

"Bruce is inserting an IV, Brains, and Butch is attaching my monitor. As soon as they've both finished I'm putting the balls to the wall. Are we going to Bearston General, or Heartham?"

-F-A-B-

It's like being back in the earthquake, Bruce thought, as he eyed up the exposed and sterilised forearm.

"_That's as good as I can give you."_

"It'll do… I'll try to be as gentle as I can Lisa."

Lisa bit her lip and kept her eyes on the Odonata's ceiling as she felt the catheter pierce her skin. She winced as a small jolt sent the needle-like object at an oblique angle.

"Sorry," Bruce apologised.

"'S'okay."

"I can't believe how brave you're being."

"I-I'm not really. If i'was anyone other than you an' Virgil helping me, I'd be a mess."

"I'm flattered that you're prepared to group me with a member of International Rescue."

"Forma memba," Butch reminded him as he unwound a length of tape.

"So, he says. Shall we say: Associate member?"

Butch nodded. "Like ya is."

"Not really. I just worked for them temporarily," Bruce continued. He double-checked the catheter's placement. "Think that's okay."

"You're every bit as brave and caring as they are, Bruce," Lisa told him.

"Yeah," Butch agreed. "Ya coulda been a full memba o' Intanash'nal Rescue instead justa engineer."

"I don't know about that." Bruce laid a gauze pad over the catheter's entry site. "Brave is not on my CV. But I do know that I wouldn't want anyone else flying this plane…" He remembered an event from earlier in the year. "Except, maybe, Scott."

The pad went flying when the aeroplane gave a lurch. Lisa screamed when the IV line pulled against her arm, the monitor on her finger slipped free, and Bruce was flung backwards, hitting his head against the wall with a bang that reverberated around the cabin.

He slumped to the floor…

-F-A-B-

Back on Tracy Island, Brains stared at the screen he held in his hands. "Virgil's monitor's working."

"Great!" Scott leant closer. "You're getting a reading?"

"I can see the baby's heartbeat. It's fast."

"Aren't babies' heartbeats supposed to be faster than adults'?"

"Yes, but I don't know how fast is too fas..." Brains' voice went up an octave. "Lisa's monitor's stopped transmitting!"

"What? Why?!" Scott looked up at Virgil's portrait, seeing his brother – torn between what was happening outside the cabin and what was going on inside and behind him – glance anxiously over his shoulder.

"I don't know." Brains was feverishly trying to regain contact. "Get another tablet, would you?"

Scott grabbed the one that was on his father's desk.

"Do a search for heart rhythms in preterm foetuses."

"Searching..." Scott examined the listings that appeared. "Which web site do you trust?"

"Read them out to me." Brains listened and then stopped him when Scott reached the third site. "Click on that one."

Scott did as instructed, and then scrolled down until he found a table. "Is that what you need?"

Brains nodded.

-F-A-B-

"Bruce!"

Strong hands reached out to him. "You 'kay, Pal?"

"Uh… Yeah." Bruce sat up and rubbed the back of his head. "Jus' seeing a few stars, that's all."

Concerned, Butch sat on the floor in front of him. "You shure?"

Bruce managed a smile. "I'm sure. Lucky that didn't happen while I was stabbing your wife, huh?" Before either Crump was able to say any more, he crawled over to Lisa and replaced the monitor on her finger, unaware of the relief felt back at Tracy Island at the reinstatement of communications. "You 'kay?"

She nodded.

Bruce turned towards the pilot's cabin. "We're done, Virgil."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I've just got to get the saline flowing." Trying to ignore his headache, Bruce instructed Butch to reclaim his dickie seat. "Hold this high," he told his friend, handing him an IV bag. "Keep it above her arm, so gravity will help it drain out. Try not to let the line pull on her."

"'Kay."

Bruce released the clamp that started the hydrating solution trickling down the tube." Good," he grunted, seeing the liquid flow. "Any word from Brains, Virgil?"

"He says he's getting a reading from the baby and he's not ready to panic yet." Virgil didn't add that Brains had added the proviso that he remember that this information was given by someone whose knowledge of medicine didn't extend to obstetrics. "Can we start moving again?"

"Yep." Bruce reclaimed his seat.

He had started to do up his safety harness when Lisa gave another cry. "What's wrong?"

Lisa let out a breath. "C-C-Contraction!"

"What?!" As he had throughout this drama, Virgil had been listening through the CCTV. Now he glanced at the monitor. The pregnant woman was visibly shaking in fear. "Contraction?"

"Are you sure, Lisa?" Bruce checked, releasing his seatbelt and returning to her side.

Tears streaming out of her eyes, Lisa nodded.

"Whatever you do: don't push!" Bruce managed to pull a third blanket from out of the locker and then undid Lisa's safety harness. "Lie on your back and lift your hips…" He folded the blanket in half again. "…and I'll slide this underneath you. We can get gravity working in our favour in more ways than one." Taking care, and praying that he didn't feel anything wet, he slid the blanket into place. "You can relax now." He fastened the first of her harnesses straps.

Lisa let out a little scream.

"Liesel!" Butch caught her hand. "What is it?"

"'Nother…" She panted. "'Nother contraction."

Bruce felt that he'd just fallen into his worst nightmare. "It can't be! It's only been a minute since your last one. They're not supposed to be that quick at the beginning… Are they?" He leant in closer to Lisa's pregnant belly. "Windsor? This is your Uncle Bruce speaking. Now listen to me. Your birthday's not until February. It's only November. You are not to arrive early and spoil your party? Do you understand? Stop frightening your mama and your daddy…" He went to move away and changed his mind. "And me," he added, ignoring Butch's astonished expression. He finished securing Lisa, and then withdrew to his seat in the pilot's cabin. "Are you strapped in Butch?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me too." Bruce looked across at the pilot. "We need to get her to hospital, Virgil. And we need to do it now."

"Right! No more messing about. It's balls to the wall and we're heading for Bearston! Everyone hold on tight!" Virgil turned the Odonata so its nose was pointing directly towards the hospital that he knew well. "Did you hear that, Brains?"

"I h-heard, Virgil. I think that, under the circumstances, this is a best course of action."

"I'll let ATC know…" Virgil contacted Air Traffic Control. "We've made the decision to head to Bearston General. Will you let them know that we'll be landing on their rooftop helipad?"

"Affirmative."

"We're monitoring mother and baby. Can you let us know what frequency to send the signals through on?"

"Will do."

"ETA… Nine point six seven minutes."

_To be continued..._


	74. Chapter 74

"What are you guys up to?" Oblivious to the drama happening half a world away, and wearing his swimming trunks and with a towel draped over his shoulder, Gordon wandered into the lounge. Then he stopped, staring at the image of an obviously feminine abdomen on screen. "What are you looking at!?"

"Lisa's gone into premature labour…" Scott began.

"W-We don't know that yet," Brains corrected. "It could be any number of things."

"Things?" Gordon stared at his friend. "Such as?"

"We d-don't know."

"What do the medicos say?"

"They haven't had a chance to examine her," his eldest brother explained. "Virg was flying them all home to Bearston when it started. They're flying through a storm."

"Storm? How strong."

"Ten plus on the Beaufort Scale."

"Is she all right, Brains?" Forgetting about his swim, Gordon slumped against the back of a chair and his towel slid off his shoulder and onto the seat. "How's Windsor?"

"W-We've got scanners on both of them."

"And…"

"And… Lisa's stressed."

"I'm sure that's putting it mildly."

"She was vomiting, possibly through motion sickness. Bruce has inserted an IV to keep her hydrated." Brains hesitated. He knew that Gordon regarded Lisa as a friend. "She was bleeding as well."

"And the baby?" Gordon frowned. "How are you monitoring the baby? We've got nothing that sensitive on the Odonata. Not even in the second aid kit."

"Virgil cut his wrist monitor off and Butch stuck it to Lisa's abdomen with some tape. It seems to be working."

"Which tells us…?"

"Which tells us…" Scott looked serious. "The baby's stressed too."

-F-A-B-

A wall of grey cloud loomed ahead of them; looking dark, stormy and impenetrable.

Virgil punched straight through it. Instantly the noise from outside the craft seemed to increase tenfold. Inside the Odonata, everyone was thrown violently against their restraints. Arms and legs flew up into the air, and Virgil felt his lower limbs connect painfully with the aircraft's bulkhead.

Lisa attempted to bite back a scream as another contraction hit. Remembering prior experience, she panted as she attempted to soothe the pain.

Bruce checked his watch. "Nine minutes is going to be too long, Virgil! Can't we land somewhere and be met by paramedics or something?" Another lurch thrust him against his restraints. "Keep her calm, Butch. Sing to her!"

Desperate to do anything to help, Butch began to sing. His rendition of _Love Overcomes All_ filled the aeroplane.

Virgil was back on the radio. "Brains! Our ETA's eight point oh eight minutes. Lisa's had three contractions inside the last three minutes. Can you offer any other advice?"

He was relieved by Brains' calm response. "Yes. There should be a vial of Thirty-five Seventy-six in the second aid kit." Overhearing the conversation, Bruce gestured to Butch to pass him the box from where it had been jammed against the wall next to Lisa's bed.

"Any chance it'll harm Lisa or the baby?"

"No. It's very localised and I'm proposing an injection of only one millilitre. It should relax the uterine muscles and will be metabolised out of both of their systems by the time you reach Bearston General."

"Right. Hold on… Bruce. Can you reach the second aid kit?"

Bruce indicated the box. "I've got it."

"Find a hypodermic syringe and a, ah…" Virgil frowned as he tried to remember his International Rescue training. "…blue vial with the numbers three, five, seven, six on the side.

Hoping that a burst of activity outside the Odonata wouldn't fling the precious contents of this box far and wide, and that he'd heard the numbers correctly over the noise of the rain and wind, Bruce hunted through the vials. "Three, five, seven, seven? No that's green. Three, six, seven, five?"

"Three, _five, _seven_, six_," Virgil corrected.

"Three… Five… Seven… Ah! Six!" Bruce held the blue vial aloft. "Found it." After removing a sachet containing a sterilising swab and some gloves, he shut and sealed the second aid box; putting it on the floor next to him as indecision came over him.

He held out the vial. "Double check this for me, will you, Butch."

Butch took the small glass bottle. "What'm I checkin'?

"That that's the one Brains recommended."

"What's th' number?"

"Virgil?"

"Thirty-five, seventy-six."

Butch read the four digits on the blue label. "That's i'," he confirmed.

"Now what?" Bruce hung onto the vial and syringe as if his life, or Lisa's and the baby's, depended on it.

Virgil projected an image onto a screen. "Brains is showing you where to place the injection."

"What!?" Bruce's mouth dropped open. "I can't do that! I haven't had the training!"

"You did an advanced first aid course!"

"It didn't include injecting stuff into people… Aside from IVs. And they showed us what nerves and things to watch out for. But I've got no idea of what's… in that area."

Virgil was growing tired. He had no fears over the strength and reliability of the Odonata, but he was tired of battling the controls. He was a lot fitter and stronger than he had been for months, but he still wasn't at peak fitness. He wished he was at the controls of his Thunderbird Two. He'd flown her through multiple storms that were worse than this and she'd barely complained. "Okay, I'll do it. But you'll have to spin your seat around so you're facing the controls. Don't undo your harness!" He pushed some buttons. "Okay. You can turn your seat now."

Bruce pushed his chair about 180 degrees. "Why the pirouette?" he asked as his seat was locked back into place. "I thought you'd have autopilot."

"We do." Virgil switched it on. "But I want you to keep an eye on things to tell me if anything starts behaving erratically. You've had enough lessons to know what's what."

"Just remember that I haven't had enough to actually land this thing."

Virgil reached across. "Give me the syringe… Now the vial." Trying to keep as steady as he could, and with a few near misses of the rubber stopper, one which almost stabbed himself in the hand, he managed to fill the syringe. "One mill…" He replaced the hypodermic's cap and flicked the syringe to ensure there were no air bubbles in it.

Bruce held out his hand. "Want me to hold that while you get out of your seat?"

"Good idea."

It was going to be a waste of time waiting until the Odonata was flying steady, Virgil decided, and so he undid his safety harness and hauled himself out of his chair. His tired legs resisted the forces against them, and he fell to his knees, hoping that it looked like it was what he'd intended to do. He crawled closer to Lisa, accepting the gloves passed from Bruce to Butch, which he snapped into place. "What I'm going to do," he explained, "is inject a mild anaesthetic. It should stop, or at least lessen, the contractions until we get to the hospital. It won't cure whatever's wrong, but it will make you more comfortable. It won't hurt the baby and it will be out of your system by the time we get there. Okay?"

Reassured by his calm, in-control, everything's-going-to-be-all-right, manner, Lisa nodded.

Taking care to expose as little of his friend as he could, Virgil pulled back Lisa's blanket and various garments, and found the spot Brains had indicated. After a quick, sterilising swab, he took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Hearing Lisa's squeaked reply, Virgil plunged the hypodermic needle into her skin and swiftly injected the liquid. Withdrawing it, he covered her over again and ensured that her harness was still holding her secure. Keen to get back to the pilot's seat, so he could hasten the end to this nightmare, he stood.

The Odonata dropped, thrusting Virgil against the bulkhead and then sending him sprawling on the floor. The syringe flew out of his hand, soaring through the air like an out of control arrow, before piercing the carpet a millimetre away from the reinstated webbing between his left hand's thumb and first finger. As he eyeballed the projectile and reflected on his near miss, he heard a concerned, "You 'kay, Pal?"

"I'm okay." Virgil grabbed the syringe and looked around for the cap. Not seeing it in the briefest of glances, he disconnected the hypodermic from its body, reversed it, and jammed it into the syringe to sheath the needle. Shoving that into his pocket he crawled towards his seat and hauled himself into it.

Bruce fixed him with a concerned gaze. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Virgil did up his seatbelt. "I'm fine."

"Why'd you stand up?"

"Hurts my knees to crawl." Virgil disengaged the autopilot and engaged the in-craft intercom so that everyone could hear over the buffeting of the wind and rain. "Right! This is it. We're heading for Bearston General and we're not stopping. No matter what happens, do not undo your safety harness until we are on the ground and I give the all clear. We will be landing in seven point five eight minutes."

Up in Thunderbird Five, John started the countdown.

Butch held Lisa's hand and tried to sing.

Lisa held Butch's hand and tried to listen.

Bruce looked out the cockpit windscreen and tried not to worry.

Virgil wrestled with the controls and tried to make the flight as smooth as he humanly could.

"Brains to TA Odonata."

Glad that the radio was hands free, Virgil responded. "Go ahead, Brains."

"Both Lisa and the baby's vital signs are improving. The injection is doing its job."

"Glad to hear it," Virgil responded, as Bruce twisted in his seat to reassure himself that both the Crumps had heard the announcement.

The Air Traffic Control cut across the Tracys' channel. "Bearston General are standing by. Anything they need to be told?"

"Contractions appear to have ceased for the time being… Making final approach."

Down below, in the shelter of the main building that housed Bearston General, emergency doctors and nurses waited.

"I'd hate to be out in that," one of them commented, as a branch as thick as a man's arm was tossed across the open space that was the rooftop helipad. "It's bad enough on the ground. I'd hate to be flying in it."

"I hope they've got a good pilot."

"I think even International Rescue would think twice about flying through this storm."

"Nah. Something like this would be all in a day's work for those guys. Them and their craft. I wouldn't want to be a passenger in this plane though."

"I hope there isn't any debris on the helipad when they come into land."

"I'd have been worried in the old days when the helipad was at ground level. Less chance of it up here."

"That wasn't a toothpick that just flew past!"

"Did anyone hear how long they were going to be?"

"Seven minutes, he said." The nurse looked at his watch. "That was six minutes ago."

Someone else pointed into the murk. "What's that?!"

A beacon of light pierced through the rain, illuminating the helipad.

"Get ready, everyone," the team leader ordered. "As soon as they're down, we move in."

Virgil kept the Odonata's nose pointing into the wind, to try to lessen the buffeting to the craft. At the last moment before they touched down, he swung the aeroplane about until it was side on and its doors were facing the entrance to the hospital.

Everyone on board felt the landing gear contact the concrete of the helipad. The motors powered down and the Odonata's doors opened. Cold air and water gushed in, closely followed by the Bearston General medical team.

-F-A-B-

High above in Thunderbird Five, John Tracy had also been observing the Odonata's arrival. Five's computers told him that the landing gear touched down at the same moment that a timer beeped.

Despite everything, John grinned. "Seven point five eight minutes on the dot. You've still got it, Virgil."

-F-A-B-

"Tha's her," Butch told the medical team who'd swarmed the Odonata, but, since it was obvious who the patient was, no one took any notice of him.

Bruce had released himself from the seat, but hadn't stepped into the passenger cabin. "Come here, Butch. Let them look after Lisa. We'll go with her when they take her into the hospital." Reaching out, he used his foot to flip the dickie seat up out of everyone's way.

A nurse approached the pair of them. "Who's her next of kin?"

"Me." Butch cast a worried look Lisa's way.

"Can you give me some details?" The nurse took notes as Butch, with some prodding from Bruce, gave the answers.

"How long since symptoms started?"

"'Bout half a hour," Butch offered.

"No," Bruce corrected. "Lisa discovered she was bleeding before we left…"

"What!?" Butch rounded on his friend.

"…So, a little over an hour ago?"

"She knew? She knew an' she didn' tell me?"

"She didn't tell any of us. She wanted to get home to Ginny. She knew that we'd all insist that she see a doctor before we left if she'd told us."

"Bu' she was bleedin'?"

Concerned that the idea might cause the big man to faint, Bruce held his arm. "Lisa's going to get help now, Butch. Remember that."

In fact, Lisa had already been transferred to a gurney and was being wheeled into the maelstrom.

"C'mon, Butch." Keeping hold of the other man's arm, Bruce guided him forward after the medical team. "You need to stay close to her and Windsor." He led his friend out of the Odonata and into the rain.

Finally alone, Virgil lowered his aircraft to reduce its profile to the wind, and locked the aeroplane down. Then he pushed himself out of the pilot's seat and, braced against the Odonata's rocking, withdrew his crutches from the locker.

He wished he'd stayed in the warmth and safety of the craft, when a gust of wind blew his tired and bruised legs out from under him, sending him skidding across the concrete. His crutches skittered away out of reach and disappeared over the side of the building. Fighting against the ever-descending wind and rain, Virgil struggled to get back to his feet.

"Let me help you!" It was Bruce. Without waiting for permission, he pulled Virgil's arm around his shoulders and hefted his friend upright.

Virgil wanted to say that he was okay, and ask after Lisa, but the howling wind prevented most speech. So, he limped at Bruce's side and tried to see through the stinging rain that pelted and chilled his face.

It was a relief to step through the doors and stand, dripping, on the floor.

Except that he wasn't permitted to stand. Bruce kept moving, half leading, half dragging him out of the access bay and into the warmth of what appeared to be a waiting area.

If there had been a medical team about, they might have rushed to his side to see if he needed their assistance. As it was, everyone seemed to be in the emergency room dealing with their latest admission.

"Sit down," Bruce instructed, guiding him over to what Virgil hoped was a waterproof chair. "Are you hurt."

Exhausted? Yes. Sore? Yes. Hurt? "No."

Bruce collapsed into the chair next to him. "Man! That was a journey and a half." He leant back, and winced when his head made contact with the wall. "Ouch." Feeling the sore spot gingerly, he grimaced. "I've got a lump there."

"From where you hit your head?"

"When your plane threw me against the wall? Yes."

"It's not my plane."

"Near enough."

"If you've got a head injury, you should get it looked at."

"It's nothing. Just a bump."

"It might not be nothing."

"I'm more worried about you. You were leaning heavily on me when I dragged you in here."

"I wasn't leaning on you and you didn't need to drag me. I could have walked!"

"Walked? You could barely stand!"

"Only because of the wind! Once I got into the building I would have been all right!"

"Virgil! You haven't been all right in over a year. Look at you?"

"Huh?" Virgil examined his hands, grazed from where he'd skidded across the helipad. Then he looked to where Bruce was pointing at his trouser leg. A stain, darker than the water that soaked it, was seeping through. "That's nothing."

"Nothing!? Tha…"

"Hello, Virgil. Hello, Bruce."

"Oh." Both men stood. "Hello, Colin/Mr Eden."

"Call me Colin, Bruce." Colin Eden frowned at their saturated clothes and unsteady manner. "Are you both all right?"

He received twin yeses in reply.

"Except that Bruce has got a bump from when he hit his head during the flight," Virgil added.

"And Virgil's hurt his leg." Bruce pointed to the stain.

"Bruce has got a history of concussion."

"Virgil's just got history."

Colin's frown didn't change. "I think it would be wise if you were both checked out… Sam!" He waylaid a passing orderly.

"Yes, Colin?" Sam grinned. "Hiya, Virgil. We don't normally see you in this part of the hospital."

"Get Virgil a wheelchair," Colin ordered, "and take him to the Tracy wing to get his leg examined."

"Not a problem. I'll be right back, Virgil."

"You're coming with me, Bruce."

At once both Virgil and Bruce began to protest.

"We can't leave here," Virgil explained. "We're waiting to hear how Lisa is."

"Lisa?" Colin Eden's frown returned. "Lisa Crump?"

"She's pregnant," Bruce told him. "She experienced complications when we were flying home."

"And you landed your craft on our helipad?" Colin guessed. "Why am I not surprised that you're involved, Virgil?" He pulled his tablet computer out from under his arm. "I was called to the emergency room in case my services were needed…" He read some notes. "Which they're not at the moment."

"You can see how Lisa is?" Virgil asked hopefully.

"I can see that she's having a thorough examination, and that there's nothing to report yet."

"And Windsor?" Bruce checked.

"Windsor? I though her husband's name was Butch."

"It is. Windsor's the baby. Spelling is dependent on whether it's a boy or a girl."

"Nothing to report there either." Colin held out his hand. "Come on, Bruce." He gently took the younger man by the arm. "Head injuries should never be taken lightly. Especially if you've had prior incidences of concussion."

"Okay." Bruce didn't want to admit that he still had a headache. "Meet you back here, Virgil?"

Virgil saw Sam returning with a wheelchair. "As soon as I can. You'll get word to me if there's any news, Colin?"

Now the anaesthetist smiled. "Within the bounds of patient confidentiality."

Virgil's leg wound was little more than a scratch and was patched up whilst his clothes were dried in the speed drier. "Could I buy another pair of crutches?" he asked when he was finally given the all clear. "My other ones are somewhere between here and Timbuctoo."

He was relieved when he and his new crutches found a much drier Bruce sitting back in the waiting room.

He lowered himself into a chair with a groan. "Any news?"

"Well, my head's still attached to my body."

"Glad to hear it, but I meant Lisa."

"No. Have you heard anything?"

"No. How _is_ your head?"

"Gave me a couple of pills for my headache and told me to take it easy. How about you?"

"They glued me up and told me to take it easy. Where's Colin?"

Bruce's face tightened. "He got called away. He didn't say it was to see Lisa, but then he wouldn't, would he?"

"I suppose we should let people know what's happened."

"People? People like Lisa's mother? Should we be the ones to tell her? Lisa wouldn't be happy if we upset Ginny."

"Isn't Ashley Watts still at the Trace Base? We could warn her and she could look after Ginny while one of us tells Mrs Riley."

"Or we could tell her and she could tell Mrs Riley."

"Coward."

"I can at least walk, so I'll head over to the phone zone." Bruce pulled his phone out of his pocket. "I'll call Ashley and ask her advice. She might think it's better if someone tells Mrs Riley face to face. I'm not leaving here until we hear how Lisa is and I know you won't either."

He left Virgil alone, watching his friend's video conversation in the phone booth, and mulling over his own thoughts.

Bruce returned a short time later. "Mrs M's there to keep Ashley company, so they're both going to talk to Mrs Riley and offer to look after Ginny." He reclaimed his seat next to his friend.

"Sounds like the best plan of action."

"You were deep in thought. Reconsidering your decision after what we've just been through?"

"Which decision?"

"To leave, ah, the family business."

"No." Virgil's response made it clear that he considered his one syllable answer to be the end of the discussion.

Bruce got the message. "Fair enough."

They sat in silence.

"No, it's not fair enough!"

"Huh?"

Bruce had been doing some reconsidering of his own. "It's not fair enough that you should expect me to stand by and say nothing."

Confused, and concerned about the head injury, Virgil stared at his friend. "What?"

"It's not fair enough that you should just give up like that. Not without giving it some serious thought."

"Give up?"

"Your job."

"My job? I gave it serious thought. I gave it months of serious thought!"

"And then quit."

"I nev..."

"When you told me you'd had enough, I promised myself that I wasn't going to try to dissuade you. You wanted support and I was going to support you, no matter what I, or your family, or your friends, thought. If any of them had tried to talk you out of it, I would have been in your corner, supporting you. But I'm not going to be silent any longer. I'm going to speak up. And I'm going to tell you that you've made the biggest mistake of your life."

"My life?" Virgil's voice rose to the same level as Bruce's. "What do you know about my life? What do you know about what I've lived through?"

"I know a hang of a lot more than anyone else! And I know you better than most. And I know that you're wrong. And I know that you know that you're wrong."

"I'm not wrong! You are!"

"You are wrong! You should wait until you're one hundred percent better before you make any rash decisions."

"Why? Nothing's going to change."

"A lot could change."

"Like what?"

"Like… Like this! You've already done the job twice in one month. You may as well wear the uniform and get paid for it!"

"I didn't ask to 'do the job'. I had no choice!"

"Exactly! Stop being an idiot and accept that you've got no choice except to do it professionally."

Virgil's jaw dropped at the insult. "Stop being what?"

"An idiot. You're an idiot for making stupid, imbecilic, selfish decisions when you're not in a proper frame of mind to make them."

"Stupid…" Disgusted, and unwilling to participate further in the conversation, Virgil turned away.

Whether it was because of the decreasing pain of his headache, his concern for Lisa, or a reaction to the events he'd just endured, Bruce wasn't about to be ignored. He grabbed Virgil's arm and twisted him around to face him. "When you told me that you were quitting, I thought that you were making a huge mistake. I was right. You need to reconsider."

Virgil pulled his arm free. "I don't want to reconsider. I don't _need_ to reconsider.."

"Yes, you do! If there was ever a match made in heaven it's you and that job! Look at you today! You were in your element!"

A few staff members were becoming aware of the altercation. There was a quiet discussion over what should be done.

"There's only one job you're made for and it's the one job that's made for you! And you've quit!"

"I didn't quit! I resigned! _You_ quit ACE!"

"Because I needed the money."

"Which I don't! And I didn't quit!"

"You did!"

"You're being ridiculous." Folding his arms, Virgil turned away again...

"Virgil…? Bruce…?"

At once both men were on their feet, their argument forgotten. "Mrs Riley!"

Water dripping off her hair and clothes, Lisa's mother twisted her hands together. "How is she? How's Lisa?"

Virgil and Bruce looked at each other.

"We don't know," Bruce admitted. "We're … erm… Waiting for news."

Virgil pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "I'll text Colin and say you're here." He started entering.

Bruce laid a hand on the distraught woman's arm. "How's Ginny?"

"I left her with Edna and Ashley. She doesn't know anything's wrong." Mrs Riley looked at Virgil hopefully. "Anything?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Mrs R?"

As one, the three of them turned to the new voice.

Butch was standing there. He looked pale, and shaken, and to have shrunk at least three sizes.

"Butch!" Mrs Riley ran across to her son-in-law. "How's Lisa?"

"Dunno." He swallowed. "They stopp'd th' bleedin'. They'r keepin' watch far th' next twen'y-four ta fordy-eigh' hours. She's no' 'llowed ta move."

"Can she have visitors?"

"Soon, bu' only fam'ly. Tha shiftin' her ta th' ward."

"And the baby?"

Butch shrugged. "Still 'live."

"Did they say what's wrong?"

"Dunno. They was using big words tha' I didn' undastand. I'm no' cleva like them."

"Butch! Lisa wouldn't let you talk like that and neither will I," Mrs Riley scolded. "You are clever. They were probably using medical words that you haven't heard before." And she, much to everyone's surprise, especially Butch, wrapped him up in a hug. "You're clever at being a wonderful father and husband."

Hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if he was in the middle of a dream or a nightmare, Butch put his arms around his mother-in-law. "Thanks, Mrs R."

She stepped back. "I've been thinking. It's high time you called me something other than Mrs Riley or Mrs R. Why don't you call me Nana like Ginny does?"

"Ginny." Butch appeared to shrink even further. "How'm gonna tell Ginny?"

"Just say that her mama's not well and the baby's not well, and that they're both being cared for," Virgil advised. "She may not understand it, but believe me, it's better than having adults whispering around you and not giving you a straight answer when you know something's not right. You don't need to go into full details. Not yet."

"Virgil's talking sense," Bruce agreed. "Ginny thinks her mama's coming home tonight. Better that she knows that there's a reason why she hasn't, rather than thinks that Lisa lied to her."

Someone cleared their throat behind them. "Ah… Mr Crump?"

Butch turned. "Yeah?"

A nurse gave him a sympathetic look. "Mrs Crump's in her room if you want to see her."

Butch indicated the lady at his side. "C'n her mama see her?"

The nurse gave a small smile. "Of course, she can."

"Do you want us to do anything, Butch?" Bruce checked.

"Anything," Virgil confirmed. "I could go and collect Mr Riley in the Odonata once the storm's eased off."

Mrs Riley frowned. "Odonata?"

"The Tracys' plane," Bruce clarified. "It'd be quicker then driving here."

"I don't want to put you out, Virgil."

"It's no trouble," he confirmed. "It's blocking the hospital's heliport at the moment, so I've got to shift it anyway. And I wasn't planning on leaving Bearston until tomorrow at the earliest."

Bruce turned to his friend. "Shall we go and see what the weather's like now?"

"Are you going to come with me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks, Bruce."

"Than's, Guys," Butch echoed. "Than's far ev'rythin'." With Mrs Riley's arm about his back, he turned and followed the nurse deeper into the hospital.

-F-A-B-

As soon as the weather had settled down enough that Virgil felt safe in making the flight, he and Bruce made the journey to collect Mr Riley. Once back at Bearston, Bruce took Lisa's father over the road to the hospital, and promised that a unit would be ready for both parents when they were ready to get some sleep. A task made easier when he discovered that Ashley Watts and Edna Mickelson had done just that with an oblivious Ginny's help.

After a delicious, but quiet, dinner supplied by Edna, both men retired to the main house. They lit a fire, more for comfort than for warmth, and settled in for a long wait.

Virgil collapsed into one of the easy chairs. "I'm exhausted."

"I'm not surprised. That was quite a battle you had today."

Virgil gave his friend a weary smile. "So did you."

"Go to bed."

"If I had the energy to get out of this chair, I would."

"And if I had the energy to get out of this chair and pull you out of yours, I'd do that." Bruce managed a chuckle. "Do you realise that we have something else in common?"

Virgil managed to lift his head off the headrest. "What?"

"Lisa Crump's the first living person that both of us have inserted IVs into."

"Oh, yeah." Virgil rubbed his face. "ACE seems like years ago."

"It was."

"I wonder how she is." Virgil examined a scratch on his wrist. "Butch drew blood when he was cutting my wrist monitor off. He was that worried about her that he didn't even notice."

"Just shows that you can do anything when you need to."

There was silence.

"Virgil?"

"Yes?"

"Today, on the flight, you said something... odd."

"I know I said at lot of odd things in the hospital," Virgil made an awkward grimace. "But what did I say on the flight?"

"You said something about erm, walls?"

"Walls?" Trying to remember, Virgil frowned.

"And balls? With everything that was going on I could have heard it wrong."

Virgil chuckled. "Balls to the wall?"

"That was it."

"You don't need to worry. Grandma's not going to want to wash my mouth out with soap. It's the aviation equivalent of pedal to the metal. Early plane throttles had a round knob on the top and when you wanted more speed you'd push it forward towards the firewall that prevented engine fires from entering the cockpit."

"Ah… That's a relief. For a moment I thought you'd ruined International Rescue's squeaky clean image."

"I can't do that when I'm not a member."

"I know." Bruce took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For behaving like an immature idiot at the hospital today."

"Yeah, well… I think we can both say that we behaved like immature idiots. We were worried about Lisa."

"And… for breaking my promise."

"You were serious when you said that you think I've made a mistake resigning from International Rescue?"

Bruce fixed Virgil with an earnest look. "Yes. I believe that you have. I should never have told you where I did and when I did, and I will keep my promise to support you with whatever you choose to do, but I do think that you should reconsider. Not now, but when you're one hundred percent fit again."

"You know the reasons why I've made that decision, Bruce."

"I know, and they aren't stupid reasons. But it's still not the right decision."

Virgil made no comment, and Bruce decided that the discussion had finished. "You sounded like you were speaking from experience when you said that Butch should tell Ginny the truth."

"I was." Virgil let his head fall back against the chair. "When Ma died, everyone was pussyfooting around the subject, but no one was telling us anything. I could see that something was wrong, but I didn't know what. The news couldn't have been much worse than it was, but at least we would have known and could begin to deal with it, rather than spending hours fretting and not knowing. Especially since Father had disappeared too and we didn't know what had happened to either of them. I'm not saying that not knowing was worse than the truth, because the truth hurt more than anything, but it was unnecessarily painful."

"At least Ginny won't have to deal with the worst news… Thanks to you."

"You mean thanks to you. I was only the pilot." Virgil chuckled. "You do realise that now there's no chance that the baby will be called anything other than Windsor? And that everyone's going to be proudly told who he/she's named after?"

"Know what?" Bruce challenged. "I don't care anymore. When I saw the blood, I thought I was never going to get the chance to meet the kid and he was never going to meet me. I was terrified that the baby wasn't going to survive and that there was nothing I could do about it. It was then that I realised how much of an honour just being a part of that baby's life was."

"I hope it survives."

"Yeah. Me too… What did your father say when you told him what's happened?"

"He was shocked. He said to tell Butch not to rush back to work and that he could take as much time off as he needed." Virgil looked across at his friend. "He said the same about you, too."

"He's a good man, your dad."

"Yeah. He is."

-F-A-B-

Neither Virgil nor Bruce returned to their homes the day after the fateful flight. Instead they stayed at the Trace Base, ready to dash over the road at the first hint of news.

It was a stressful 48 hour wait.

Virgil seemed to be continuously on the phone. To his father. To his grandmother. To Gordon. To Hamish. To Edna. While Bruce kept fielding calls from Olivia and other members of ACE. Sadly, neither of them had anything to report.

After 24 hours, and knowing that Lisa's parents were on hand, they'd dragged Butch back to what had been Kyrano's bedroom and made him go to bed, sitting in the lounge talking quietly and listening to him sob into his pillow in the adjacent room.

The hours ticked by.

Ginny, blissfully unaware that anything major was wrong, and originally a little put out at her mother's broken promise and that she hadn't apologised personally for not returning home that night, was invited to a sleepover at a friend's house.

Butch returned to his vigil at Lisa's bedside at the hospital.

They waited.

Virgil, his crutches discarded in his room, paced up and down the length of the lounge. When he was told by Bruce to sit down, he said that he was getting much needed exercise. It wasn't strictly correct, but as he wasn't getting his workout in the gym, he surmised that this was a good second best.

It wasn't long before Bruce joined him in wearing a groove in the carpet.

It was fifty hours after the Odonata had landed and Lisa had been taken into intensive care, before Virgil had received the anticipated phone call.

It was Lisa's mother. "They think Lisa's going to be okay, Virgil."

"Great!" Virgil put the phone onto handsfree, so Bruce could hear. "That's wonderful news. And the baby?"

"Lisa's going to have to have bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. They're hopeful that, if she does that, she'll last to full term and the baby will have no ill effects." Mrs Riley heard Bruce's exclamation of "Yes!". "Is Bruce there too, Virgil?"

"Yes. He's listening in."

"Bruce. Thank you for all you did. Butch told us how you took control and cared for Lisa. If it hadn't been for you, things might not have turned out as well as they did."

"Aw, shucks," Bruce responded, and Virgil grinned. "I just did what I'd been taught to do. And Lisa's too much of a friend to just sit by and do nothing."

"Well, thank you. The family owes you a great deal."

"When can we visit?" Virgil queried.

"The medical staff are going to give Lisa a check-up tomorrow. If she's well enough to receive visitors, we'll let you know."

"Thanks, Mrs Riley. Give Lisa our love. And tell Butch the bed is waiting for him when he needs it."

"I think we'll all be sleeping at the Trace Base tonight. Our family owe both of you boys so much."

"Think nothing of it," Virgil told her. "We're glad to help. We'll see you later." He shut down his phone. "That's a relief."

"Yeah!" Bruce raised his hand for a high five.

Chuckling, Virgil obliged. "Aw, shucks?"

"Huh?"

"You said 'Aw, shucks.'"

"I didn't."

"You did."

"When?"

"When Mrs R. was thanking you."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Then Bruce grinned.

-F-A-B-

Ginny, in her Uncle Bruce's arms, screwed up her nose. She'd thought that once Uncle Virgil stopped living in the smelly hospital, that she'd never have to come back again. That was until last night when Daddy had told her that Mama was sick and Windsor was sick and that they were going to have to stay in the hospital until they felt better.

"Uncle Virgil" followed behind, reading a piece of paper. "I think it's down here somewhere."

"Don't you know?" Bruce chuckled. "You spent long enough in this place."

"I didn't have a reason to explore this part of the hospital." Virgil checked the ward number again. "Down here."

The three of them stopped outside a door with an electronic nameplate reading: "Lisa Crump".

Bruce looked at the little girl in his arms. "Ready to see your mama?"

Ginny buried her face into his shoulder.

"Come on," he soothed, pushing her hair out of the way and tucking it behind her ear. "Your mama misses you."

"Wish she' come home."

"She wishes she was at home too. But she can't until she's feeling better and Windsor's feeling better. And they'll both feel a little bit better when they've seen you."

Virgil, carrying both his crutches in one hand, held the door open and the three of them entered the room.

"My baby!"

"Mama!"

It was all that Bruce could do to keep a squirming Ginny in his arms as she reached out towards her mother. Lisa was equally keen to hold her daughter, and it was only Butch's tender touch on her shoulder that stopped her from sitting up.

Trying to be gentle, Bruce placed the child on the bed, where Ginny smothered her mother in a big kiss and a hug.

Bruce grinned. "How're you feeling, Lisa?"

She screwed up her face. "I'm bored already. How are you both?"

"All the better for seeing you."

"Thanks, Butch." Virgil accepted the chair that his friend gave him and sat down.

Ginny looked at the way the bed was tilted so Lisa's head was lower than her pelvis. "Are your legs sore like Uncle Virgil's were, Mama?"

Lisa squeezed her daughter's hand. "No, Darling. I've got something different wrong with me."

Virgil chuckled. "It would be a medical miracle if I had the same problem as you."

Bruce grinned. "I wouldn't put it past Frank and Stein to try."

Virgil leant forward so he could see his bedridden friend. "Gordon sends his best. He's going to try to visit when he can."

"I'll look forward to it."

"And ACE send their best too. They say they're all proud of you for doing so well in the competition."

"And they're waiting for a rematch when you're feeling better." Bruce winked.

Lisa groaned. "That's going to be _ages_."

"Have they said how long you've got to stay?"

Lisa grimaced again. "Until they're happy to release me. And then they say that I'm not going to be allowed to do anything. I'm going to be confined to bed at home."

"So long as it keeps you healthy and Windsor healthy," Virgil reminded her. "It'll only be for a few months." He reached into his bag and pulled out a folder. "Here, Virginia. Don't you want to give your mama this?" He held the folder open.

Ginny took a piece of paper out of the folder and gave it to her mother. "I drawed this for you."

Lisa accepted the page with a thank you kiss. "It's beautiful."

"Uncle Virgil helped me."

"I didn't do anything. I just suggested that Virginia 'autoguff' it."

Lisa giggled and held the drawing above her head. "I wish I could put it on the ceiling so that I could always look at it."

"We'll put i' somewhere where ya c'n see i'," Butch promised, admiring the picture before he carefully put it to one side.

"And do you want to give her this?" Virgil held out a brightly wrapped parcel to the little girl.

Grinning, Ginny presented her mother with the gift. The wrapping fell away to reveal a solar flower with a smiling face.

"Thank you, Ginny." Lisa looked past her daughter. "Thank you, Uncle Virgil."

"As Virginia once said, it's traditional to give flowers when someone's ill, and my one's given me a lot of pleasure and often reminded me that I wasn't alone."

With Ginny curled up in the crook of her mother's arm, Lisa finally could get a clear view of her friends. "I never got the chance to thank you boys for everything."

Bruce made a dismissive wave of his hand. "It was nothing. Just your common, everyday emergency."

"Thank you for collecting my father for me."

Virgil smiled. "We had the time and we had the tools. It didn't seem fair that he'd have to make the long journey alone when it only took us a few minutes."

"And… I'm sorry I didn't tell you before we left. I wanted to be with Ginny." Lisa hugged her daughter.

And Virgil and Bruce, happy to see the Crumps together once again, smiled. "We understand."

_To be continued…_


	75. Chapter 75

_25__th__ December_

Virgil got up, washed and, without a thought about the crutches stored in his cupboard, walked to the dining room.

"It's snowing!"

White confetti cascading off him, Virgil grinned at the knot of four brothers gathered around him. "Merry Christmas, Idiots."

The knot parted and his grandmother stepped forward. "Merry Christmas, Virgil."

Wrapping her in a warm embrace, Virgil returned her a kiss, before allowing his father to also envelope him in a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Son."

Virgil followed his family to the festively set dining table, wished Brains, the Kyranos, and Lady Penelope and Parker a 'Merry Christmas', and then sat down.

"You are looking well, Virgil," Lady Penelope told him.

The grin that hadn't left his face since he entered the room, widened. "Better than last year?"

"Immeasurably."

Virgil indicated the white "snow" that was falling past the windows. "I see you haven't stopped the tradition."

"We did last year," Scott told him. "Since we were planning on having a summer Christmas and a white Christmas."

As the once-a-year celebratory breakfasts were handed out, Virgil prepared himself for the disappointment when he was served the same, bland, old food. He was therefore shocked when his grandmother placed a bowl with, not one, but two, pancakes before him – along with a small jug of maple syrup. "Grandma? What's this?"

"Don't you want it?" she teased. "I can get you your usual." She reached out for the plate.

Virgil was quicker, grabbing the dish and holding it protectively against him. "No way!" He looked across at Brains as his family laughed. "I am allowed to eat this, aren't I?"

A pair of bright eyes sparkled at him through the large blue horn-rimmed spectacles. "So long as we are sensible about it, I see no reason why we can't vary your diet for one day."

"Thanks." Virgil placed the plate back on the table and, with reverence, poured a teaspoonful of maple syrup over the top. His spoon bit into the top pancake and for the first time in over a year he savoured the sweet ambrosia. "Mmn. It must be Christmas."

"One that's going to be shorter than last year's," Gordon reminded him. "Last year we had Christmas here one day and then had Christmas with you the next."

"Longer than last year's," Virgil corrected. "I kept on falling asleep. This year I'm going to be awake for all of it." He enjoyed another blissful mouthful.

After breakfast, it was through to the lounge for the exchange of gifts – although everyone agreed that the best present was that this year they were all together...

An alarm rang through the complex.

Disappointed, John let his head drop. "Can't we have one day without someone needing our help?" He jogged over to his father's desk. "This is International Rescue. What is your emergency?"

"International Rescue? Ah... This is..."

The radio cut out.

John tried to reinstate communications. "This is International Rescue... This is International Rescue calling frequency two eight seven five… Come in frequency two eight seven five…" He shook his head in frustration. "I can't get through."

His father stood at his shoulder. "Have you got a fix?"

Firing up the link to Thunderbird Five's computers, John did the necessary search. "Yep."

"Keep trying to reach them." Jeff made the inevitable decision. "All right. Scott, you'd better go. Thunderbird Two will stand by until we have more details."

"F-A-B." Scott strode across to the twin light fittings. They saw disappointment in his eyes as he spun out of sight.

"We're wasting time staying here," Gordon admitted. "Alan and I can wait in Thunderbird Two." He headed towards the painting of the rocket.

"I'll meet you down there," Alan jogged away from the festive tree with its pile of enticing presents. "Don't eat all the Christmas dinner while we're gone, Virgil."

But Virgil, Jeff saw, when he glanced around the room, had disappeared.

-F-A-B-

"Virgil?" Tin-Tin knocked on the door to his rooms. "Why are you here?"

He was sitting in his window, gazing at Ginny's solar flower against the backdrop of the sun-kissed island and the sparkling Pacific Ocean. "There didn't seem to be much point in staying."

"May I come in?"

He smiled. "Of course you can."

They felt, rather than heard or saw, the rumble as Thunderbird One launched.

Tin-Tin walked across the soft carpet and sat opposite her friend. "You could have stayed."

"I'm not a part of the team. It's better that I keep out of the way."

"Even on Christmas morning?"

"It's not going to be much of a Christmas with half the family goodness knows where risking their necks."

"As Gordon said, Christmas doesn't have to be celebrated today. We can pretend that we are in another time zone and celebrate it tomorrow."

"We could." He looked at her. "But it wouldn't be the same, would it...?" He resumed his inspection of the sea. "Especially if something happens to someone because we're unprepared."

Tin-Tin wondered if she knew what was bothering him. "Scott must be feeling a tiny bit out of control," she guessed. "Not knowing what he's flying into."

Virgil shrugged.

She reached over and held his left hand. "They will be all right, Virgil. You do not need to worry."

"Don't I?"

"Your brothers have each other's backs. They will look after each other."

"The way they tried to look after me?"

"And they succeeded where others may have failed," Tin-Tin reminded him. "They would never, and will never, give up."

"At any cost."

At the reminder of International Rescue's motto, Tin-Tin decided that he need something to take his mind off what was worrying him. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, you can. I gave up on the notion that I had any privacy months ago."

Tin-Tin turned his hand over, so it was palm up. "Do you still have fingerprints?"

"Yes..." Virgil flattened his hand and held it out, so she could see the tips of his fingers. "And no."

Surprised, she looked up from her examination.

"Aside from these two fingers," he indicated his middle and ring fingers, where they kept my original skin, I've got finger patterns, not fingerprints. The exception is there," he pointed to the side of the second joint of his index finger, "I've got a fingerprint there. They seeded the polymer with skin from my hand, but didn't take note of where on my hand they harvested it from. So that bit thinks and behaves like it's a fingertip, whereas my fingertips behave like normal palm skin. It's something Timoti and Bryce have learned and can use on their next guinea pig." He chuckled, and Tin-Tin was relieved to hear the sound. "And if I decide to leave here and choose a life of crime, so long as I only use my thumb and two fingers on my left hand, they'll never be able to catch me."

"That is if we assume that they already have your fingerprints on record. Do they?"

"I don't know. The police took them after the fight against the Skulz at the Crumps fifth wedding anniversary, but they were supposed to destroy them. I hope so. It doesn't do to have a member of International Rescue's fingerprints on record."

Tin-Tin made no comment.

A throat was cleared.

Surprised Virgil and Tin-Tin looked towards the door, Tin-Tin hastily dropping Virgil's hand.

"John's contacted the danger zone," Jeff announced. "It's a false alarm."

Virgil sat up. "False alarm?"

"A high-rise building was being constructed when it caught fire," his father confirmed. "There were concerns that people were trapped and someone panicked and called us. They've done a roll call and everyone's been accounted for. John's calling Scott back now."

Pleased, Virgil stood. "So, Christmas is back on."

"Excuse me, Mr Tracy. Virgil." Head down and blushing, Tin-Tin hurried past.

Jeff raised an eyebrow in Virgil's direction. "Lucky it was me who came to give you the all clear."

"Huh?"

"Tin-Tin was holding your hand, Virgil."

"Oh!" Virgil fell into step next to his father. "That was nothing. She was looking to see if I had fingerprints. I was telling her that even if the cops kept mine when they arrested me after the fight," Virgil held up his left hand, "they wouldn't be any good to them."

"If you wanted to start a life of crime, after getting some tips from Parker, you could always get a job in a pineapple plantation."

"Pineapple plantation? Why?"

"There's some enzyme in pineapple juice that eats fingerprints away, or something... Just a pointless bit of trivia that John told me once when we were discussing security, and which I've never forgotten." Jeff became aware that his companion had stopped walking. "Virgil?" He retraced his steps. "What's wrong?"

Virgil was looking down at his legs. "I'm not feeling anything."

"What!?" In a split-second Jeff had gone from being in a convivial mood to a concerned father. "Has something gone wrong? Do I need to call Brains?"

Virgil looked up, but instead of his face registering concern, or even fear, he looked surprised and happy. "You don't understand. I'm not feeling anything."

"You said that." Jeff lifted his arm. "Should I tell Scott not to power down Thunderbird One? You can be at the hospital within half an hour."

"No." Virgil placed his hand on his father's watch. "I'm not feeling any of the pain, or pins and needles, or whatever it is that I've been feeling for the past year. I'm not feeling anything! I'm feeling..." He tried to analyse the sensation and decided that only one word could describe it. "Normal!"

-F-A-B-

It was as if the Christmas spirit returned with Thunderbird One and it didn't take long for the party to get back into full swing. There was plenty of banter, laughter, thank yous, and the best part of the day for the Tracys: Music.

Piano music.

Virgil was already playing his tenth carol when he changed the tune and the tempo. "Remember this one?"

Scott, who'd been accompanying him on the guitar, stopped playing and stared at his brother. "This one? Are you sure, Virgil?

"I've tweaked it slightly. Can you remember the tune?"

"We only performed it the once. I'll have to find the music." Scott picked up a tablet computer and stated hunting. "Are you guys going to join us?"

Gordon, on the drums, and Alan, on the bass guitar, started searching through their own tablets.

"Do you want Tin-Tin and me singing the harmonies too?" John asked. "Or have you tweaked us out of it?"

"You two too."

Lady Penelope leant closer to Jeff. "Something tells me that there is something special about this piece."

Jeff Tracy had a slight frown on his face. "If it's the one I remember, it is. The boys had been out on a tough rescue. There were children involved and not all of them made it. By the time everyone got home Christmas morning, none of them were in the mood to celebrate. Virgil locked himself into his room and refused to come out, not even for Christmas dinner. Composing this piece of music was his way of dealing with what happened and, as far as I'm aware, that Christmas evening was the only time he's performed it."

"Was it any good?"

"It was the best thing he's ever composed, and I wish I'd recorded it." With a subtle movement of his hand on his watch, Jeff set a recorder in motion.

Virgil started playing a bass riff with his left hand, waiting until his brothers had found their sheet music and were ready to join in. Then, after the opening chords, and much to Lady Penelope and Parker's surprise, he began to sing.

Jeff was surprised too. The last time this piece had been performed it had started with intense sadness; a reflection of the lives lost. Then the crescendo had built up, the key changed, and it had continued with a powerful message of hope for the future. It had finished with a standing ovation from the few lucky souls present.

This time the tune was the same, but the lyrics had changed. Virgil was expressing his thanks and gratitude for the time, patience, perseverance, and effort his family had put into his recovery.

The words might have been different, but the finale was the same. Jeff found himself on his feet, applauding the musicians and especially the composer. Scott, for once willing to set his tough guy persona to one side, was so overcome that he pulled Virgil off the piano stool and wrapped his brother up in a bear hug. Everyone crowded around, clapping Virgil on the back and congratulating him.

It was the perfect ending to what everyone agreed had been the perfect day.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

_February _

Virgil had made Butch promise that he'd send a message the instant that Lisa went into labour. As soon as he'd received that message he'd told his family before making a call of his own.

Bleary-eyed, Bruce stared at him through the videophone. "D'ya know what time i' is, Virg?"

"Time to meet Windsor," Virgil told him.

"What?"

"Get some things together. I'm flying out. I'll pick you up and we'll fly to Bearston."

"Bu' id's Wednesday..." Bruce tried to get his sleep-befuddled brain working. "Isn't it?"

"On your side of the dateline."

"I've got work tomorrow, ah..." Bruce checked the clock. "Today." He checked again. "No. Tomorrow… I dunno…"

"I'll send Hamish a message to let him know what's going on. You've already told Mr Watts that you wanted today off. You can call him and tell him where you are before work's due to start."

Bruce pulled himself upright and sat on the side of his bed. "I was hoping she'd go into labour in the weekend, so I didn't put anyone out."

"Well, she hasn't. Do you want me to collect you?"

All at once Bruce was awake. "Of course, I do!"

"Good. Meet me at the airport. I don't want to waste any time."

But, despite Virgil's rush, things were happening much more slowly in Bearston General's maternity wing.

"I don't believe it," Bruce grumbled after their fifth hour sitting, in the company of Mr and Mrs Riley and Wrench Crump, on waiting room chairs that seemed to grow increasingly hard. "Windsor was in a hurry to make an appearance three months ago. Why's he taking his time now?"

Bouncing an equally bored Ginny on his knee, Virgil looked at the snow crystals on the window. "He thinks it's warmer where he is?" Feeling his phone vibrate, he checked it. "Gordon's disappointed because he's not getting an extra special birthday present."

He felt Ginny squirm, as he received a nudge in his ribs, and heard a flurry of movement when people scrambled to their feet. Placing Ginny on the floor, Virgil pocketed his phone and watched as the little girl ran over to her father.

The big man's face was wreathed in smiles. "It'sa girl!" He stooped down and picked up his eldest daughter. "Ya've go' a liddle sista, Ginny."

"Sister?"

"Sista." Those around him didn't think that Butch could have looked happier if he tried.

With no crutches to hinder him, Virgil hurried forward, eager congratulate the pair. "That's primo, Butch!"

"How's Lisa?" her mother asked.

"She's good."

"And the baby?"

His friends didn't think that Butch's smile could have got any bigger. "She's perfickt."

"No complications?"

"Nah. She's sweet."

Bruce was desperate to learn one more thing. "Are you still going to call her Wyndsor?"

"Course we are!" Butch landed an affectionate, but heavy, blow on his friend's shoulder and sent him staggering. "If i' wasn' fer ya, Pal… An' ya," he added, giving Virgil an affectionate, but rough hug about the shoulders, "she wouldn' be here… An' neither would m' Lisa."

Bruce rubbed his shoulder. "Y Wyndsor?"

"Why?" Butch frowned. "Why not?"

"Cos she's a girl."

"Huh?"

"Are you spelling Wyndsor with a Y?"

"Oh!" The frown cleared and the smile reappeared tenfold. "Yeah."

Mrs Riley hugged Butch's arm. "Can we see them?"

"Yeah... Bu' o'ly fam'ly." Butch hefted Ginny higher, and looked apologetically at his friends. "So'ry, fellas."

"Don't worry about it," Virgil reassured him. "We only needed to know that Lisa and Wyndsor are okay. We'll wait over at the house until it's visiting time."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

_Two months later_

"There's nothing wrong with you."

It was early April and Virgil had made his usual bi-weekly visit to be poked, and prodded, and minutely examined by Timoti Bailey and Bryce Dower. He hadn't expected this visit to be any different to any other and had been caught unawares by Timoti's statement. "I beg your pardon?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," Timoti repeated. "If someone, who didn't know your medical history, were to examine you, they'd never realise the amount of reconstructive surgery you'd had."

"They'd never know that you'd had any surgery," Bryce added. "Aside from the cyanosis."

Virgil couldn't believe what he was hearing. He glanced at a grinning Brains, and then back to the two Australasians. "There's nothing wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"But the veins on my legs..."

"We'll admit that there's still some discolouration, but that will fade in time. There's nothing that will cause you problems or stop you from having a normal life. You can eat what you like and do what you like."

"You won't need to come back in a fortnight," Timoti added. "I think we can make your next visit this time next month. Brains can keep an eye on you, but I doubt that you'll experience any issues."

"There's nothing wrong with me?" Virgil still couldn't believe it. "I'm cured?"

"One hundred percent cured."

Brains clapped his friend on the back. "Congratulations," he said, holding out his hand. "Y-your family is going to be so happy."

Virgil shook it. "Thanks, Brains." He turned back to the two researchers. "And thank you, both of you... For giving me back my hand, my legs... My life! I can't believe it."

"We'll have to see you again, as a part of our research," Bryce told him, "but there's no rush. If our paper had been finalised and peer reviewed, and our work accepted by the medical establishment, we wouldn't worry, but we've got to dot the Is and cross the Ts." He reached out, also shaking Virgil's hand. "Thank you for giving us the opportunity to put our theory into practise. We couldn't have asked for a better, erm..."

"Guinea pig?" Virgil guessed, and laughed. "Don't expect me to say that I was 'glad to help' and 'any time'."

Timoti grinned. "We won't."

"What's next?" Bryce asked. "Now that there's nothing to hold you back, what are you going to do?"

Virgil's smile faltered. What indeed?

He was quiet when he and Brains headed to the airport.

Brains stowed his bag in a locker. "Do you want to, ah, pilot her home?"

"No, you can." Virgil climbed into the co-pilot's seat.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes. I've got stuff to think about."

He didn't say another word on the flight.

Several faces looked up when he walked in the door of the lounge.

"Anything to report?" Alan asked.

"Not really. They don't want to see me for a month."

"But that's great!" Gordon enthused. "Another step closer to never seeing Frank and Stein again."

"Yeah," Virgil agreed. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go and get rid of my bag." He disappeared through the door that led towards the accommodation block.

Scott watched him go. "He's quiet. Did anything bad happen, Brains?"

Brains had also been observing his friend's subdued behaviour. "No. If anything, it was the opposite."

It wasn't until the entire family was together for dinner, that Virgil revealed Bryce and Timoti's verdict. "They said that if it wasn't for their research paper they'd never have to see me again."

"But that's wonderful news!" Grandma enthused. "I wish you'd let us know earlier, Virgil, I would have made something special for dinner."

"You don't need to go to any trouble. Just knowing that I can eat anything and everything that you cook is enough of a celebration for me."

"Did Timoti and Bryce say anything else?" Jeff checked.

"No. They're happy to know that their theory is successful in practise."

"I'm sure they are, as will many more people in the future. Have you told John yet?"

"I'll do that after dinner."

"How about the Crumps?" Gordon checked.

"And Bruce," Alan added.

"I'll send them an email later."

John had been ecstatic and had expressed a wish that he'd been home for the celebratory meal. He'd been left confused when Virgil told him that they hadn't had one. "Aren't we going to celebrate?"

"No point," Virgil told him. "I've been nearly A1 for weeks. This is just the final confirmation. Maybe we'll do something when I never have to see Timoti and Bryce again."

His email to Bruce had received an almost instantaneous reply. _That's brilliant news, Virgil. You and your family must be over the moon._

_What are you going to do now?_

That was what Virgil wondered.

Now that he almost literally had the world at his feet; he was free to go anywhere and do anything. Perusing job vacancies from all points of the globe, Virgil sent his CV off to small engineering start-ups and well established large businesses; firms that he thought he could work with and would appreciate his talents.

He soon discovered that despite graduating top of his class from the Denver School of Advanced Technology, followed by one year of work experience at ACE; five years as a playboy on a tropical island, and twenty months as an invalid, had made him almost unemployable. Even the information that he'd collaborated in several inventions that were in the public domain, was not enough to pique anyone's interest. The few companies who were willing to set up video interviews with him, were more interested in Jeff Tracy, and the rest either turned down his application or didn't respond at all. He offered to fly out for numerous face-to-face interviews, but no one took him up on his suggestion.

After what seemed to be the hundredth rejection, Scott put a consoling arm about his brother's shoulders. "Don't worry about it. If they knew what you'd really been doing they'd be falling over themselves to employ you."

"The problem with that is that I can't tell them."

For the first time since the earthquake at ACE, Virgil was beginning to feel despondent.

His family tried to cheer him up.

Scott offered the first, logical, suggestion. "Forget them. Start your own business."

"Engineering companies are a dime a dozen, and they're all fighting for the same contracts."

"Then develop something new and exciting that no one else has thought of," Alan suggested. "Then everyone will be beating on your door to work with you."

"If I could think of something new and exciting, I would."

"There's no rush," John reminded him. "It's not like you need the money. When the time is right the right job will come along."

"John's talking sense," Gordon added. "Why are you looking for paid employment anyway? Leave that job for some poor unemployed engineer who doesn't have a billionaire as a father. Set yourself up in a workshop somewhere and tinker."

"I like to feel that I'm doing something worthwhile. I don't want to be a waste of space."

Virgil's family had to admit that they understood that point of view.

"Do you want me to employ you at ACE again?" Jeff offered. "At least that way you'll get some work experience, while you look elsewhere."

"Does ACE have any vacancies?"

"Ah... No."

"No, thanks."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

After a month of rejections, despondency was turning into downright depression.

With an audible grunt and a small shower of rough volcanic pebbles, Virgil pulled himself up over the crest and stopped to enjoy the view. From here he could see for miles over the Pacific Ocean. From here he could see down onto the complex that formed the Tracys' home and International Rescue's base. From here he could look down into the weathered crater of the island.

Choosing a suitably weather-beaten rock, Virgil sat down, placing his climbing gear next to him. Here on the summit of Tracy Island, it seemed like he'd left his problems far below.

Or had he?

He was finding it oppressive at home. Not because of those he lived with, but because he couldn't seem to find a purpose. For twenty months, his purpose had been to get better. Now he was fit and well and had no sense of direction.

A small bird hopped close to him, still fearless after all the island's years of human occupation.

Virgil admired its striking striped chest pattern. "You're lucky," he told it.

The bird cocked its head as if to ask why.

"You have a purpose to your life. Find food. Find a mate. Raise your young. All of that's important. I don't have anything like that."

The bird flicked a bit of dried vegetation to one side and pounced on grub. It swallowed it with two jerks of its tiny head and a similar action to its tail.

"If I could find a purpose, I'd know where I was going to live. Once I know where I'm living, then I could start looking for a mate like Bruce has done. Maybe raise young like Butch and Lisa."

The bird hopped onto Virgil's shoe and wiped its beak on the toe.

Virgil let it. He was glad that human habitation hadn't changed the bird's simplistic view of the world. "Maybe I should give up on engineering? Maybe I should try composing? Or painting? Or be like George Watts and play music for a living? People keep telling me I'm good enough."

The bird flew away.

"I could do that too... If I knew where I was going."

-F-A-B-

"Okay, Alan. What's this meeting about?"

The youngest Tracy looked at the eldest. "Virgil."

"Virgil…" Scott allowed the name to settle in the air. "And why are you holding this meeting on Thunderbird Three's flight deck?"

"Because he won't come in here."

Alan's brothers had to concede that he had a point.

"Okay…" Gordon claimed one of the control seats and sat down, swinging the chair slightly. "I'll ask. Why have you called another meeting about Virgil?"

"Because he needs our assistance." Opening his hands as if he was begging for their help, Alan looked between his three brothers. "All those months that he was in Bearston General, I was desperate to hear his piano playing again. Now I wish he'd either play something cheerful or shut up. We need to help him... For his sanity as well as ours."

"We've tried to help him," Gordon reminded his kid brother. "How many ideas of things that he could do have we suggested? How many job advertisements have we told him about?"

"Tons," John's video image interjected. "And we may as well have suggested that he get a job at the local astrodome studying aquatic life, for all the good it's done."

"You're being silly, John."

"I am because, as much as I want to help him; as much as I want to cheer him up; I can't. And he's getting more and more miserable. Even I can see that from up here. Being silly might at least make him smile."

"I doubt it."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Come up with something more sensible than…"

"Guys, guys! Shush!" Scott ordered, and turned back to his youngest brother. "Since you've called this meeting, Alan, do you have any suggestions?"

"Possibly" Alan admitted. "I think that there's one reason why he can't find a job..."

Exasperated, Gordon sat back and his chair swung away from his brothers. "We know the reason why he can't get a job!" He pushed the chair back into alignment and leant forward onto the console. "And that reason is that for the years before his accident, he… we _all_… made the world believe that we'd been doing nothing except chilling on our tropical paradise."

"That only partly explains it. The main reason is because he won't apply for the right job."

Alan's statement caused consternation and irritation amongst his brothers.

"How can you say that, Alan?" John demanded. "How many job applications has he sent out? It must be thousands!"

Gordon's chair swung again, this time to face his brother. "Are you saying that he's deliberately sabotaging his own attempts to find work? Why?!" He scowled. "Where's your evidence!?"

Scott held up his hand to stop the debate. "Would you care to explain yourself, Alan?"

"Yeah… I believe that Virgil only wants one job. Only he doesn't want to admit it – either to himself or anyone else. Maybe he doesn't even realise that it is the job he wants…"

Scott looked at his kid brother sideways. "And that job is?"

"Being a pilot with International Rescue."

-F-A-B-

"Virgil…!"

Virgil hefted the ropes back higher on his shoulder and turned to face his father. "Yes?"

Jeff eyed the climbing paraphernalia. "Where have you been?"

"Climbing."

"With anyone?"

"No. Everyone else was busy with work."

"Where did you go."

"To the summit."

"To the summit!?" Jeff gaped at his son. "Alone?"

"Aside from a friendly stripe-chested wagtail. Like I said, everyone else was busy."

"Virgil…" Jeff told himself to remain calm. "I know you're an adult and you have every right to expect to be treated as one. I understand that you'd been trapped in one room for months and you're probably enjoying the freedom to go and do anything you want. But, _please_, be careful. You know that solo mountaineering's dangerous."

"I know."

"And I'll also ask you to remember that Grandma's had a lot of stress these last two years. If you must do something, ah…" Jeff wondered how direct he should be, and decided to go all the way. "… reckless, tell someone where you're going to be and what you're doing. At least leave a note so that we know where to find you if you don't return in time for your meal."

Virgil held up his arm. "You can always track me on my watch."

"I know, but...!" Jeff took a deep breath. "Humour me, okay? Call me even more of a mother hen than Scott, but I need to know you're all right as much as your grandmother… Okay?" He drove home the killer blow. "You've chosen to leave International Rescue because you don't want to see any of us under stress. Don't make us worry unnecessarily."

For a moment, he thought he was going to get an argument; maybe even an outright refusal, but then Virgil nodded. "Fair enough."

Jeff managed to suppress a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Virgil. You don't know what this means to me."

As father and son went their different ways, Jeff retreated to his study. He'd no sooner got there when he received a phone call.

He answered it with something approximating a smile. "Hiya, Penny."

"Good day to you, Jeff. How is life treating you?"

Jeff Tracy made a face. "It seems determined to send me on a rollercoaster ride."

"I take it from that, that Virgil has yet to find paid employment? Either that, or he has, and you are not comfortable with his career choice."

"No. He's still struggling to find anything. It's starting to weigh him down and it's dragging the rest of us with him."

On the videophone, Lady Penelope's face creased in the tiniest of frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Jeff considered his response. "Obviously, he's not risk adverse, but he was always sensible about it. Unless absolutely necessary, he would never put his neck on the line without someone, usually his brothers, having his back. But now he seems to be taking risks for the sake of taking risks. He climbed to the summit of the island today. Solo. It's grade ten and shouldn't be attempted without backup. I know I don't have many more hairs to turn grey, but he seems determined to send me completely white."

"Perhaps he needs a change of scene?" Lady Penelope suggested. "Shall I suggest to him that he come and stay with me for a few days? It might help to clear his mind if he's away from home, and he could take the opportunity to look for employment in England."

"If you could, Penny, I'd be eternally grateful. I think we all need a break."

-F-A-B-

The discussion had been going on for some time.

Scott was holding the floor. "But he's told us numerous times that re-joining International Rescue is exactly what he doesn't want. He handed in his resignation for a reason."

"Reasons," John amended. "Good reasons."

"Right."

"I know…" Alan persisted, "but my theory is…"

Gordon folded his arms. "The last time you gave us your theory about Virgil, you were totally wrong."

Alan pouted. "Not this time. I'm sure that he's lost his confidence. We need to give it back to him."

"How?"

"By taking him on a rescue."

"What!?"

"No. No way." Scott shook his head. "We can't, and we won't, force him to do anything he doesn't want to do."

"We don't force him. We tell him that we need him. Gordon can say that he can't fly Thunderbird Two for some reason."

"Don't bring me into your cockeyed schemes."

"Besides," John stared down from his video link. "He'd only ask why you or I don't fly Two instead."

"Okay, then." Alan was in an obstinate frame of mind. "Next time we have a water rescue. I'll claim that I'm not feeling well enough to pilot Thunderbird Two whilst Gordon's in Thunderbird Four. Then Scott will have to say that if I can't go then Virgil will have to go, and if Virgil can't go, then International Rescue can't go. He'll cave in when he knows someone's life's in danger."

"Nope." John shook his head. "He'll say that Scott can fly Thunderbird Two, leaving Gordon free to pilot Thunderbird Four."

"Then Scott will say that he has no option other than to conduct operations from Thunderbird One or Mobile Control…"

"I will not." All the brothers turned to face their eldest sibling. "It's madness to risk everything by having someone who's out of practise operating at the danger zone."

Despite all the naysayers, there was no way that Alan was going to give up on his plan. "Thunderbird Three then. He's had plenty of practise in the simulator and he's proven himself in a real-world situation."

"Piloting between Tracy Island and Thunderbird Five, not docking with an unfamiliar space station or landing on an asteroid."

"But..."

"No, Alan. Virgil has made it quite clear that he doesn't want anything to do with International Rescue. There is no way that I, in clear conscience, can, or will, force him to do just that."

"But Scott..."

"No!"

_To be continued..._


	76. Chapter 76

"Thanks for inviting me, Penny."

"Not at all, dear boy. It is always a pleasure to have you stay."

Virgil had just taken his bag up to his room in the Creighton-Ward Manor and was relaxing with his hostess beneath a gazebo on the expansive lawn. He sat back, cupping his coffee mug – Lady Penelope's one concession to her American friends – in both hands. "I'm curious why you asked me."

Lady Penelope's demeanour was unchanged. "I am aware that potential employers have been unwilling to take the step of getting to know you and what you are capable of. You are welcome to take as much time as you need to use my home as a base for a more direct approach."

"Not that people wanted me out of the house and off the island?"

A delicate eyebrow was raised. "My dear Virgil. Do you honestly believe that your family would feel like that after all that you have been through?"

"Yep. Because I feel like it myself."

Lady Penelope acknowledged the validity of his statement with a slight inclination of her head. "Do you have any plans?"

Virgil smiled. "You mean aside from my usual haunts? Not yet. I haven't had time to research what's available."

"But you do plan to make your usual pilgrimage to Tower Bridge and Brunel's museum?"

His smile widened. "Absolutely."

-F-A-B-

The following day, after accepting a ride in FAB1 into London's metropolis' suburb of Rotherhithe, he alighted outside the Brunel Museum. "Thanks, Parker."

"Not h-a problem, Mister Virgil. Ewe'll give h-us h-a call when you want h-a ride 'ome?"

"I'll see how late it is. I don't want to put you or Penny out."

"Not h-a problem," Parker echoed. "H-It's h-a pleasure to get you. H-I thought once that H-I'd never get the chance to do h-it h-again h-and H-I'm glad H-I was wrong."

Virgil grinned. "So am I. I'll catch you later." The gullwing door closed, and he waved the giant pink car goodbye, marvelling not for the first time at how Parker manoeuvred it with such ease through London's narrow, twisting streets.

Then he turned to look at the, from this angle at least, rather uninspiring building before him. Dig beneath the surface though and he knew he was going to experience something wonderful.

He willingly paid his entrance fee and entered a world of civic and industrial engineering almost unparalleled outside of Victorian England. He may have read it all before, but he lapped up the information about the Brunel dynasty who had done much to make the British empire so far reaching.

Making a note to ask Gordon if he'd ever seen the SS Great Britain in Bristol, Virgil joined a tour to what was now known as the Grand Entrance Hall. Thanks to climate change, frequent flooding of the Thames and other local waterways had necessitated the closure of much of London's Underground network, and it was only through hard work and perseverance, and a strong desire to retain England's history, that the tunnel and cassion remained open.

As he always did when in the presence of these engineering marvels, Virgil stood in awe at the size of the caisson, still showing evidence of its original use in its grimy walls. This great pit in the ground had been dug as a part of the tunnel that had run beneath the River Thames, eventually forming the East London Line of the now defunct underground rail network. When it had been hollowed out, some 250 years ago, it had been dug using only manpower. Then, the system used may have been just as revolutionary as The Mole, but men had risked their lives to create this marvel and some had died in the process.

The engineering behind the project was amazing. The loss of life, tragic.

Virgil left the complex at lunchtime; a recently published book about the Brunels secured in the bag over his shoulder. He was happy to have, yet again, witnessed one of the great engineering feats of history, and equally glad that modern techniques meant that workers in the late 21st century were treated with more respect.

Usually. He could think of all too many times when International Rescue had been called out to rescue someone who'd only been trying to do their job.

He sat in the sun on a bench that represented the Clifton Suspension Bridge in Bristol and perused his new book until he decided that it was time to stretch his legs and get some exercise. It wasn't that far between the Brunel Museum and Tower Bridge, and so he started to walk along the specifically designed walkway – keeping the River Thames to his right as a guide.

England was doing its best to produce an approximation of late spring/early summer and Virgil enjoyed his walk. Following a bend in the river he could see the iconic twin towers of the world-famous bridge against a backdrop of buildings and blue sky. But it wasn't the towers that he'd come to see.

He paid his entrance fee and made his way down into the engine rooms. Here giant green-painted wheels, cranks, and pistons turned and moved. This had once been a part of the mechanism that operated the bascules that would open to allow shipping to pass through the bridge and along the river. Now it was a reminder of the technology that had been state of the art in 1894.

As he stood in front of the giant boilers and heard the recordings of the steam engines pounding like a heartbeat, Virgil felt his own pulse quicken. The excitement grew as he leant on a guard fence and watched a wheel, taller than himself, turn vertically, its linkages causing a piston to pump up and down.

He remembered Myra, the steam locomotive that he'd helped to restore when he was a student at the Denver School of Advanced Technology. He remembered that first day; standing, looking at what appeared to be a heap of rusted metal. He remembered the friendship and camaraderie he'd enjoyed with his fellow students and others working on the project. He remembered the elation and pride when the old girl had first chugged into life.

This was the time when machines seemed to have a life of their own! This was when machinery was designed not only to be efficient, but to be beautiful. Even heavy machinery as utilitarian and industrial as that before him had been made with an artistry and music almost unheard of now.

John was right, he didn't need paid employment. _This_ was something that he could do! Somewhere out there was a steam locomotive, or a traction engine, or a flying machine, or something else old and forgotten, waiting for someone with the time and expertise to love it, and restore it, and give it the care and attention that it deserved.

And Virgil was sure that he was that person.

For the first time since Timoti and Bryce had said he was cured, he felt a sense of purpose.

He retraced his steps to the information desk and waited, with a degree of impatience, for the talkative man behind the counter to finish his explanation to an Asian family who didn't seem to understand much of what he was saying in his Welsh accent.

Eager to move on to the next landmark on their whistle-stop trip, the Asians, mumbled their thank yous and goodbyes, and fled.

The information desk man, name Taffy according to the logoed badge on his shirt, turned his smile to Virgil. "What can I do for you?" he asked, genially.

"I'm hoping you can help me," Virgil began, deciding to stick to the truth whilst omitting some incriminating facts. "I'm a trained engineer, but I've been out of work for the last two years because of illness…"

Taffy lost his genial smile. "Sorry to hear that," he sympathised. "Nothing too serious, I hope."

"Not now," Virgil reassured him. "But, like I said, I've been out of the workforce for two years and I can't get a job. Admiring the restoration work that's gone into your display made me think that, if I were to help restore some worthy project voluntarily, I'd be able to prove that I still have the skill and stamina for full time work. Part of my training involved restoring a steam locomotive and I loved doing that. I was wondering if you knew of any place that could use my skills. Not necessarily a locomotive. Just anything that could use a qualified engineer."

Taffy gave him a sideways look. "Judging by your accent you're not from around here."

"No." Virgil had come to the same conclusion about the guide. "But I can stay with a friend until I find a place to settle."

Taffy nodded slowly and sucked his lip as he thought. "Tell you what," he eventually said, and started tapping into a computer keyboard. "This is a web site that lists restoration projects around the country. If you put your phone on there…" He indicated a small plate. "I'll beam it to you and you can check it out to see if anything takes your fancy."

"Great!" Virgil placed his phone on the plate and watched as both its processor and the computer's did a quick security scan before communicating with each other.

"All done," Taffy told him. "And I wish you luck."

Virgil pocketed his phone. "Thanks."

"Can I help you with anything el…"

"International Rescue are here!"

Both surprised by the unexpected shout from the doorway, Virgil and Taffy turned to see one of Taffy's workmates gesture excitedly at him.

"What did you say, Ryan?" Taffy clarified.

"International Rescue are here. Thunderbird One just flew past. Looks like they're heading in the direction of Westminster."

"International Rescue! This I've got to see!"

So did Virgil.

Following Taffy, who abandoned his post, he jogged outside and into the shadow of the bridge's suspension tower.

"There!" Ryan pointed to where the Thames curved out of sight to the left. As the three men watched, a cylindrical shape descended until it was hidden behind towers, galleries and theatres. "Could be landing on Parliament Square."

"Could be landing anywhere. Which Thunderbird is it?"

Virgil knew, but let Ryan answer with an excited "Thunderbird One!"

"Any sign of Thunderbird Two yet? Or any of the others?"

"No."

"I'm going to check it out," Virgil told the two men. "Thanks for the information, Taffy."

"Best of luck to you!"

It wasn't hard to find the scene of the action. All Virgil had to do was follow the tide of excited people down the pedestrian malls and travellators, all eager to catch a glimpse of the fabulous Thunderbirds. The excitement rose to fever pitch when a familiar roar was heard overhead, and the sun was temporarily eclipsed by the bulk of Thunderbird Two.

Interested, although not as absorbed as the other onlookers, Virgil was intrigued to watch people's reaction to International Rescue's craft.

"It's not as big as I thought."

"It's huge!"

"I wonder why they're here."

"Have you heard what's happened?"

"I'll check the 'net." People started searching on their phones.

Virgil pondered if he should patch into his own network. At least he could be assured of getting accurate information. Then he decided against it. His family had enough to contend with, without him butting in.

Slipping down a side street and crossing Westminster Bridge, which was subject to a major traffic jam, he moved closer to the danger zone.

He found himself on the boundary of St James's Park, which was surrounded by a harassed fence of police and a thick wall of gobsmacked spectators blocking traffic. Towering above them all, was the green hulk of Thunderbird Two, standing tall and proud above its pod.

He heard the artificial click of a cell phone camera but didn't worry about it. International Rescue's photo detection system would wipe any unauthorised digital photographs.

Standing on his tip toes, Virgil strained to look over many of the heads to see what his brothers were up to and was disappointed to realise that from this angle and through the trees, he couldn't even see which pod had been selected.

Keen to find out more he stepped back, and his place was taken by another spectator.

Wondering if Thunderbird One was hidden by its sister craft, or if it had landed elsewhere, he pulled out his phone and, as he wandered through St James's Park, searched through some news bulletins. According to these, Thunderbird Two had landed on Horse Guards Parade, whilst Thunderbird One had squeezed itself next to the Mountbatten Statue in Mountbatten Green. Why International Rescue had been called out was, as yet, unknown.

Once again, Virgil toyed with the idea of sending John an inquiring text message.

"… stick it under the exhausts."

"No. That's too low. Stick it under the spoiler."

"The exhausts make more sense. No one would think twice about it."

"Not unless they see it. And they'll be too hot. It won't work properly"

"It'll look wrong on the spoiler. Everyone's supposed to think that it's part of the exhaust…"

At first Virgil thought nothing about the conversation between car enthusiasts. Then he became curious. Firstly, because most modern vehicles didn't have an exhaust and he wondered what vintage model they were talking about. Secondly, because he couldn't imagine what any car enthusiast would be willing to "stick under" an exhaust when under the spoiler was apparently an equally valid option. Finally, because although a fair bit of Thunderbird Two was still well within view, the three men appeared to be more interested in standing amongst some bushes and staring at the tablet computer in their hands.

Then one of them glanced up at Thunderbird Two, frowned, and resumed his inspection of the tablet… And Virgil became suspicious. He took a step backwards, so he wasn't directly within their line of sight.

He heard a buzzing sound to his left. The men pretended to ignore it, but the one holding the tablet traced a line on its screen with his finger.

Something, too arrow-straight and fast to be a bird, and clearly without feathered wings, zoomed towards Horse Guards Parade.

Virgil whipped his phone out of his pocket and pretended to photograph Thunderbird Two as he videoed the action. Zooming in to the tailplane well above the red thrusters with their yellow trim, he saw something adhere itself to the underside of what he had assumed the men had termed "the spoiler".

"You can't do that."

"Huh?" Virgil turned to a man on his right.

A man gave him a sympathetic smile. "You can't take photos of International Rescue. They don't allow it. Besides, I've heard that they've got something that automatically wipes any photos of their craft."

"Oh, yeah." Virgil pretended to remember. "I had heard that. I got so excited at actually seeing a Thunderbird, that I forgot and tried to video it." He pretended to examine the screen. "You're right." He showed the sympathetic man a video of static. "Pity."

"Yes," the other agreed. "I'd love to take some photos. My son's mad keen on all things to do with International Rescue, which is why remembered about the photographs." He laughed. "I couldn't help it; he's burned that bit of information into my brain."

Being polite, Virgil laughed along with him.

The man turned back to the unusual London scene. "I suppose I'll have to remember everything I can and be prepared to answer a multitude of questions that I won't have the answer to."

"Why don't you get closer," Virgil suggested, more interested in the goings on to their left and keen to get rid of his companion. "You might get to see one of International Rescue's operatives. You're bound to be asked what they're like."

"You could be right." The man treated Virgil to the sympathetic smile again. "Shame about your video." He tipped his hat in Virgil's direction and walked away.

"Yes," Virgil mused, as he sent the video in question to several locations with a quick explanation. "A shame."

The group to his left were walking away.

Pocketing his phone, Virgil pretended to scratch his nose. His watch took a photo of the trio, beaming it directly to Thunderbird Five.

Then he started following them, trying to get clearer photos of more than their backs and feeding each shot and video up to International Rescue's space satellite.

The trio disappeared down a lane between two ancient buildings.

Virgil held back until he saw which way they turned out of the alleyway and then, without a second thought about the miracle that he could do it, sprinted down after them.

He was lucky. They were walking along the street, pretending to be three cool, calm and collected individuals enjoying an afternoon's walk; although Virgil was sure he could tell that they were up to something. He also thought that they were unaware that they were being followed.

He wondered about his deduction when they turned into a multi-storey carpark. By the time he reached the same entrance, they'd disappeared.

Cursing himself for not being more proactive, Virgil hung about the carpark's exit. It was cold in the shadows as the sun slipped lower in the sky and he rubbed his left hand to warm it and stop it from turning blue.

A car pulled out of the carpark and drove up the ramp towards him. Nerves jangling as he scratched his nose, Virgil photographed its number plate – just in case.

He marked the photo for deletion when he realised that the car had only one occupant and that the occupant was female.

Back to waiting and taking more photos of uninteresting vehicles. As he deleted the tenth one, Virgil began to wonder if people were becoming concerned about him and his apparent head cold.

Pulling his newly purchased book out of his bag, he leant against the wall and pretended to read it. He turned the pages periodically, whilst his brain thought of nothing but the whys and wheres of the three missing men. Even if he'd tried to take in the words, he knew he'd never succeed. His phone, playing the video that his watch was recording – ready to send anything of interest up to Thunderbird Five – held his attention.

The phone beeped. _"I've told those who need to know what's happening. Anything else?_"

Virgil sent a reply in the negative to John. _"Any idea what they planted?"_

"_Not yet. Will let you know._"

It was ten minutes, and a few more discouraging messages later, before the next car drove up the incline. Virgil scratched his nose and his watch recorded the number plate. But, yet again, he held off sending it on to his brother.

The nondescript vehicle drew almost level and he cursed again. The windows were almost totally blacked out and he had no way of knowing how many people were inside this car, let alone recognising any of the three he'd been tracking.

The car stopped at the barrier arm.

It waited.

Virgil waited.

The barrier arm waited.

There seemed to be some kind of impasse.

The normal procedure, Virgil knew, was for the automatic ticketing controller to send a message to one of the car's electronic gadgets. This gadget would acknowledge the controller's handshake and agree that it had to pay a tariff for so many minutes. The controller would tell the gadget how much was owing, the gadget would transfer the funds to the controller, the barrier arm would raise, and the car would drive on.

The whole process should have taken as long as it took for the car to climb the incline to the exit.

Virgil caught his breath.

The car's door was opening and an, obviously angry, man got out. "Should ram it."

His companion in the passenger seat leant across the steering wheel. "Just pay up and let's get out of here. We don't need a scene."

"Yeah." A third man leant over the back of the seat in front of him. "We need to get out of here now!"

It was the three men he'd been following. Relieved that he hadn't been wasting his time, Virgil sent the video and the photo of the number plate up to Thunderbird Five.

"_Got it. Help is on the way._"

Grumbling audibly, the driver stomped across to the ticketing machine. He fed a non-traceable note into the slot and received a receipt in return. Stomping back to his car he got behind the steering wheel and slammed the door shut.

With a cheerful beep, the barrier arm raised itself.

Pocketing his book in his bag, Virgil watched the car turn left and followed it on foot down the crowded street.

He'd known that he'd lose the vehicle sooner rather than later, but couldn't help but be disappointed when the street opened onto a main thoroughfare and the car disappeared from view.

At a loss as to what else he could do, Virgil stopped walking.

He heard a gentle, and genteel toot. A large, pink, car pulled up next to him.

The gullwing door opened, and Virgil leant inside, unable to climb in because the passenger seat was occupied. "Am I glad to see you two." He pointed around the corner. "They went that way."

"Thank you for your assistance, Virgil," Lady Penelope, told him. "We will take it from here."

"But…"

"If you get home before we do, will you instruct Lil that we may be late?"

"But…"

"And don't forget to treat the house as your home. Make sure that you have dinner. Your grandmama would be most upset if she learnt that we weren't looking after you."

"But… Can't I help?"

"This is an International Rescue matter, Virgil."

"Uh… Yes. I guess it is." Virgil stepped back, and the gullwing door closed. Telling himself that Lady Penelope was right and that this was the way he wanted it, he watched as the huge car made the turn into the thoroughfare.

_To be continued…_


	77. Chapter 77

Scott Tracy was confused. He glanced at Gordon who looked equally bemused at the situation they'd found themselves in. So did Alan.

International Rescue had been notified that a group of heritage experts had been restoring one of London's many Underground lines and had been trapped in the former Victoria Line. John had relayed the information that the caller had suggested that Horse Guards Parade might be big and flat enough for Thunderbird Two. From here, after burrowing down through St James's Park, the Mole would have an easy, gradual, descent in a south-south-westerly direction to the danger zone.

The local emergency services had also been told that a group of heritage experts had been restoring one of London's many Underground lines and had been trapped. Except that their missing group had been examining the Northern Line near the former Embankment station north-north-east of where International Rescue had unexpectedly landed.

"I don't get it." Eric, a member of the local rescue team, scratched his head. "International Rescue has received a call out to rescue someone from the Underground, we've received a call out to rescue someone from the Underground, but neither of us have been given the same location, or even the same Tube line. The two lines don't meet until London Bridge."

"Which is where?" Scott asked.

Eric pointed. "East."

"And," Metropolitan Police Chief Inspector Gaylene Pelrine completed the quintet, "as far as I'm aware, the only two Underground lines 'open' to anyone are the Rotherhithe site…"

"Which wasn't part of the Underground network," the rescue worker interjected.

He received a glare from the Chief Inspector. "… and the Baker Street Station crowd. They are endeavouring to put a Tube train back on that line to expand the experience. But that's about six kilometres northwest."

Scott nodded his understanding. He knew of the Rotherhithe site and Brunel museum complex, since Virgil had once dragged him along to see it. He'd had to admit that the engineering behind it was amazing but found being voluntarily underground slightly unnerving. He'd been glad to get outside to see the overcast sky again. Baker Street he'd heard had been restored decades earlier to approximate the station as it would have been in Sherlock Holmes' day… If Sherlock Holmes had been a real person and not a much-loved fictional character.

"And you're sure that there are no Subway restoration sites around here?" Gordon asked.

"Tube," Scott corrected. "That was the local nickname for the London Subway system."

"Oh. Sorry… Any Tube restoration sites?"

"Not totally sure," Metropolitan Police Chief Inspector Pelrine told him. "But we've got our team checking it out."

Eric scratched his shoulder under his high-viz jacket. "I think it would be unlikely. It's too close to the River Thames and there're too many historic buildings about, like the Palace of Westminster, 10 Downing Street, Westminster Abbey…" Even as he spoke all three men heard the Westminster chimes followed by the deep resonating bong of Big Ben.

Scott checked his watch. 4.00pm local time. International Rescue had been called at 2.00pm and they still hadn't started the rescue.

"Thunderbird Five to Mobile Control."

"Excuse me." Scott hurried across to his communications centre. "Mobile Control. Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"I've just received a disturbing report from eyes on the ground," John reported. "I think the video's been sent through to you too. You should check it out."

Scott had seen the flashing light on Mobile Control as he'd approached to answer John's call. "Okay. I'm seeing…" His voice petered out when he saw video of a UFO attach itself to the underside of Thunderbird Two's tailplane. "You'd better look at this, Gordon."

"What?" Gordon claimed Scott's chair at Mobile Control as both his brothers stood at his shoulders. "What is that?"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to check it out!" Gordon vacated the chair and ran the length of Horse Guards Parade. He took a magnifying device out of his pocket and trained it on the tailplane.

Alan claimed the seat. "Who filmed this? And how? Our blockers should have stopped any videos."

"For once I'm glad they didn't." Scott called the member of the local constabulary to come and take a look.

Metropolitan Police Chief Inspector Pelrine watched the video unemotionally. "I can't tell from the video. Where is this object?"

Gordon re-joined the group. He pointed through the transporter, even though the UFO couldn't be seen from that angle. "Adhered to the underside of Thunderbird Two's tailplane." He held out a clear bag with the remains of something resembling the broken shell of an egg inside. "This was underneath it." He turned the bag over in his hands. "Looks like it could be the casing off whatever it is. I've sent Brains photos."

"Good." Scott entered something into Mobile Control.

The Chief Inspector was beginning to get an idea of the seriousness of the situation. "Has someone bugged your aircraft?"

"We don't know if it's a bug."

"If it is," Gordon added, as a hatch opened in Thunderbird One's hull, "it's got a remarkable range."

"Tracking device?"

"Maybe."

"Bomb?"

The Tracys looked uneasily between themselves.

"Right!" Chief Inspector Pelrine took charge. "I'm not taking any chances. We need to evacuate the entire area." Stepping down from Mobile Control's platform, she began issuing commands.

Alan leant closer to his brothers. "Do you think it's a bomb?" he whispered.

Steering Thunderbird One's remote camera, Scott sent it zipping around Thunderbird Two. "Let's find out."

Behind the Tracys the noise of the crowd grew as magnified voices told everyone to, for their own safety, clear the area.

The three brothers clustered around a video screen as the camera lifted high into the air. As it rose, it focused on the crowd in St James's Park. An identifiable figure, hurrying away from their drama, was visible in the distance. Gordon looked at Scott as they both heard Alan's "ah" of understanding.

The video image gained height and changed direction, and the figure was lost from view.

The camera flew past Thunderbird Two's tail section and then turned back. It focussed on the underside of the tailplane and gained more height.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Mobile Control."

"I'm getting video from the R-C Can you forward it to Brains? We need to know what we're dealing with."

"F-A-B."

"Brains to Mobile Control."

"Receiving you, Brains."

"How close is the R-C to the U-O?"

Scott checked the stats on another screen giving the remote camera's height, speed, and distance from the unidentified object. "Ten metres horizontally. Fifteen metres vertically."

"Gain height slowly. There may be a proximity trigger."

"Trigger?" Gordon queried. "Trigger for what?"

"I-I don't know yet. I have yet to ascertain the purpose of this device."

"Do you think it's an explosive?"

"Give him a chance, Gordon," Scott told him. "None of us know what we're dealing with yet."

Alan looked about their environs. "There're still a hang of a lot of people about. If this thing is a bomb and we set it off, a lot of people could get hurt."

Gordon frowned. "Including us."

"Five metres vertically; ten metres horizontally from the U-O," Scott told the distant scientist.

"C-Can you scan it from there?"

"I can try." Holding the R-C steady, Scott allowed a scanning beam to play over the unidentified object. "Which ones do you need?"

"Start with thermal. Then motion, to see if it picks up any vibrations…"

As the scanners checked for any signs of heat, Scott turned to Gordon. "Is Thunderbird Two powered up?"

"No. I took the key out of the ignition." His brothers knew Gordon was trying to be reassuringly funny, but there was no humour in his voice.

"So, any vibrations detected should be caused by the device… Sending through motion detection scan, Brains."

"Thank you… Now an odour scan."

"It might be too far away for an accurate reading."

"Then it will be a control."

The odour scan revealed nothing.

"W-We need to see the device's internal mechanisms. I need infrared and x-ray scans."

Scott did as Brains requested, along with sending through the results of a multitude of other tests. "Well?"

"R-Raise the R-C one metre. Stop there and repeat the scans."

"Raising…"

The four metre scans were negative. The three metre scans showed signs of a slight temperature variation and some vibrations. "W-Whatever the device is made from, the casing is resistant to our scanners at this distance."

Chief Inspector Pelrine re-joined International Rescue at Mobile Control. "The Bomb Squad's on its way."

"Bomb Squad!" Scott looked at her in alarm. "We haven't ascertained if it is a bomb yet."

"We can't afford to take any chances. There are thousands of people within a square kilometre of our location. Not to mention that the Palace of Westminster and Westminster Abbey, both World Heritage sites, are half a kilometre away, and the Prime Minister's residence is over there."

"You can't just explode something on Thunderbird Two's tailplane!" Gordon protested. "She can't fly without it."

The Chief Inspector looked grim. "It may come down to what will cause the least amount of damage. There are thousands of lives and centuries of history around here. I'm sure you will be able to repair your Thunderbird."

"Not here. All our maintenance gear is back at base."

"We don't want to cause any damage," Pelrine told him. "But if you don't have any answers by the time the Bomb Squad get here, we'll have to take action with or without your approval."

Alan squared up to the Chief Inspector. "We can't, and we won't, let you do anything to Thunderbird Two until we know what we're up against."

Scott's gentle: "Alan," was accompanied by a firm, restraining hand on his shoulder.

In spite her hard line, Pelrine felt sympathy for the men in front of her. "Please, don't make me detain you for obstruction," she pleaded. "I'm sure none of us want that, nor the associated publicity. The Met arresting members of International Rescue would not be a good look for anyone." She looked at her watch. "I'll go and find out how long it'll be before the squad gets here, that'll give you an idea of how long you've got to find a resolution."

"Thank you," Scott responded, as she hurried away.

"Thank you?!" Alan rounded on his eldest brother. "Scott! We can't let them do this! You know what Virgil would say if we let them damage Two."

"That's just it," Scott admitted. "I don't. But I do know that letting them blow off part of the tailplane and doing goodness knows what other damage in the process isn't an option." He turned back to the video screen. "We're on a reduced timeframe, Brains. If we don't do something about this U-O, the Metropolitan Police will."

"I-I think there is no danger in moving the c-camera to within operational limits."

"Moving R-C to within one metre. Scanning now…"

The three Tracys waited impatiently for Brains to analyse the scans. "Interesting…"

"In what way, Brains?" Scott couldn't keep the impatience out of his voice.

"The, ah, device seems to be affixed with a low-tack adhesive substance."

"So, it's meant to drop off when it's done whatever it's supposed to? That seems to point to it not being a tracking device."

"N-No… There appears to be a sensor inside."

Gordon pushed in front of his brother so he could see and be seen on the video link. "What type of sensor? Thermal? Motion? Acoustic? Atmospheric?"

"Infrared?" Alan offered. "Ultraviolet?"

Scott pushed them both out of the way. "What is the purpose of the sensor?"

"I'm trying to analyse what other substances are incorporated into the device. The odour scans seem to indicate the presence of aluminium salts of naphthenic and palmitic acids."

"Aluminium salts of naphthenic and palmitic acids…" Scott frowned as the faint bell of familiarity rang while he ran the words through his mind. "Wait a minute… It's napalm!?"

"What!?"

Brains ignored the twin exclamations from Scott's brothers. "A variation."

"Designed to do what? Set fire to Thunderbird Two?"

"I-If I knew that, S-Scott, I would have prevented it from being able to adhere itself to any of our craft."

"We know that, Brains," Gordon reassured him, "but if Chief Inspector Pelrine hears that we've got napalm strapped to Two's tail, she's not going to hesitate to send in the bomb squad."

"You said it's held in place by a low-tack adhesive," Alan reminded the team, "could we remove it from the tailplane and seal it in a container? Then the Met could take it as far away from here as they want and blow it up as much as they like."

"Not until I know how it's designed," Brains warned him. "We need to prevent this from happening again."

"Agreed." Scott turned to his brothers. "Get suited up, Fellas. Alan: Get a jetpack. Gordon: Get container one eight six." As both brothers ran for the pod, he turned back to Mobile Control. "I'll be back in contact, Brains. We're going to get that device before the Met does."

Brains' "be careful," was barely heard as Scott chased after his brothers into the pod.

He accessed the compartment that held their protective gear, pulling on a full body suit, found a clear-walled box labelled _Clearcon 2-16-12_ and then ran back outside. He jumped off the pod ramp, his feet crunching on the stone chip that formed the surface of Horse Guards Parade and pulled the jetpack out of Alan's hands.

"Hey!"

The jetpack's straps were slipped over Scott's broad shoulders. "We don't know what we're up against, so I'll do it." In the background they all heard the wail of the approaching emergency services.

"I can do it." Alan's protested. As if to prove the point, he pulled his protective hood over his head.

"I know you can, but I want someone here standing by in Thunderbird One; ready to lift her clear if things go pear-shaped."

"There's nothing stopping you from standing by."

"Alan…"

Alan sighed. "All right, all right. You can do it." He looked towards St James's Park, where people were complaining as they were unceremoniously pushed away from the danger zone. "At least there's not as much of a rush as there could be. They won't want to attempt a controlled explosion with all that mob there." He could see a pool of high-viz behind the seething mass of everyday wear. "And the bomb squad can't get through."

"We still don't have much time." Scott held out his hand.

Gordon placed container 186 into it. This particular box had been selected because it was big enough to easily hold the U-O – as its purpose hadn't been ascertained yet, none of them were ready to think of it as anything other than unidentified – and strong enough to withstand a napalm explosion. "Do you want me to stand by in Thunderbird Two?"

"No. As the Chief Inspector said it's too dangerous to risk carrying the napalm any distance. You'll have to spot for me. And have the clearcon ready."

Gordon accepted the clear-walled box, three times the size of the container Scott was holding. "Ready when you are."

"Good. Alan: stand by in Thunderbird One." As Alan, with no further complaint, did as he was told, Scott turned back to Gordon. "Take the clearcon over there," he pointed to where the parade's pebbles met the tarmac of the road. "As much as possible, I don't want you underneath me in case the U-O falls."

"Understood."

As Gordon hurried away, Scott turned to face his adversary.

The sirens of the emergency services were getting louder. They were pushing their way through the crowd.

He didn't have much time.

Igniting the jetpack, Scott sped upwards towards Thunderbird Two's tailplane.

Behind him, Gordon heard gasps of awe and admiration from the crowd…

"What _is_ he doing?"

Unaware of the Chief Inspector's presence, Gordon jumped at the unexpected sound of her voice.

"Sorry," she apologised, and he realised that she was wearing protective clothing of her own.

"That's okay… We've analysed it," Gordon fudged, "and we think the safest option is for us to contain it within a protective box and then remove it from the tailplane."

This time he heard the heavy tread of a thickly-armoured boot.

The boot was part of the ensemble of a member of the bomb squad. "Where is the U-X-B?"

The Chief Inspector pointed up to where Scott was hovering thirty-three metres in the air.

The explosive tech's eyes grew round. "Wow! Is that a real Thunderbird?"

Gordon wondered at the man's effectiveness at bomb disposal if he couldn't even see a 400-tonne aeroplane.

"You don't think it's a bomb then?" the bomb tech asked.

Gordon considered his reply carefully. "We haven't found any evidence of an explosive charge."

"In that case, we'll stand back in case you need us."

"Thank you," Gordon said, managing to conceal his relief.

-F-A-B-

Alan, trapped in Thunderbird One, tapped his fingers on the control console next to the pilot's seat in an impatient tattoo. He could understand Scott's need to protect the rest of the team, but surely his eldest brother could see that he would have been just as capable?

The remote camera was still operational, and he switched Thunderbird One's video screen to its channel.

Then an idea came to him. "Thunderbird One to Scott."

He could hear the strain in his brother's voice. "Go ahead, Alan."

"Want me to take control of the R-C? I could fly it to the other side of the tailplane and act as an extra pair of eyes."

"Good idea." It could have been his imagination, but Alan fancied that he heard a note of relief in Scott's reply.

"Taking control." At great pains to ensure that the remote camera flew well clear of Scott, the U-O and Thunderbird Two, Alan flew the remote camera around until it was facing the object clinging to the tailplane. "In position."

"Thanks, Alan." Scott was taking his time, evaluating the obstruction and trying to decide the best way of dealing with it.

"C-Can you hear me, Scott?"

"Strength five, Brains."

"I think the safest way of removing the object is with a cold friguldus beam. To be really safe and give you a margin of error, remove a layer of Thunderbird Two's paint. So long as she doesn't get involved in any extreme weather conditions or have to do any fancy flying, it shouldn't cause any detrimental effect."

Scott had thought as much. "Thanks for the confirmation." He pulled his cutting tool from out of his pocket and snapped it to the required setting; double and then treble-checking to make sure that it was right. He then affixed it to the edge of the tailplane, beyond the margins of the U-O.

With a push of a button, a display appeared on the inside of his visor. This was how he was going to control the cutter's speed, intensity, and depth. "Zoom in on where I'm cutting, Alan. You can tell me if I'm going too deep."

"F-A-B."

"Igniting… Now!" A beam of friguldus compound, the width of the Thunderbird Two's tailplane, ate into her paint work.

The stripped paint curled up, peeled off the aeroplane, and fell to the ground.

Gordon, his hood's visor magnifying and tracking proceedings above him, pounced on the strip of paint and secured it away. It was bad enough that someone had interfered with an International Rescue craft, the organisation didn't need anyone getting their hands on a slither of their top-secret paint.

The friguldus continued to eat its way through the green surface layer and Scott did his best to forget that he was intentionally damaging one of International Rescue's fleet. He was glad that Virgil wasn't here to see the vandalism, although he'd been saying the truth earlier when he said that he didn't know how his brother felt about Thunderbird Two anymore. He believed that Virgil believed that he no longer felt anything for Two, but something deep inside told Scott that Alan's assertion that Virgil was wrong in his belief, wasn't totally incorrect.

But it wasn't the time for such musings.

Pushing all thoughts away, aside from the need to think about the task in hand, Scott concentrated on holding container 186 flush against the tailplane as the friguldus did its work. He knew that if he didn't keep a tight seal between the top of the box and Two's tail, it could be more than International Rescue's transporter that would have its wings clipped. And, depending on the size of the napalm payload, any explosion now would be disastrous for more than him and International Rescue.

Now the blue beam was creeping above the U-O, slowly severing the unknown object's link with Thunderbird Two.

"It's going a bit deeper on this side, Scott."

"Thanks, Alan." With a long glance at a specific dot, followed by the scanner tracking his eyes to the left, Scott made the necessary adjustments to the cutter's path. "How's that?"

"On track."

The cut was now about a third of the way along its path and Scott fancied that he could see the U-O sag under its own weight. He pushed container 186 even tighter against Thunderbird Two's hull.

The cut lengthened a centimetre further and he could see definite signs of the object drooping away from the fuselage.

"It's going well."

As Scott replied with his: "It appears so," the U-O dropped even further. "Get everyone who doesn't have to be here clear, Gordon. If I lose my grip we don't want to take the chance that this thing does explode."

"We're all clear. It's only the bomb tech and the Chief Inspector with me now, Scott."

"Cut at the halfway mark."

There was silence on the airwaves until Scott announced that the cut was two-thirds and then three-quarters complete. "The U-O's only hanging on by a thread. I'm going to stop the friguldus and start cutting from the other side. We don't need it ripping any more of Two's paint than necessary."

As he worked, he heard Brains' voice. "I'm not seeing any evidence of any explosive activity."

"Thank heavens for that." Scott started the friguldus cutting again.

"W-Whatever this device is, it appears to be relatively inert."

"Is it possible to have inert napalm?"

If Brains was going to answer the question, he wasn't given the opportunity when the U-O dropped again, hung on to Thunderbird Two by a sliver of paint, and then lost its grip. It fell gently into Scott's container and he rammed the lid home; sealing it tightly. "Got it."

"Clearcon two-sixteen-twelve is ready for you."

"Thanks, Gordon. Descending now." Clutching his container close to him, Scott allowed the jetpack to reduce height.

He landed with featherlight precision next to his brother, Chief Inspector Pelrine and the explosive technician, but before any of them had a chance to examine the box in his hands, he'd placed it in the clearcon container.

Gordon slammed the lid into place and sealed it.

With a breath of relief, Scott slipped the jetpack off his shoulders, and flipped back his hood.

Now redundant as a second pair of eyes, Alan jumped out of Thunderbird One and jogged across to join his brothers.

Gordon was looking through his magnifier at the underside of his craft. "Looks like you haven't done too much damage."

Alan was more interested in the box at their feet. "Not as much as may have been."

Scott crouched down and placed a small unit against the clear-walled side of the clearcon box. "Right. Time to see what this thing is. Do you want to bring the R-C in Alan? You can broadcast pictures to Brains."

"F-A-B."

Chief Inspector Gaylene Pelrine stared at the man from International Rescue. "You're going to open the box?"

"We're perfectly safe. The outer, clearcon box is hermetically sealed. It would take something with the power of 2.5 tonnes of TNT to breach it. But, to be safe, you should all stand back."

"Do we really need to open this now? Here?"

Scott nodded. "I think we all need to know what this was supposed to do. International Rescue needs to know in case someone tries the same trick again, and the various emergency services need to know in case something similar is used elsewhere."

"You're the expert." But the Chief Inspector didn't look convinced.

Scott wasn't convinced either as he set the automatic sequence of events into motion that would open container 186 and reveal the unidentified object inside. A green light on his control box flashed. "Okay… Everyone ready?"

No one looked ready as they all nodded their heads.

Scott took a deep breath. "Here goes…"

Container 186 slid its lid open to reveals its contents.

Scott, Alan, and Gordon heard Brains' disembodied voice in their earpieces. "Hmn… I-Interesting."

"Interesting?" Scott checked as the Chief Inspector and explosive tech wondered why he sounded like he'd just asked a question, before following it up with another. "How?" He switched his communications device to open mic.

"I-I think I know what was supposed to happen."

"And that is…?

The world erupted into an explosion of hot, intense, burning, light…

_To be continued…_


	78. Chapter 78

"'E looked h-a bit put h-out, M'Lady," Parker noted, as FAB1 pulled away, leaving a lone figure standing on the footpath.

"I am sure that Virgil understands." Lady Penelope had more important things to concern her. "We must discover what these, er, gentlemen's plans are. Disappointingly, they have something of an advantage on us."

"We could h-always get 'em to send h-us h-a message by pige-eon post."

"Splendid idea, Parker. Open the roost, would you?"

"Yes, m'Lady."

A hatch opened in FAB1's boot, and a twenty-centimetre-square platform rose up. On the platform, looking unperturbed by its unconventional entrance into the world, sat a pigeon.

Parker entered the appropriate command into the Rolls Royce's dashboard, and the pigeon came to life – stretching its wings and taking to the skies; those wings slapping against one another as it gained height.

"Now…" Lady Penelope mused. "Where are those photos that Virgil so kindly took for us?" She flipped through the various photographs until she found one that clearly showed the car's number plate. Typing the number and letter combination into a tablet, she watched as the screen changed to an almost birds-eye view video. Another photo was literally uploaded to the pigeon, allowing it to narrow its search to a specific make, model, and colour of car.

The tablet's screen showed the full 360-degree image broadcast by the aerial spy, whilst a second tablet zoomed in for a closer shot. This image switched from car to car, as the pigeon hunted out its target.

But Lady Penelope was to discover that it wasn't only the automaton that was on the hunt. Something flashed into view from behind and the drone had to execute an evasive roll when the talons of a peregrine falcon narrowly grazed its feathers.

"'Ere!" Parker exclaimed. "You can cut that h-out!"

The peregrine, not hearing him, gained height, stooped and hurtled towards the International Rescue bird at close to its maximum speed of 320 kilometres per hour. It looked set for an easy meal until the supposedly slower pigeon accelerated, out-flying the secondary attack.

"You wouldn't find h-it tasty h-anyroad," Parker told the peregrine as the bird of prey retreated to a nearby wall to smooth its ruffled feathers.

The pigeon flew back into position; returning to its job of inspecting traffic.

Lady Penelope's console beeped. "Good afternoon, John."

"Hiya, Penny. Have you caught up with Virgil yet?"

"Yes."

"Is he with you?"

"No. We are in the process of locating the suspects. Virgil is making his own way back to Creighton-Ward Manor."

"He is?" John sounded surprised by the announcement. "I would have thought that he'd want to help."

"I believe that he did, but I reminded him that, as he is no longer a member of International Rescue, he had done all that he should in this affair. He conceded my point."

"Don't know that 'e was h-all that 'appy h-about h-it though," Parker muttered.

John heard the chauffeur's mutterings. "Penny! Are you trying to get Virgil to reconsider his decision to leave us?"

"Now, my dear John." Lady Penelope appeared to be affronted by the suggestion. "Do you honestly believe that I would do such an underhanded thing; when he has clearly stated that he wants no part in International Rescue's future endeavours?"

"If you thought you were acting in our best interests: Yes!"

"I invited Virgil to stay with me to allow him the opportunity to evaluate his options for his future employment, far away from the, er, influence of his family and the organisation. As his hostess, I should be remiss if I did not assist him to open his eyes to all the opportunities afforded to him."

"By deliberately cutting him out of the action." John grinned. "You're a devious woman, Lady Penelope." He winked. "And we're glad you are."

Lady Penelope made no comment. "Do you have any word as to the composition or purpose of the unidentified object planted on Thunderbird Two?"

"Purpose? No. Composition? Maybe." John looked grim. "Brains thinks the U-O contains napalm."

"Napalm!" Parker exclaimed. "Ya mean burn h-everything h-in its path: napalm?"

"Or a variation of it. Scott hasn't told the local constabulary yet. They were getting a bit toey about the possibility that there could be a bomb in the so close to central government, so they sent for the bomb squad; presumably with the idea of detonating it in situ. To counteract this, Scott's cutting it off the tailplane as we speak. Hopefully, he'll have the device safely removed and secure in one of our explosion-proof containers by the time the bomb techs arrive. Speaking of which…" John looked at his readouts. "They've reached the cordon, but they've got a mass of people to get through to reach the danger zone. By my calculation, he's got about two minutes before they'll start trying to take over."

"Please keep me informed as to what is happening."

"Likewise. We need to know who this gang is, and why they think sticking napalm to Thunderbird Two's a good idea. Thunderbird Five: out."

Lady Penelope returned to her inspection of the tablet computers.

An image of a car that the pigeon deemed to be of a likeness to the one it was hunting had filled the second screen. The automaton dropped back until its eyes could zoom in and focus on the number plate. Once its calculations confirmed that this was indeed its target, it dove into a stoop of its own, diving at a speed that rivalled the misguided peregrine falcon. One hundred metres above the road, it slowed its rate of descent until once again it resembled a pigeon in flight. Continuing its imitation, it followed the line of traffic parallel to the road, reached the car it was tracking and bombed the rear windscreen. A small homing device and microphone stuck to the glass, held in place by a thick, white glue.

"…_y pigeons."_

"Microphone's workin'," Parker said in satisfaction.

"Indeed."

"_Council should do something about them."_

"_We'll stop and write a letter of complaint, shall we?"_

"_Don't be daft. All I was saying is that they're a menace. Rats of the skies, they're called."_

"Because they are highly resourceful and intelligent," Lady Penelope told the unhearing men as the Columidae replica, job well done, returned to its roost in FAB1.

"'Ow close do you want h-us to get, m'Lady?"

Lady Penelope examined the map and the tracking dots on the screen. "Close enough that if they abandon the car, we will be able to track them on foot, but not so close that they will recognise FAB1."

"Yes, m'Lady."

"_We should have heard something by now. I was expecting fire trucks and ambulances to be screaming in from all quarters."_

"_Unless International Rescue flew out the other way."_

"_I can't see any smoke."_

"_What if it hasn't gone off?"_

"_At least the longer it takes them to leave, the further away we'll be. I don't want to be anywhere near when the fireworks start."_

"_The others won't have started the job yet, will they? Not without the diversion."_

"_They won't do anything until they know it's safe. But they're not going to be happy waiting."_

"_It's almost news time. Maybe the radio will tell us something?"_

Lady Penelope and Parker heard an audible click, and then the scratching of the airwaves as someone in the car tuned the receiver.

They heard the bell known as Big Ben strike four times, followed by a muffled echo of the same sound in the distance.

"_The time is 4 o'clock, and this is the news. There have been reports that International Rescue has been called to central London. Our sources tell us that International Rescue was sent to London to rescue a group of restorers trapped in the defunct Piccadilly Underground line, but that there is some confusion about their precise location. Eyewitnesses say that Thunderbird Two is sitting on Horse Guards Parade, with its cargo hold visible, but that none of International Rescue's machines have appeared. Other sources claim that it was a false alarm, but that International Rescue must have developed a mechanical failure, as one of their operatives is doing some repairs to Thunderbird Two's tail._

"_There are also unverified reports that the Metropolitan Police Bomb squad have been called to the location. The Met have requested that all unauthorised people keep well clear of the Westminster area until International Rescue has left and the all clear has been given."_

"_No wonder we haven't heard anything,"_ someone in the fugitive car grumbled as the radio was clicked off. _"It's not going to work if International Rescue don't start flying."_

"_The radio said that International Rescue was doing repairs to the tail and the bomb squad's been called in. What if they've found the gizmo?"_

"_Why would they do that?"_

"_There was some guy near us in the park. I thought he looked nosey."_

"_You did? Why didn't you say something?"_

"_Some other geezer rocked up and started talking to him. I thought they knew each other. He was videoing the Thunderbird, but International Rescue's gizmos ruined it." _

Lady Penelope and Parker heard another beeping sound. They also heard what sounded like nerves in their quarry's response. _"That's the boss."_

Lady Penelope sent a quick note up to Thunderbird Five. She received an equally quick reply from John. "Will see what I can to do track him."

"…_He's going to want to know what's happening."_

"_Tell him the truth. We did what we were supposed to and got out of there. We can't control what International Rescue does after that. Like we can't control which way they are going to fly out of the city. That was always going to be a gamble that they'd create the diversion away from the job and not ignite it."_

"_They didn't fly in that way, remember? That's why we haven't aborted the mission."_

"_But what about what the news was saying about International Rescue repairing the tail?"_

"_Don't mention that! He'll go sky high!"_

"_He will do anyway if you don't answer the phone."_

"_Right… Hi, Foster… We're still heading for Corey and the hideout. Yes, we did as we were supposed to… We stuck it to the underside of the spoiler thing… Right. Tailplane… We stuck it there and then got clear. We didn't want to be around when it blew… They were having a pow-wow with the local cops by some computer-type-thing they'd set up next to the statue. There's no way they could have seen us, or the preshsine…"_

Quickly Lady Penelope re-recorded the last ten seconds of the conversation and sent it through to John in the hope that the word "preshsine" might mean something to Brains.

"…_we were careful… Of course, we were seen! We were in St James's Park in the middle of London! Hundreds of people were there. But they were all more interested in seeing what International Rescue was up to. They didn't care about us."_

Lady Penelope and Parker thought they could hear panic creep into the man's voice. They did hear him swallow in an effort to remain calm.

"_Ah… I don't think anyone would have known what we were doing. We were careful. We tried to behave normally."_

A message flashed up on the screen from John. "Brains has never heard of it."

"…_International Rescue are going to have to leave sometime… Yes, I know you can't hang around all day waiting for the diversion to start. People will get suspicious… That sounds like a good idea to me…"_

"I've got a fix," John's text message said.

"Send the location through," Lady Penelope responded. "I have friends who will be interested in visiting them."

"FAB."

Sending a quick message of her own, Lady Penelope alerted some associates in top-level, highly-secretive, government ministries, that if they were to proceed to those coordinates, they would learn something of interest to them all.

"…_We've got some spare nap. We can plant it on a news helicopter or something."_

"_We've what!? Sorry, Foster, Connor says we've got some nap left over… I know. I thought he was going to use it all too."_

"_There wasn't enough space in the Preshsine."_

"_Okay, Foster, I'll tell him. And if we hear anything, we'll let you know. In the meantime, we'll stick to the plan. We're nearly at Corey's. If you decide to withdraw, we'll meet you there and we can regroup."_

The world outside was becoming less "city central" and more "urban warehouse".

Lady Penelope and Parker assumed that the conversation with "the boss" had been terminated, when one of the other men spoke up.

"_If you didn't use it all, Connor, where is it?"_

"_In the boot."_

"_You mean…"_ If the crew were nervous when talking to Foster, whoever was speaking now sounded panicked. _"…we've got a bomb in our boot!?"_

"_It's not a bomb! It's perfectly stable until there's a reduction in air pressure or it is exposed to a sudden shock."_

"_What if we went up a hill?"_

"_This is London. The highest point in the City is Ludgate Hill." _

"_We're not in the City!" _

"_And the highest hill in the greater London area is in Bromley and that's only 245 metres high. The Shard's over 50 metres taller than that!" _

"_I always thought that we were taking a chance expecting International Rescue to climb vertically to get out of London. They could have been miles away before the Preshsine ruptured."_

"_Too many tall buildings and people about. They'd want to make sure they were well clear before they started heading for home."_

Lady Penelope sent another audio clip for John to send back to base.

"_You sound like you know an awful lot about them."_

"_It's all logic. Their raison d'être is to save people and that includes not crashing into neighbouring buildings or deafening the local populous. They'd be the last people that anyone would expect to cause a massive fire in London. But you can guarantee that everyone would be quick to point the blame at them. Look what happened when those plans were stolen."_

"_They were framed."_

"_I know that now. But back then, they were pariahs and there was a worldwide witch hunt."_

Lady Penelope's lips thinned. "I remember."

"Me too 'n h-all, m'Lady. This mob sounds like h-a nasty piece of work. 'Ow many people could be injured or worse, just so they get their diversion?"

"How many indeed. The loss of life and history had the potential to make the Great Fire seem no more than a minor conflagration… We shall have to ensure that they have no chance of replicating their plan."

"They're slowin' down."

"Don't let them see us. We need the element of surprise. We can continue on foot if need be." Removing her elegant heels, Lady Penelope slipped on an equally elegant, but more practical, pair of flat shoes.

"Yes, m'Lady."

The dot on the map swung off the road and into what Lady Penelope supposed was a building. "Pull up wherever you can, Parker. We shall have to walk."

Parker steered FAB1 into a convenient parking space and killed the motor.

For once, Lady Penelope didn't wait for him to open the door for her and had already walked past the car when Parker fell into step.

"'Ow far do we 'ave to go?"

Lady Penelope looked up at the tall, wooden, featureless barrier to their left. "I believe that the building in which they are concealed is behind this wall. We must learn where the entrance is."

"H-If they drove h-in the front, maybe we should walk in the back?"

"An excellent supposition, Parker. I shall continue to the corner, to ensure that they do not escape on foot. You can, ah, scout for another entrance."

Parker grinned. "H-It would be a pleasure, m'Lady."

Taking her cell phone out of her bag, Lady Penelope wandered down the road and, trying to look as if she had a legitimate reason to stand alone on a street corner, dialled a number.

Her call went straight to voice mail, but a beep from the phone told her she was receiving an incoming text.

_Virgil Tracy: I'm in the monorail going back to your place. I'm txting so I don't annoy other passengers_

_Penny: Have you had an exciting afternoon?_

_Virgil Tracy: Up to a point_

_Virgil Tracy:_ _John's not telling me anything & the net's making stuff up. What's happening?_

_Penny: My car has broken down & I'm waiting for Parker to find what's necessary to enable us to progress._

_Virgil Tracy: ?_

_Penny: Have you been following the news?_

_Virgil Tracy: The guy next to me's got a live txt feed on his tablet. It's giving more info than John. The bomb squads been called in. What's happening?_

_Penny: Nothing at present. You probably know more than I do._

_Virgil Tracy: I doubt it. _

_Penny: What does the "net" say?_

_Virgil Tracy: That TB2s broken down_

_Penny: That sounds improbable._

_Virgil Tracy: As improbable as FAB1. _

_Virgil Tracy: What are U up to?_

_Penny: Waiting for Parker._

_Virgil Tracy: Why?_

_Virgil Tracy: The net says there's an explosion at Horse Gaurds Parade! _

_Virgil Tracy: Whats happened?!_

_Virgil Tracy: Penny!_

Moments after she'd pressed send four messages earlier, Lady Penelope had seen a familiar figure beckon to her. Pocketing her phone, and leaving Virgil waiting in frustration for a response to his unread requests for further information, she hurried towards her loyal assistant.

"H-I'll 'ave to give you a bunk up, but we can climb h-in the back."

"Splendid, Parker. Lead on."

"H-If you look 'ere," he indicated a gap in the tall, wooden palings, "you can see the door. H-And there's plenty h-of cover."

"Excellent."

Once he'd assisted her in gaining enough height to reach the top of the fence, Lady Penelope was lithe enough to clamber onto the top. She reached down and, with a strength that had surprised many a foe, helped pull Parker up and over.

"Thank you, m'Lady."

"This mission may be more important than we realise. Apparently, the local media are reporting an explosion at Horse Guards Parade."

"H-Explosion? You think the napalm's blown?"

"I am loathe to make assumptions until we get the official story."

"H-Any word from 'em?"

Lady Penelope looked grim. "No."

"So, you h-ain't spoken to Mister John?"

"I believe that now is not the time to be making unwarranted calls."

"You're probably right."

Keeping low and ducking from crate to drum in an attempt to not advertise their presence to those inside, the pair of them made their way to the door.

Taking her powder compact out of her pocket, Lady Penelope scanned the building before them. After a quiet nod to let her companion know that all was clear, she tested the door; relieved, and a little surprised, to find it unlocked and squeak-free.

They slipped into the building and gave their eyes a moment to adjust to the relative darkness.

Giving his employer a less than discreet nudge, Parker withdrew something small and furry from his pocket.

It was a rat and Lady Penelope gave an obvious shudder but managed to refrain from reacting as she usually might in the presence of a rodent.

Flipping it over, Parker rubbed the animal's tummy in a specific pattern; waking it out of its slumber. The creature's legs started scrabbling in mid-air and its nose twitched from side to side as it sought to make sense of its surroundings. Turning it the right way up, Parker placed it on the ground and sent it on its way with one long stroke down its spine.

The rat scurried away into the darkness; taking advantage of every little bit of cover; as rats are wont to do.

Lady Penelope watched its progress on her compact. Then she began walking; following the rat's trail; confident that they wouldn't meet any humans.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in a long hallway, largely empty aside from some jumbled crates. At the end, the rat disappeared to the right.

Pussy-footed, they followed.

At the next corner, they stopped.

The rat was still; its nose twitching as it smelled the air and listened for any sounds warning of impending danger.

Then it raised its tail and dove for the security of the wall. Eager to make use of some of the larger items of cover that lined the hallway's walls, its humans did the same.

"…I've got another preshsine in the other room. I'll get it." A door was closed.

Lady Penelope and Parker held their breaths. The voice sounded like it belonged to Connor, the man who'd armed the device that was intended to create havoc in London.

But they held back. They needed to apprehend all the men, not risk alerting the others by abducting one.

Then again, two against two were better odds than two against three; and two against one was best of all.

Removing one of her earrings, Lady Penelope held it up, so Parker could see and understand her plan. He pulled a hanky from his pocket, tugged two elastic strips out of its hem, and put it on, surgical mask-like, over his face, before darting across the room to hide behind a table, closer to the door that Connor was due to exit. Lady Penelope, using her own delicate handkerchief, remained concealed, facing the door.

They waited.

Connor, totally unsuspecting that anything was amiss, exited the first door and strode across the hall to the door that led to the room where his cronies remained. He barely had a chance to see the masked Lady Penelope, when she stood, tossing the knock-out capsule against his chest. He was unconscious before Parker caught him; stopping him from crashing to the ground and alerting his associates to the fact that they weren't alone.

Lady Penelope, equally ready for such a contingency, caught the Preshsine before it fell from the lifeless fingers.

Sending the rat in as an advance guard, she checked the room Connor had just exited. It contained a few articles of furniture and she decided that a metal cupboard built into the wall could be acceptable as a crook-concealing place until it was time to turn their captive over to the authorities. After binding his hands and feet to ensure that they wouldn't flap everywhere and get in the way, she grabbed the unconscious man's legs and assisted Parker to secrete him.

One down. Three to go.

With a graceful wave of her hand, Lady Penelope told Parker that he should send their rodent accomplice on its way again. It found a hole in the wall, probably created by a genuine "Rattus rattus", and scurried inside, hunting for a way into the room where their prey were waiting for the unfortunate Connor's return.

Remaining hidden, the two humans stayed in the hallway, watching the automaton's progress on a powder compact and an attachment to a pocket knife that was unknown by the Swiss Army. The video showed that next room was empty, and it appeared that, so long as they were silent as mice – or robotic rats, Lady Penelope and Parker could enter this side room without alarming the miscreants.

A quick scan told them that the door was unlocked and unlikely to cause any noise that would alert Connor's cronies. The room after, according to the muffled audio that they were receiving, contained the remaining miscreants.

The rat found another hole and scurried through.

Parker grinned to himself. Thanks to his furry bug, he could now hear the voices of their prey clearly.

The men sounded nervous. Not because they'd received a threatening message from their boss, or because their initial plan had failed, or because Connor had yet to return…

"_I wish we didn't have that stuff in here."_

"_You heard Connor. It's stable."_

"_They said that about that leaning tower. Now it's a pile of rubble. Connor said that it's the air pressure that causes the preshsine to spark and ignite it. The nap's not in the preshsine."_

"_Don't panic…"_ Whoever was speaking sounded like they were only two steps away from panicking themselves. _"There is no chance of it going off."_

"_Didn't he say a sudden shock would do it!? It's only in a glass jar. If that falls off the table and breaks…"_

"_Why would it fall off the table?"_

"_Anything could happen! And in an old warehouse like this… With that much napalm – we'd be toast."_

"_Don't panic!"_ the first man repeated. _"Don't go near it if you're that scared of it!"_

"_I'm not scared! I'm just… concerned."_

The rat sent a message to its receivers.

"Oh, good," Lady Penelope purred. "Our friend has discovered a way for us to enter the room. Let us ask it to proceed and create a diversion, shall we?"

"Yes, m'Lady."

The robotic rodent advanced.

"_Rat!"_

"_Where?"_

"_Th-Th-There."_ There was fear in the face and voice of the man pointing at the rat's video camera.

"_It's too small to be a rat."_

"_I tell you! It's a rat!"_

"_If it is, it's only a little one."_ This voice off screen was scornful. _"It won't eat much of you."_

"_D-Don't like r-rats,"_ the first man stammered.

"_Oh, get a grip…"_

"'Ow much do you think 'e likes spiders?" Parker reached into the cuff of his right trouser leg and pulled out a multiple-legged bug. "H-A bit h-of h-arach-ne-aphobia might send 'em h-into h-a spin."

"It may indeed," Lady Penelope agreed holding out her hand. As Parker dropped the replica spider into it she continued, "Will you take care of our rodent friend?"

Parker double-checked that his knock-out gas resistant mask hadn't slipped. "H-Of course, m'Lady."

"We shall let it make the first move."

"Yes, m'Lady."

Divide and conquer was the rat's methodology and it separated its prey from the rest of the pack, fixing the quivering man with a beady-eyed stare. Then it sneezed.

The man fell to the ground – unconscious.

Shocked by this unexpected event, his two associates were even less prepared for Lady Penelope and Parker's invasion. Their surprise was compounded when the masked woman held out her hand with what appeared to be a large spider clenched between the well-manicured forefinger and thumb. They barely had time to comprehend that it was indeed a spider, when a fine web shot out of the arachnid, enveloping them both in a gossamer net. Shocked, surprised, and desperate to escape, they blundered about, fighting against the sticky threads and each other in their desperate, but futile, attempt to escape. As one ran for a door, the other decided that his only chance was to make a dash for the rear; maybe to get reinforcements in the form of Connor.

The web stretched and snapped back, sending them ricocheting in the opposite direction to that they'd intended. They landed in a sprawling heap on the table that held the tools of their trade.

The glass jar that held the incendiary liquid capable of harming thousands and ruining International Rescue's good name, fell, rolled off the table, fell even further and exploded into a fireball that incinerated the counter that it had been resting on.

"Get out!" Lady Penelope commanded, as a sheet of flame, fed by the napalm, shot up the wall. "Parker! Look after him. I'll escort these gentlemen."

"Righ'." Parker bent down and, with an audible groan, hauled the unconscious man into a fireman's lift. "Why h-is h-it h-always the biggest 'oo conk h-out h-at the sight of h-anythin' small and furry…? Lead h-on, Ratty."

The rat, obeying its master's orders, recognising that the heat and light behind it was a danger signal, hunted out the door that led away from the hazard, and scampered through.

A layer of smoke carpeted the ceiling.

Parker coughed into his mask. "You h-all righ', m'Lady?"

"I will be if these gentlemen would only learn to work together. You go on ahead." She turned to the two web-bound felons. "Pretend you are in a sack or three-legged race," she advised them.

Understanding the seriousness of their situation, the two men grasped each other about the waist, and after a brief, heated discussion that threatened to get even hotter when the ceiling started to fall, began working as a team. Coughing and their eyes running, they shuffled through the door.

Lady Penelope slid it shut behind them, knowing that this was a temporary barrier against the fire, and that they all had to get out of the building. Her mask offered some protection from the smoke, but it had no independent oxygen supply, and the two men, chanting: "Left. Right. Left," as they tried to keep in step, would soon be overcome by the smoke seeping under the door. "Get down and roll," she ordered.

"Roll!?" One of them rounded on her, unbalancing his associate. Eddies of smoke wafted around them.

"Roll!" Lady Penelope pushed them both to the floor, where they landed heavily and with some uncomplimentary expletives. "Your only other option is to asphyxiate."

The men decided that a few bruises were preferable to death by smoke inhalation.

The three of them arrived at the door at the same time as it was slid open from the other side by a man wearing a proper gas mask. "Can I 'elp, m'Lady?"

"Indeed, you can." Lady Penelope accepted a second mask. "You can assist me to remove these two gentlemen from this building." After wiping the tears that ran down her cheeks from her stinging eyes, she donned the new respirator and breathed in fresh oxygen.

"H-Easy peasy. H-I got the dissolver." Parker knelt down. "Now listen h-up, you two," he commanded. "No funny busyness. Try h-anythin' an' you'll be sorry."

The more senior of the two captives coughed. "Get us out of here!"

Drawing a line down the web between the men, Parker separated them from each other. "Now. Start crawlin'!"

There was the sound of collapsing timbers from the room behind them.

The men did their best to crawl, but most of the web still clung to their bodies, impeding their progress.

Smoke filled the room and they all fancied that they could feel the heat from the flames licking the room behind them.

"We do not have time for this," Lady Penelope declared. "Carry them, Parker." Before the smaller of the two had the chance to react, she had swept him over her shoulder and was carrying him towards the next door.

"Put me down!"

"If you do not stop wriggling I shall drop you on your head," she informed her load through gritted teeth. "That should remove the fight from you."

"'Ere, let me." Parker pulled something long, brown, and whisker-like out of his pocket. Before the man over Lady Penelope's shoulder had a chance to react, he was stabbed by one of "Ratty's" darts. He went limp. "That should keep 'im quiet for a bit."

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope approached what she hoped would be the final door.

This one slid open into the garage that held the car that the pigeon had been tracking earlier and she, followed by Parker's laboured footsteps, hurried through and out onto the street. Crossing the road, she deposited her cargo without ceremony next to the man that Parker had rescued earlier.

Parker dumped his second load and, ignoring the congratulations from the crowd that was blocking the road and stopping the rescue services from accessing the danger zone, they both turned back towards the building.

Flames were shooting skywards, and smoke was pouring out of the garage.

"Lummee," Parker exclaimed. "What h-about that other codger, m'Lady?"

"A most detestable man, Parker, but we cannot allow him to suffer the same fate that he wished upon the innocent people of London." Lady Penelope, Parker at her heels, took off at a run, back to where they'd gained access to the property.

But when she got there, her associate was nowhere to be seen. "Parker?"

Deciding that she couldn't wait to find out what was keeping him, she stepped back, took a running jump, leapt upwards and grabbed the top of the fence. Her feet scrabbling against the wooden palings, she pulled herself up and over.

"M'Lady!" She heard a familiar voice from the other side of the fence. "Where h-is yer, m'Lady?"

"Here." With a powerful kick, Lady Penelope sent one of the palings flying. It rattled against the car that was parked on the side of the road and, taking some automotive paint with it, fell to the ground.

"H-I got the fire 'tinguisher ou' o' FAB1," Parker told her, as he passed it through the gap. "I though' we migh' need it." He squeezed through the hole.

"Very good." Her compact held high, scanning for hotspots, told Lady Penelope that the door was safe to enter. She pulled it open and ran inside.

"Wait fer me!"

Lady Penelope slowed down her flight, as much to give her compact time to warn her what was ahead as to give her companion a chance to catch up. The wall to their right was alarmingly warm and threatened to burst into flame at any moment. The wall to their left, the room which held Connor, was reassuringly cool. "Come, Parker. We do not have much time."

The door to the prison slid open and then closed easily, as they both made a beeline for the metal cupboard.

Parker reached out for the handle, but as soon as his hand made contact, withdrew it with a stifled oath.

"Parker?"

"It's 'ot!"

Lady Penelope checked the thermal scan. The cupboard, and the entire wall, was growing in temperature at an alarming rate.

Parker pulled one of his driving gloves on. "Let's gett'im outta there." He swung the door open.

Connor was still unconscious, beads of sweat dripping off his skin and pooling in the bottom of the cabinet. They hauled him out and onto the floor…

Just as the wall behind the cupboard burst into flame.

Lady Penelope pocketed her compact. She didn't need its delicate instruments to tell her that their exit was now blocked behind a fiery inferno.

Parker had had the presence of mind to pick up the fire extinguisher and was spraying the wall, trying to stop the fire from spreading. "See if yer c'n find 'nother way out."

There was no logic to reminding him that English class structure decreed that his place was not to give orders, and Lady Penelope obeyed her butler. Dragging Connor away from the vertical inferno, she dropped him as far from the entrance as she could and began examining the far wall. Smoke had filled the room and was already low enough that she couldn't see more than a centimetre in front of her mask-protected eyes. Crouching down, she pulled another handkerchief mask out of her pocket and used it to cover Connor's lower face. It wouldn't protect him for long, but at least it might allow him to live a couple of seconds more.

Then she began her examination of the wall.

Unable to see because of the thick smoke, she felt the wall at a height where she hoped a window or door would be found. The rough planking scraped her fingers and stabbed them with splinters, but she persisted.

"'Ave yer found h-anythin'?" Parker's voice sounded hoarse in her ears.

"No."

"I'm h-almost outta foam. H-I'll come and 'elp yer."

"Did you notice anything when we entered?"

"No."

"This is a warehouse. It shouldn't have been permitted to have been built without an emergency exit."

"Wha' shoulda been done an' wha' was done are prob'bly two diff'rent thin…"

"Parker?"

"H-I've found somethin'!"

"An exit?"

"Dunno? I'm feelin' h-it, not seein' h-it. Can yer gizmo get a readin'?"

"I can't see the screen. The smoke's too thick." And the fire, Lady Penelope felt, was too hot. Her clothes felt damp from perspiration.

"'Aveta trust our luck then." Parker hefted the spent fire extinguisher into his arms. "See h-if I can knock i' out."

Lady Penelope heard him ram the extinguisher into the wall. As he tried to break through a second time, she ran back to where she'd assumed that she'd left Connor.

The smoke was so impenetrable, that she misjudged the distance, and tripped over his lifeless body. With no time to see if this was a temporary condition, she felt her way up his torso, grabbed him under the arms and pulled towards the sound of splintering wood; scratching her arm and snagging her clothes along the wall as she attempted to keep her bearings in the blackness.

She backed into something soft. "Sorry, Parker."

"'Sorright, m'Lady." With one final swing, Parker felt the cylinder break through the wall and go flying out of his hands. "Dunnit!" Working by feel, he pulled at loose boards to try to remove any unseen snags.

"Help me lift him through the hole."

What with the heat and exertion, both were running out of energy, but, somehow, they managed to heft Connor with no care and even less ceremony through the gap in the wall.

"H-Afta yer, m'Lady."

"Thank you, Parker." Lady Penelope was through the hole and dragging Connor clear of the exit before she'd finished speaking.

It was like stepping out of the frying pan into a literal fire.

They were in the back yard of the complex. Around them the fence, crates, and other debris burned with a venom that made it seem like they'd entered the pit of Hell. Even the building that they'd just exited was now an impenetrable wall of flame.

A dark shadow loomed over them...

"_This is International Rescue!"_ Alan's voice, almost distorted beyond recognition, boomed out of Thunderbird Two's loud speakers and they both looked up. _"We are lowering an elevator car. We'll soon have you out of there."_

"'Ear that?" Parker gave the unresponsive Connor a none too subtle kick with his foot. "You try to ruin their good name h-and they still take the trouble to save you. H-I 'ope you're h-ashamed of yourself…"

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"What was the explosion the 'net was reporting?" Virgil asked.

"It was the napalm." Scott, comfortable in one of the family's easy chairs, stretched out his legs. "Fortunately, the clearcon contained it."

"The flash was so bright, that I couldn't see much initially," Gordon admitted. "If John hadn't told us that Penny and Parker needed our help," he grinned at the duo opposite, "I would have taken my time getting airborne again. As it was, we were in such a hurry to get moving, Two's probably melted the pebbles on Horse Guards Parade. International Rescue may not be welcome back to London again any time soon."

Lady Penelope, glad to be free of her torn and perspiration-drenched clothes, and having been fussed over by Mrs Tracy and told that she should relax before the debriefing, treated him to a gracious smile. "I am sure that you are incorrect."

Virgil twisted in his seat, so he could see Brains. "Why'd the napalm explode if it was contained in a clearcon?"

"The, ah, preshsine kept the napalm at an air pressure slightly above sea level," Brains explained. "There was enough of a difference in pressure between container 186 and the c-clearcon to trigger the explosive stage."

Alan sniggered. "After that bang, the bomb tech looked like he was in a hurry to get home to change his kit."

Jeff leant on his desk, steepling his fingers as he listened. "Did the explosion cause any damage?"

"Smashed container 186," Alan told him, "and I wouldn't trust the clearcon again, but aside from that: nah."

"Is there any chance that anyone could use that trick on us again, Brains?"

"N-Now that I'm aware of the, ah, trick, I should be able to negate it, Mr Tracy. And the world's law enforcement services are also aware of the danger and ready to counteract it."

"Good."

John redirected the video camera, so he had a clearer view of the subject of his next question. "Did you find out why those guys had created the diversion, Penny?"

"I cannot divulge all the details, as they are a state secret…"

"Not even to members of an equally secretive organisation?"

"Not even to International Rescue. But I can tell you that 'Foster' and the rest of the gang were disguised as service workers near… Near a building that, to those passing by on their daily business, appeared to be the headquarters of a simple cleaning company."

"But not one that does the kind of cleaning they would expect?" Scott guessed.

Lady Penelope neither confirmed nor denied his supposition. "Foster's plan was that, when an event of monumental proportions occurred, necessitating the assistance of every policeman, service personnel, fire fighter, and ambulance office in central London, they would be free to, ah, tap into the information stream that fed their target. With all the excitement of a fire spreading through the city, they could be assured of working without interference. No one would think twice about a group of men working outside an innocuous office building."

"And what if we'd flown in from their direction?" Gordon queried. "They wouldn't want International Rescue dropping flaming napalm all over them."

"Then they would transfer their diversion to another target; for example, a news helicopter flying in to cover the International Rescue story."

John shook his head in dismay. "I hate to think how many people could have been hurt or killed. The stampede to get out of the city would have been horrendous, without the burns and other injuries."

"And we would have got the blame…" Alan folded his arms in anger. "Again."

"But International Rescue were not to blame, and the world knows this," Lady Penelope reminded him. "And the only man who was hurt was the mastermind behind the preshsine device. I'm afraid that he is under police guard in the hospital, suffering from heat stroke, smoke inhalation, dehydration, and one or two unexplained bruises." She glanced at her companion who was picking at the splinters in his fingers.

Sensing her look, Parker glanced up. "Seems 'e caught 'imself on the fuse-e-large when 'e got lifted h-inta Thunderbird Two," he explained.

Knowing that she was most likely responsible for one or two of those bruises herself, Lady Penelope turned back to the man who was until a few short hours ago, her guest. "I am sorry, Virgil. I am afraid you did not get enough time on your visit to consider your options."

He grinned. "Actually, I did. And it was long enough for me to come to a decision." As everyone sat forward, he continued. "Looking at the Brunel Museum and the reconstructive work that had gone into recreating the engineering display under Tower Bridge reminded me how much I'd enjoyed working with Myra."

"Enjoyed working with her?" Gordon smirked. "More like obsessed with her."

"He's right, Virg," Alan agreed. "Once you met Myra, we didn't hear from you for days... Weeks!"

"A true love affair," Scott joked. "For a time there, I think you forgot that _we_ were your family, not her." He gave his brother an affectionate punch on the arm.

"I trust that this is not an indelicate question," Lady Penelope began. "But who is, or was, Myra?"

"A steam locomotive that Virgil helped restore," Grandma told her. "It was one of his projects at Denver."

"I see."

"The only way that we could pull him away from her," John chuckled, "was to hogtie him."

"That's kind of true." Virgil looked suitably embarrassed. "One of the guys we were helping joked that I'd make a lousy husband, because one day I'd have a restoration project of my own, and then my wife would never see me. _His_ wife said that if that was the case then I'd be the ideal husband, because I'd never get under her feet."

"So, what are your plans, Virgil?" his father asked.

"You guys were right. I don't need to earn a living, but I do want to do something practical with my hands. And I decided that somewhere there's an engineering restoration project that's got my name on it. I just have to find it…"

_To be continued…_


	79. Chapter 79

"Good to see you fellas." John greeted two of his brothers. "Good trip?"

"Uneventful," Alan told him.

"Always glad to hear that. How's Virgil getting on with his hunk of junk?"

Scott folded his arms and stared down his younger brother. "He'd be really hurt if he heard you say that."

"I know," John admitted. "That's why I'm asking here where he won't hear me." He turned to Alan. "All's quiet at the moment. With any luck you'll have an uneventful shift."

"With any luck we'll _all_ have an uneventful shift," Alan told him. "You might find some time to help Virgil assemble his jigsaw. If you can find anything usable amongst all the rust. We daren't let Grandma anywhere near it; she'd suck the whole lot up into the vacuum cleaner."

"Alan!" Scott scolded.

"What!? You've seen it, and it looks like..." Alan failed to find an appropriate simile. "I'm not even sure what it's supposed to be. It doesn't look like a plane, or a boat, or a steam engine, or anything!"

"You know what it is. He showed us the pictures. He didn't want something easy to restore. He wanted a challenge."

"Well he's got that. What I didn't realise was that when he said he was going to find a suitable restoration project to bring back to life, he meant bringing it back to Tracy Island. I thought he'd join some organisation somewhere, and work with others equally as nut…"

"Alan…"

"… dedicated as he is. Not leave a film of iron oxide throughout the complex."

"Alan."

"The reason why he quit International Rescue was because he doesn't want to see any of us get hurt. If that's the case, why doesn't he leave and find somewhere well away from International Rescue where no one knows who we are, and no one will know or care what happens to us?"

Neither of Alan's brothers commented on his question. They'd both had variations of the same thought.

"C'mon, John." Scott started walking back towards Thunderbird Three. "If we don't get back and we get a call out, Virgil won't be able to escape International Rescue. He'll have to fill in for us, and I don't intend to force him into that situation."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

-I-R-

Virgil was working quietly and steadily on his newest project.

He'd bought the remains of a Grumman HU-16 Albatross flying boat and had installed it in a seldom used section of International Rescue's complex. His belief had been that it would be something that they could all enjoy working on; and by everyone he meant his brothers, his father, Brains, Tin-Tin, and even Grandma and Kyrano. But everyone else had always been too busy with work or else wrapped up in their own interests. John had visited once in the three days since he'd returned to Earth, but that was only to check up on progress; not to help. He'd had too much else to do...

Virgil sighed. He missed the companionship… He missed the comradeship… He missed…

International Rescue's alert to tell everyone that their services were needed somewhere in the universe swamped those negative thoughts, pushing them from his mind.

Virgil ignored the siren and carried on.

-F-A-B-

Scott was the first to the lounge. "What's the action?"

Alan looked troubled. "This is a big one," he admitted, as first Gordon and then John stampeded into the room. "Maybe even too big for us."

"It's never been so far," Gordon reminded him.

Their father took command. "What's happened?"

"It's a kowhelene fuel processing and CCS plant in Garvelevick. I don't understand the full implications," Alan looked across at the last person to enter the lounge, "Brains will have to tell us that, but the authorities at the danger zone tell me that there's been blowback from the carbon capture and sequestration facility under the North Sea, thirty kilometres out from land. It's ruptured the pipeline. A submarine that was sent in to make repairs was damaged in a secondary explosion and has lost all floatation. It's trapped on the sea floor."

"So, we're going to need Thunderbird Four and one of the sealant valves," Gordon offered.

"I've got the commander in charge of recovery to get us the pipe dimensions, so we know which one we'll need," Alan told him. "But that's not all."

Everyone was silent as they listened.

"My understanding of the process, and Brains will correct me if I'm wrong, is that the carbon is stored in an underground geological formation, about 800 metres below ground, in the form of carbon dioxide." Brains nodded his agreement. "What's supposed to happen is that a layer of bedrock keeps the CO2 down there and stops it from entering the atmosphere. Until a situation like we've got where the return valve or something has failed, and carbon dioxide is being released into the ocean."

"And carbon dioxide is one of the main greenhouse gases that can lead to climate change," John finished. "It could be a massive setback after the decades of work around the world that's been done to reverse previous damage to the atmosphere. Is the carbon dioxide being released from the pipeline or is it gas escaped from the storage zone?"

"They did their best to shut down the pipeline. They think it's escaping the carbon sink."

"How much carbon dioxide are we talking about, Alan?" his father checked.

"The plant's been working for over a decade. It's produced millions of tonnes of kowhelene over the years."

"I thought kowhelene was supposed to be a clean-burning fuel," Scott queried. "Why is it an issue now?"

Brains had been tapping into his tablet PC the entire time. "I-It's a clean-burning fuel because the carbon and other toxic substances are removed from it before it's released as a usable product."

"And they get rid of the carbon by storing it under the ground as CO2?"

"Once it is burned off forming carbon dioxide. The th-theory is that it can't escape into the atmosphere from the substrate."

"Well, someone got their theory wrong." Scott turned back to International Rescue's secondary space monitor. "I take it we've got to do more than plug a pipeline and rescue some submariners."

"Right. When the blowback occurred, it travelled the length of the pipeline, some thirty kilometres, and into the underground processing facility, destroying much of the complex."

"Anyone hurt?"

"They don't know. They've lost communications with those down there. It is possible that water's flowing back along the pipeline and flooding everything."

"So, we need the Mole as well. Anything else?"

"_Above_ ground, the explosion set off multiple fires around the facility. Those structures that aren't burning are in danger of collapsing. There are an unknown number of victims."

"Can the local rescue crews handle that?"

"It's way out in the middle of nowhere. The site crew's already stretched to the limit. They need help. Our help."

Jeff leant on his desk. "Which means that _we _need Thunderbird Four, the Mole, the Firefly, and potentially the Domo."

"What we need is another transporter to carry all that to Garvelevick," Gordon reminded him. "Thunderbird Two can't do it all in one hit. Four and the valve will fill the pod without having anything else along for the ride."

"I know."

"So, she's going to have to make two trips." Scott looked up at the second to last portrait. "How long can those in the sub last?"

"Maybe two hours. But we've got to stop that carbon dioxide from escaping. It may not be an immediate threat, but the long-term consequences could be catastrophic."

"Aside from the fact that CO2's a greenhouse gas," Gordon reminded him, "acidification of the waters would destroy the local marine ecosystem. From a human perspective, if that were to happen hundreds of people could starve through loss of an essential food supply and jobs in the local fishing industry."

"I know, Gordon," Scott growled. "I'm just trying to work out our most effective plan of attack. Do we take Thunderbird Four first and then John flies Two home, or do you fly him, the Mole, the Domo, and the Firefly there and then..."?

"And then have no way of getting Thunderbird Four into the water thirty kilometres away from land."

"I know..."

"I could go and get Alan," John suggested, "while Gordon takes Thunderbirds Two and Four..." He sagged. "That won't work... I'll go with Gordon and Thunderbird Four, and do the pod drop and fly back to base. Dad: You could go and get Alan."

"That'll take too long. You'd be wasting time waiting for us to complete the round trip."

"What order should we do this? Do we need to get Thunderbird Four or the pod vehicles there first?"

Brains looked up from his computer. "I believe that it is vital that we stop the escaping carbon dioxide. Its potential to create more problems for us, the locals, and the entire planet is incalculable. And I believe that we have another problem."

As his sons groaned, Jeff asked the inevitable: "And what's that, Brains?"

"There is nowhere with sufficient space for Thunderbird Two to land. In order to offload our land-based pod vehicles, we'll need to use pod two."

"Then I won't take Thunderbird One," Scott announced. "I can fly Thunderbird Two."

"That's a possibility," Jeff agreed, "but in a major situation like this one, I think we need someone on the ground, able to coordinate everything, ASAP. And that means flying there in Thunderbird One. Plus, both you and John will be needed to operate the pod vehicles."

"Then Tin-Tin will have to fly Thunderbird Two."

"She doesn't have the experience of deploying pod two."

"Then you'll have to."

"I've rarely done a stationary hover that low to the ground for that long."

"You can man Mobile Control."

"I'm too well known. We'd blow International Rescue's security sky high."

"We can't let that be an obstacle when lives are at stake!"

"After all the trouble we went to, to keep our identities secret after one of our own was injured, do you want to throw it all away? Stop International Rescue from being able to function because every crackpot and villain wants our secrets? Never be able to save another life!?"

"No! Of course not!"

There was silence as everyone tried to calm down and think rationally.

"Erm, Scott..."

Scott looked up at the communications portrait.

"I..." Alan seemed unsure of himself. "I... erm... Have an idea..." he offered. "But..."

Scott stared him down. "Yes?"

"You're not going to like it. None of you are."

"We're at the stage where we'll consider anything, Alan," his father told his reluctant son. "What's your idea?"

"There... We need a pilot capable of flying Thunderbird Two under tricky conditions; who has all the skills and experience needed to do a pod drop to launch Thunderbird Four, as well as able to deploy pod two, right...?"

"Right. But we don't have anyone like that available."

"Yes, we do."

Scott was the first to understand. "No! No way! I've told you before, Alan, that..."

"Scott! What other options do we have? Lives are going to be lost, lives may be being lost while we try to think of a solution. I've given you a solution."

"Huh?" Gordon looked between the two of them. "Don't tell me you two have got some telepathic communication thing going now?"

"_We_ haven't..." Alan raised his hands in a telling gesture. "But..."

Then Gordon understood. "Oh..."

"What?" Jeff looked between each of his sons. They were all showing varying degrees of understanding and approval. "What solution, Alan?"

"Alan…!" His eldest brother glared at him.

"I know what you're thinking, Scott, and I'm not! I wouldn't! I'm deadly serious! _This_ is deadly serious! I wouldn't make this suggestion if it wasn't!"

Jeff took a deep calming breath. "All right, Alan. For those of us who don't know, what _is_ your idea?"

"It won't work without Scott's approval, so he'd better tell you."

But Scott was too busy wrestling with his own conscience. It was a solution. It had the potential to be a workable solution. But he'd said no. There were valid reasons why he'd said no.

There were equally valid reasons to say yes.

Closing his eyes and dropping his head, he raised his watch arm. "Virgil. We need you in the lounge, ASAP."

"_I'm on my way."_

"What?!" Jeff Tracy rounded on his eldest son. "You can't be suggesting that Virgil fly Thunderbird Two?"

"We have no option."

"He's out of practise. He hasn't flown her in well over a year."

"We know he's still a good pilot."

"He hasn't done anything as tricky as a stationary low hover or a pod drop since before his accident."

"It all came naturally to him."

"He hasn't had the experience."

"Prior to his accident he'd had more experience than the rest of us." Scott looked at his father. "You're in charge. This is ultimately your decision."

"No, it's not." Jeff looked grim. "It's not _my_ decision. It's..."

Virgil, walking fast, but not running because he couldn't see what would be so urgent that necessitated excessive haste, entered the room. Knowing that International Rescue had been called out and seeing that everyone was still present, he looked around the group warily. "What?"

He realised that no one was willing to look at him.

"We need your help, Virg," Scott told him. "On a mission."

"Whoa! No way!" Virgil took a step back, his hands held up in a defensive shield. "I'm not a member of International Rescue anymore, remember?"

"We don't need you to do anything dangerous. Well... Not really dangerous. But this is a big one. We're going to need all hands on deck along with Thunderbird Four, a sealant valve, Firefly, the Domo, the Mole and anything else that I decide on when I get there."

Virgil frowned. "But Thunderbird Two can't carry all that at once."

"Which is why we need you. We need to get Thunderbird Four and the valve to the danger zone ASAP. We then need you to fly back here and collect pod two with the rest of the vehicles."

"John could do that."

"He needs to be loading pod two and getting it ready for Thunderbird Two's return. And we need someone with the skills to be able hover over the danger zone while we unload the vehicles. That's what we're asking you to do. That's _all_ we're asking you to do."

"Tin-Tin can do it."

"Tin-Tin hasn't had the experience operating pod two that you have."

"I haven't done that for about two years!"

"You've been practising on the simulator," Alan announced.

This was news to most of those present.

"He's right, Virg," John confirmed. "You have."

Virgil glared at him before transferring his annoyance to the portrait. "How'd you know that?!"

"It gets boring up here sometimes," Alan admitted, "and I like seeing what you guys get up to. I saw you log into the simulator and I was curious about how difficult your simulation was going to be. I was surprised when I saw you weren't 'piloting' Thunderbird Three."

"Forget that we're nosey," John said and received a scowl in reply. "It's just like riding a bike. Once you're behind the control yoke and airborne it'll all come back to you."

"Please, Virgil," Gordon pleaded. "I want someone I can trust dropping that pod. And I trust you."

"Besides," John continued. "There's nowhere to land. You won't even leave Thunderbird Two."

Virgil looked uncomfortable. "That's what I was told last time."

Scott squirmed at the reminder. "Please, Virg," he pleaded. "You know that International Rescue wouldn't... That we wouldn't..." He took a deep breath. "...that _I_ wouldn't ask if we… that is International Rescue... If I didn't need you."

Jeff decided to lessen the pressure. "It's clear that your brothers would appreciate your assistance, Virgil, but it's ultimately your decision. No one's going to force you if you don't want to. But we need to know: are you willing to help this once?"

Virgil hesitated for a moment. Then he nodded.

It wasn't an enthusiastic endorsement.

He had been planning a quiet day, working on the Albatross and trying to decide if this was what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The idea of returning to ACE didn't really appeal. First, there'd have to be a vacancy for him and he'd have to earn the job on merit. Not like last time when he'd got it because he was the boss's son... And if he did get the job he didn't like the idea of his friends, and those who knew what he'd been, forever looking at him with pity; or worse – scorn for being a coward.

Besides, he had one little glimmer of an idea of what he really wanted nagging away at him. It was an idea he'd always dismissed for being unfeasible.

Scott was already striding over to the twin lights. "I'll report back on what we need for the second run."

Gordon was equally quick on his approach to the painting of the rocket. "We need to get a move on, Virgil."

"Thank you for doing this, Virg." John clapped his brother on the shoulder. "International Rescue owes you big time." He gently pushed his still reluctant brother in the direction of the passenger lift.

"I'll give you the heads up once you're airborne," Alan promised.

Scott and Thunderbird One had left the island by the time Virgil reached Thunderbird Two's passenger cabin.

Gordon flicked the switch that set the mighty transporter settling down over pod four. He glanced over his shoulder at the newcomer. "Do you want to pilot her?"

Virgil shook his head.

"Wear your uniform?"

Virgil stared at him.

"Okay." Gordon turned back to face the sunlight that was streaming into the hangar. He sent Thunderbird Two rolling forward.

Virgil sneezed.

Gordon chuckled. "That's a sound I've missed."

They reached the end of the runway and tilted towards the sky. With a blast of the aeroplane's rockets they were flying.

Gordon lowered a screen to enable Virgil to converse with Thunderbird Five.

"Hi, Virg." Alan managed an uncertain grin. "So far, so good?"

Virgil nodded.

"You don't know how much we all appreciate you doing this."

Virgil nodded again.

Alan took pity on him. "I'm sorry, Virgil. If we'd had another option, we _would_ have taken it. But we didn't."

Virgil didn't respond.

"I, ah, I guess you're mad with us at the moment, and I don't blame you. I know how I would be feeling if I were in your shoes."

"Do you know how _I'm_ feeling, Alan?" For the first time Virgil looked at his youngest brother, his stare seeming to bore right through him. "Because I don't."

"Oh..." Alan hadn't been expecting that response. "Do you want me to give you the low down?"

Virgil nodded.

"You're going to Garvelevick..."

-F-A-B-

"John to Thunderbird One."

"Thunderbird One. I haven't reached danger zone yet, so can't tell you what to load."

"That's why I've called now. Before things get too hectic."

"I don't have time for idle chit-chat."

"Then I'll keep this brief… Are you okay? That was a tough call you had to make."

Scott didn't immediately respond. "I don't know if I've made the right decision. What do you think?"

John shuddered at the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his brother's answer, but when he responded it was in his Thunderbird Five 'everything's going to be all right' voice. "I think you have. International Rescue is going to need an extra pair of hands, and who better than one of the most experienced pair out there? And while I don't think Alan's methodology was sound, I think that he's right that we needed to get Virgil out on a mission. Only I would have been happier if it was a simulation and not for real."

"Well, it is for real and I'm approaching Garvelevick. Thunderbird One: out."

Squeezing his rocket plane into what seemed to be the only vacant land in the entire complex, Scott offloaded Mobile Control and turned to meet the local rescue co-ordinator.

The man was so hyped up and stressed out that he barely took the time to greet the man from International Rescue. "Are we glad to see you guys."

"We would have been here sooner, but we've been working out the best plan of attack. Thunderbird Four's on the way to rescue the submariners and cap the leak."

The man waved his hands at the carnage around them. "What about our guys underground?"

"Thunderbird Two will offload Thunderbird Four and a valve to seal the pipe, and then head back to base for whatever equipment I think we'll need. Now, give me the full situation."

The local man began his recitation, spreading maps and plans over Mobile Control and pointing out possible locations of survivors – assuming there were any.

Scott took it all in, evaluating and re-evaluating everything as each scrap of new information was revealed to him. They definitely needed the Mole. From what he'd been told there was a chance that the subterranean complex had been weakened, and if that was the case, if those buildings still standing were to collapse, any pockets of survival below ground could collapse too. This meant a need for the Domo. Firefly...? The local crews seemed to have all the hotspots under control, but there were oxygen cylinders on hand. If there was another explosion...

Scott made his decision. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Five and base."

"Receiving you, Mobile Control." That was his father's voice.

"Go ahead, Mobile Control." And that was Alan's.

"We are going to need Mole, Domo, and Firefly. Repeat Mole, Domo, and Firefly."

"Mole, Domo, and Firefly," Jeff repeated. "I'll let pod two know."

"How far out is Thunderbird Two?"

If Alan had been in a more carefree mood and hadn't been operating under the strain of not knowing if his suggestion to involve Virgil was the right one, he might have joked that he'd ask his brother for the exact ETA. Instead he responded with: "They're approaching the coast now. They'll be flying over the North Sea..."

Scott looked up when a shadow and then a familiar roar passed overhead. "I have a visual."

"Good."

There was something that Scott needed to know that was perhaps more pressing than Thunderbird Two's proximity. The one thing that stopped him from asking the question outright was the presence of the local man and the desire to not unnerve him nor make International Rescue seem to be less than fully professional.

But, Scott told himself, International Rescue _was_ fully professional. Even when an amateur was in the pilot's seat. "Ah... Any word on the crew change?"

"Hasn't happened yet."

"Right. Keep me informed."

"F-A-B."

-F-A-B-

"We're here," Gordon announced. "Ready to make the switch?"

Virgil wasn't sure that he was. But without complaint nor comment, he released his safety harness, got to his feet, and went to stand at his brother's shoulder.

"Thunderbird Two hovering at release height..." Gordon punched in the appropriate code. "Autopilot engaged..." A light came on. "She's all yours." He stood and vacated the pilot's chair.

Virgil took his place.

"I promise that we haven't made any changes since you last flew her." Gordon was desperately trying to sound reassuring. "You'll find this a breeze."

Virgil nodded, but didn't disengage the autopilot.

"Better get down there. See you soon."

"Good luck, Gordon."

The parting words were a reassurance, and Gordon descended into pod four in a more relaxed frame of mind than he had been seconds earlier.

-F-A-B-

John had received notification of which vehicles were needed with equal relief. Pod two was ready with its door wide open and awaiting its cargo. The Mole, the Domo, and the Firefly were all equally ready, but none had been loaded. It was a forgone conclusion that the drilling machine would be needed, but it was also a forgone conclusion that it would be offloaded first and would therefore need to be loaded last. Now that he knew exactly what machines were required, and their order of importance, he could start loading.

The first to be backed up the ramp and positioned with care in the rear right-hand corner of the pod, as close to the two walls as it was possible to get, was the Firefly. The Domo was second; its left-hand location calculated and dictated within millimetres by the computer, as it tried to keep the load evenly spaced.

The final part of the jigsaw was the Mole; its location plotted with the same mathematical precision on the spot that made this pod so different from the others.

John locked down all three machines and then walked around them to reassure himself that everything was in place and nothing was going to move should they hit any turbulence. Once satisfied, he climbed up an internal ladder to a tiny room in the front of the pod, claimed the seat in front of a video screen, strapped himself in, and told the pod door to close. "Pod two ready to exit hangar."

He heard his father's voice. "Affirmative, pod two. You are cleared to exit."

Once again, the cliff face doors swung open and light streamed in.

All the pods had the ability to move autonomously of their parent craft, but usually this facility was disengaged when the pod was a part of her fuselage. But now, with Thunderbird Two half a world away, John engaged the motors and pod two began to trundle forward under its own power. He would have preferred to leave the pod under cover until Thunderbird Two's return, to ensure that there was no chance of it being spotted by passing aircraft, but there wasn't going to be time for any holdups. International Rescue would have to hope that nothing was flying past, and that if anything did, the pod's relatively innocuous shape wouldn't arouse any suspicions.

The pod rolled out of Two's hangar and along the runway, John monitoring and correcting its progress via the visuals on the video screen. He came to a stop, powered down, engaged the brakes, disengaged the motors and sat, waiting, ready to be collected by Thunderbird Two.

-F-A-B-

"I'm ready for launch, Virgil."

Virgil heard Gordon's voice and, with a brief, "Understood," released the pod.

He felt Thunderbird Two's reaction when her midsection fell away into the water.

"Barely felt it," his radio told him. "You haven't lost your touch."

How could he have lost his touch when all he had to do was enter a code and push a button?

"Exiting pod..."

Below him, Virgil saw Thunderbird Four appear with a round unit, nearly as wide as her light-trough, held in twin pincers.

"Thunderbird Four clear... See you soon, Thunderbird Two."

"Good luck, Gordon. Keep safe."

This was when Virgil, and everyone else in International Rescue, would find out if he'd lost his touch. He could have left the pod behind and headed straight for home, but he knew that a gaping hole in Thunderbird Two's midsection would increase the drag, slowing him down.

He pushed a companion button to raise the pod door and then sent a message to Thunderbird Five. "Beginning retrieval of pod."

"F-A-B."

Virgil wished that Alan hadn't responded with International Rescue's call sign. He wasn't a member of International Rescue. He was just an ordinary civilian who happened to know more about their craft and systems than any other ordinary civilian.

Communications between the pod and Thunderbird Two told him that tidal action had caused them to be misaligned. With a gentle pressure on the control yoke he made the necessary correction.

This felt wrong. Man and machine didn't belong together. They were strangers to each other.

Virgil reminded himself that this was a machine that he'd helped develop, had helped assemble, and had spent more hours controlling than most people did their cars.

But it still felt wrong – almost alien.

The signals locked together, telling him that they were all in perfect alignment.

Time to reel in the pod.

Consciously talking himself through each step, Virgil gathered the floating pod into Thunderbird Two and locked it into place. Then he gained height, turned, and headed for home.

-F-A-B-

"Thunderbird Two is leaving danger zone," Alan announced to all listening in on International Rescue's network.

Not wanting to reveal any concerns to Thunderbird Two's pilot or anyone unconnected to International Rescue who might be within hearing range, Jeff's reply was made via a secure channel. "Any issues?"

"I won't say that it was a smooth as it used to be, and he was telling himself what to do as he did it, but I don't think we need to worry."

"Good. Tell him to drop pod four in the water off the end of the runway. We can worry about getting it under cover from there. We can't afford to waste time landing, releasing the pod and then landing again to collect pod two."

"Agreed. I'll pass the message on."

-F-A-B-

The flight home had been easy. Just like flying any other conventional aircraft. If he could make a normal approach and landing at Tracy Island, Virgil would be happy.

But that wasn't possible. He was going to have to make another pod drop – which, Virgil had to admit, wasn't such an issue since none of International Rescue's operatives would be in danger – before landing over a pod; one that contained one of his brothers; locking it into the aeroplane's hull, and then taking off again.

That was another matter.

He heard his father's voice. "You've made good time, Virgil."

"I had a tail wind."

"I've lowered the ramp at the end of the runway, but don't panic about dropping the pod too close to that, we can worry about retrieving it while you and John head back."

"Understood."

"We have you on radar."

It wasn't too many minutes after Jeff's announcement that Tracy Island came into view.

Heeding his father's instructions Virgil stopped Thunderbird Two's momentum. This drop was from twice the height that Gordon's had been, and the pod hit the water with a concussive crash.

Thunderbird Two flew onwards, rotated so that it was lined up with the pod sitting on the runway and then stopped. "Ready, John?"

"F-A-B, Virgil."

There was that call sign again. He didn't deserve that acknowledgement. He wasn't a member of International Rescue.

Once again, the computer locked on to the pod's opposite number and, once again talking himself through the process, Virgil lowered Thunderbird Two down.

This time he was more cautious. If he got this wrong he not only was endangering the lives of all those trapped at Garvelevick, there was his brother's life to consider as well.

Thunderbird Two landed and the pod locked into its fuselage.

"I'll stay here until you're airborne," John told him.

"Understood."

For a moment Virgil forgot that the craft he was in didn't require a conventional runway. It was only his hand automatically triggering the VTOL jets that reminded him that his aeroplane was designed to take-off vertically.

He cuffed his sleeve over his brow to remove the beads of sweat that had gathered there. That was one tricky job completed without any hassles.

Once they were airborne and flying smoothly, Virgil told his brother to join him on the flight deck.

John did so in quick time. "How's it going?"

"Okay."

"I didn't even feel you settle over me. It wasn't until the lights came on to say that the locking system was green that I realised you'd landed."

"Good computer systems."

"And an excellent pilot."

When Virgil didn't pass comment, John wondered if his brother was going to ask him to take over the job of piloting. Or if the expectation was that he was going to make the offer – something which John had no intention of doing. "What's the situation like at the danger zone?"

"I don't know. I didn't get the chance to see. We were past before I even realised it was beneath us."

"One of the problems of flying one of the fastest craft in the world."

Virgil didn't respond. He would have been much happier to be at the controls of something slower, less high-tech, and without the lives of so many people resting on his shoulders.

_To be continued..._


	80. Chapter 80

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Five. Proceeding to danger zone."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Five." Then Alan asked the inevitable question. "How was the pod drop?"

"Out of ten, I'd say... nine."

"How did he used to rate?"

"Ten, of course." Gordon found the time for a cheeky grin. "You guys rate only an eight." Then he became serious. "But the pod drops are easy. I'd already got him into position and all he had to do was push the button. It's the pod collection that's the real test."

"He won't have any problems," Alan said confidently. "And after he's had a quick trip home and collected pod two off the runway, it'll all come back to him."

"Yeah." Gordon hoped he sounded equally as confident.

"How are things looking down there?"

Gordon peered through the plexiglass screen. "Not good. The carbon dioxide's stirred up a lot of silt..." Several silver forms floated past the viewport. "And there are tons of dead fish. And that's only the ones that I can see. The food chain's going to be disrupted for years, if not decades."

"Which is one reason why we've got to block that pipe. What's visibility like?"

"Out of ten...? One." Feeling his wetsuit offer some resistance to the action, Gordon leant forward. "It doesn't help that the light trough's at the wrong angle."

"Once you've got the valve over the pipe, you'll be able to move the light trough back into place."

"If I can see where I'm installing the valve."

"Isn't your sonar working?"

"It is, but there's nothing like being able to physically see what you're doing."

"I know. I'll clear the line, so you can concentrate. Keep in touch."

"Will do, Alan. Thunderbird Four, out."

Gordon continued descending. The deeper he got and the closer to the scene of the rupture, the more evident the devastation was becoming. Man, in his efforts to solve one problem, had created another.

His scanners told him that the pipe was only metres away. He stopped his forward momentum and took a sonar picture of the surrounding landscape, surveying it closely. There was the pipe, a stream of bubbles leaking from the jagged end like a giant bottle of carbonated drink. There was the other section of the pipe, water flowing through a channel that had been designed to hold gas. And there was the submarine, lying on its side on the sea floor and looking as dead as the fish that spoke of the tragedy that had happened hours ago.

"Thunderbird Four to GKS1. Thunderbird Four to GKS1. Come in, please."

"This is GKS1, erm... Thunderbird Four?"

"What's your situation?"

"We're alive... No injuries to speak of."

"Good. Any breaches?"

"Negative."

Gordon gave a sigh of relief. "How many on board?"

"Three."

"Are you in immediate danger?"

"Not immediate. We've only got a limited oxygen supply, though."

"How long do you think it'll last?"

"Ah... Maybe an hour?"

"Do you have any scuba tanks or other breathing apparatus?"

"No."

"Okay. Now I know what timeframe I'm working to, I'm going to seal this pipe, then I'll come and get you." Gordon considered quipping _don't go anywhere_ and decided against it. He doubted that the distressed strangers would appreciate his sense of humour.

He placed the valve on the sea floor and, unencumbered by that obstacle, made a circuit of the pipe. The end was torn, and the jagged edges bent in all directions. If he was going to ensure that he created a good seal, he'd have to smooth it off first.

Nudging in closer, he extended a laser from Thunderbird Four's nose. Then he began to cut, pirouetting, nose down–tail up, around the pipe as he scored a clean line below the jagged edge; a task made more difficult by the way that the carbon dioxide was escaping in fits and starts. If he was in the wrong place during a minor explosion of gas, he could be shunted to one side and his level cut would be ruined.

He was close to congratulating himself for a job well done, when the next explosive event occurred.

This one erupted in a slow-motion release. A bubble appeared, swelled, expanded over the mouth of the pipe, grew bigger, reached capacity, and then let go. It rose; a slow moving, slowly shrinking, blob of death, to the surface.

Gordon found himself in a quandary. He only had the smallest of cuts to make. If he left it and then came back any unevenness could compromise the valve's seal. Leave the carbon dioxide bubble and it would pollute even more of the ocean and the atmosphere above it. Anything that swam or flew through it would be killed.

He made a decision. Leaving his present task, Thunderbird Four chased after the bubble, catching up to and then passing it, stopping when it was well above the sea-saturating gas.

Taking a small, Thunderbird Four-coloured package with him, Gordon exited his submarine. As the bubble rose closer towards him, he extended a tube from the package.

And then he dove.

Determined to remove as much of the carbon dioxide from the ocean as he could, he penetrated the bubble with the tube, trying to get as close to the centre as possible. Feeling the lighter-than-air gas push him towards the surface, he kept pace with it and released the rest of his package, watching it expand and draw the dangerous gas along the tube and into an airtight bag.

When the tube was sucking in water he stopped the suction, sealed off the bag, and then found himself in another quandary. What to do with it?

While the lives of the submarine crew hung in the balance, he could do little more except ensure that it could be retrieved when the time was right. He clipped a locator beacon to the bag and let it go, hoping that it didn't snag on anything and undo all his hard work, or become a shipping hazard.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Five."

"Receiving, Thunderbird Four."

"You'd better alert anyone in the area that there's a bag of CO2 floating around. I've got a beacon on it and will pick it up after the rescue, but in the meantime, it's a shipping hazard."

"Understood. I'll let the authorities know."

Now it was time for Gordon to finish part one of the reason why he'd come here.

Returning to Thunderbird Four, he made short, but careful work of finishing his cut. A nudge with his light trough, and the jagged piece fell clear of the pipe, landing on the corpse-strewn seabed.

Picking up the silt-covered valve from where he'd placed it, he gently lowered it over the cut end. At a signal from Thunderbird Four it shrank even further, forming a gas and watertight fit.

Gordon sent another signal to the valve, sealing it until the locals could make more permanent repairs.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Five. Pipe sealed. I'm off to get those submariners."

"F-A-B, Thunderbird Four."

"I have a visual on the sub. I'll get back to you when I have more information. Thunderbird Four: out."

Coming up alongside the stricken submarine, Gordon cruised around it, trying to work out his next move. He assumed that it was about the same length as Thunderbird Four, meaning that he wouldn't be able to lift it to the surface himself.

He triggered the microphone. "Thunderbird Four to GKS1."

The response was not immediate. The responder subdued. "This is GKS1."

"How are you guys holding out?"

"It's getting hot in here. Hot and stuffy."

"Is your gas exchange working?"

"Barely. The oxygen scrubbers are only working at about ten percent."

"I understand. I've sealed the pipe, so that means I can now concentrate on getting you all out of there."

"Thank you."

Gordon hoped that the man's thanks wasn't premature. The sub had landed on its nose on the seabed at an angle that was about forty-five degrees off the vertical. Silt and fishy corpses had settled all around, burying much of the fuselage until, he guessed, only the top third was visible. "Any damage to your floatation tanks?"

"One. The other seems fine."

"So, with a little help, you might be able to surface under your own power."

"It's a possibility."

"Right. First things first. There's a lot of silt covering you. I'll have to clear that before we'll attempt to move you."

Gordon made his announcement with some misgivings. He could tell from the angle of the sub and the amount of debris covering it, that to clear the silt he'd have to exit Thunderbird Four and manually guide the suction unit. At this depth, that meant that he was going to have to travel back to base in Thunderbird Two's decompression chamber.

Already he was increasing the pressure in his cabin to that approaching the waters outside.

"Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Five."

"Receiving you, Thunderbird Four. Your signal's weakening."

Worried, Gordon glanced at his own gauges. There was a deterioration, but not enough to warrant calling it "strength four" out of five. "I'm going to have to go EVA to vacuum the silt from around the sub."

"What pressure are you at?"

"One point six atmospheres. Thunderbird Four's cabin is presently at..." Gordon checked another gauge. "One point four."

Alan understood the implications. "He's too busy to worry about it now, but I'll let Scott know that someone else is going to have to pilot Thunderbird Two."

"Thanks. I'd better get moving."

Evacuating through the airlock, Gordon grasped the hose attached to the vacuum unit and started swimming. He reached the submarine, pointed the nozzle at the topmost layer of silt, and gave the command to start vacuuming. A steady stream of debris was sucked up and deposited on the far side of Thunderbird Four.

He worked steadily and methodically, sucking away layer after layer of debris and making sure that everything remained level. He didn't want the sub falling over.

Especially since it was damaged. A long rent disappeared down the length of the submarine and into the silt. The more he cleared away, the longer the crack in the fuselage seemed to be. "Gordon to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Receiving you strength four, Gordon."

"Have you got the schematics of the sub?"

"Just a moment, I'll pull them up... Got them."

"Right. I'm facing the tail and I'm sending you video." Gordon hoped that the signal degradation didn't mean that the video was just a blurry mess of pixels.

"Got it. Is it standing on its nose?"

"More or less. Where's the control cabin?"

"About midships, in the hull, if it was a boat that floated on the water and not in it."

"I've got the idea, Alan. I'm swimming to port side. Now..." Gordon faced the long tear in the hull. "What am I looking at?"

Alan gave a low whistle. "A lot of damage." Gordon's silence told him that his brother didn't appreciate being told the obvious. "You mean what part of the sub's been breached?"

"Yes."

"Okay... Checking it out... Looks like it's one of the floatation chambers."

"The crew said they hadn't sustained any breaches, but that one of the flotation chambers wasn't working. Looks like they were right and wrong."

"So, you're going to have to lift a submarine, a three-man crew, and a floatation chamber filled with water."

"Yes. And then get them to land. Any rescue boats standing by?"

"Negative. Those at Garvelevick are concentrating on fighting the fires from the sea. Anything any of us can do?"

"Well..." Gordon was formulating a plan, but not one that he was sure would be acceptable to certain parties. "Is Thunderbird Two back yet?"

"Yes. The Mole started drilling about half an hour ago."

"And Thunderbird Two's standing clear?"

"Gordon..."

"I know, I know. It's just that I think that I'll be able to get them to the surface; it's transporting them the thirty kilometres to land that's going to be difficult."

"Want me to warn Virgil?"

Gordon thought quickly. "No. I may be being premature. We don't want to ask more of him than necessary."

"Want me to warn base?"

"Ah..." Gordon thought again. "Yes. You'd better. Between you guys you might come up with a better solution."

"What are you going to do about the hole in the sub?"

"Think about it while I clear the rest of the silt away. I'll talk to you later, Alan."

"F-A-B."

Reaffirming his grip of the vacuum hose, Gordon started the suction unit again, and continued the removal of the debris...

The submarine shifted from a forty-five degree angle to forty-seven.

"Thunderbird Four to GKS1. Sorry about that. Everyone okay?"

"We're fine… What happened?"

"It's the silt around you that's keeping you upright. I've removed enough to destabilise you. I'll make sure that I don't do that again until I've got a way of letting you down gently." Gordon dragged the hose back to Thunderbird Four.

Removing a cutting device, he swam back to the hole in the floatation chamber and began carving the damaged and redundant section free. This was only excess weight and threatened to destabilise the sub if it captured and retained water during the ascension.

The last piece of metal fell free. "All right in there?"

"We've only got... about... half an hour... of breathable... air... left."

"I understand. We'll get you topside ASAP."

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Four."

Gordon started swimming back to his own submarine. "Go ahead, Alan."

"The World Navy's steamed into town to help with firefighting efforts. They say that if you can get GKS1 to the surface, they can bring the crew on board one of their boats, get them into decompression chambers, secure the sub, and tow it to shore."

"All hail the Navy."

"I know that you WASPs and the Navy had your rivalries. But you've got to admit that they've got their uses."

"I'll give you that. And I'm sure Virgil will be pleased too. Tell them we accept their offer with thanks."

"Already have." Alan's reply sounded smug. "Now show them what WASP is made of and get that sub to the surface."

"F-A-B. Retrieving floatation device now." Engaging Thunderbird Four's engines, Gordon headed two kilometres towards a regular beep on his radar.

The waters were no clearer here though. The carbon dioxide may have been diluted, but the ocean's currents had sucked silt and animal remains in the same direction as his target. He eventually came upon a bright yellow balloon bobbing just below the water's surface. Unfolding one of Thunderbird Four's pincers, he grabbed the balloon's tail, and began dragging it back to where it had come from.

He knew he had to act quickly, but without too much haste. Be too quick and he ran the risk of the carbon dioxide balloon rupturing and saturating the ocean and air. Too slow and it wouldn't be long before the men trapped in GKS1 would begin to suffocate in their own bubble of carbon dioxide.

But he would have to stop to work out a way of fixing the balloon to the side of the submarine.

Diving down a couple of hundred metres more, Gordon made his preparations before releasing the balloon. Scooting around, he simultaneously fired off two projectiles trailing a single rope.

The projectiles separated, pulling the rope between them apart and revealing it to be a wide net. It reached its full extension, stopped, and gently floated down over the balloon. Thunderbird Four gathered up all four corners, magnetically welded them together, and dragged the balloon back down to the ocean floor.

The waters had cleared enough that Gordon could now see his target. "Thunderbird Four to GKS1."

There was worrying silence.

"Thunderbird Four to GKS1! Are you reading me?" The magnetic corners welded themselves to the remains of the ruptured floatation compartment and the entire submarine shifted again as the centre of buoyancy moved.

No reaction to the sudden change in orientation seemed to chill Gordon's bones until he heard the radio click. Then there was a dry, rasping reply. "Geeq son."

"Don't try to talk. Save your energy. Are you able to release the ballast from your starboard tank? Do it if you can."

This time the silence lasted for longer and Gordon hoped that the man on the other end was only summoning the energy to respond, or else was making his way over to the ballast release console.

There was no acknowledgement and no change to the submarine's orientation.

By now Gordon knew that he couldn't leave the men unattended until they reached the surface. He extended the vacuum hose and, with less finesse than he used going EVA, sucked the silt away from the port side of the cabin.

Relieved that the carbon dioxide balloon was keeping the submarine on a vertical alignment, Gordon got on the radio. "Can you hear me, Alan?"

"Receiving you."

"What are the outer walls of the sub made of? Any gaps between layers?"

"Ah... No? Each layer's made of different strata for strength, but they all appear to be solid."

"Thanks." Ducking beneath the bright yellow ball, Gordon extended a drill contained in a long sheath from beneath the light trough, adhered the sheath to the stricken submarine's bulkhead, and began boring.

He was taking a risk. He could be drilling through a vital piece of equipment, causing a cable to spark. If Alan's reading of the schematics was wrong, his drill might not reach the cabin and then his efforts would be in vain. There was also the issue that at this depth anything that compromised the integrity of the submarine's hull increased the chances that the water pressure would cause the hull to implode. If that happened, the men inside would have no chance of survival.

Then again, if he did nothing they had no chance of survival anyway.

The drill bit through.

Carefully, he withdrew it into the sheath, replacing it with a hose. The hose pierced the hull and opened like a flower, adhering its petals to the wall of the cabin. Trusting that the seal was tight and that he was in the right location, Gordon started pumping oxygen.

He gave the men a minute to literally get their breath, then: "Thunderbird Four to GKS1..."

Listening through the sensors in the oxygen feed, he realised that he couldn't hear any movement. "Thunderbird Four to GKS1..."

Was that something? The tiniest scratching sounds? Something scrabbling? "Thunderbird Four to GKS1... Can you hear me, GKS1? Tap once if you can."

There was a tap. A faint tap, but still a reassuring sound.

"Take your time to get your breath back. Is everyone awake?"

One tap... And then a second.

Gordon frowned. Was that a no, or had two people answered yes?

A third tap.

"You're all awake?"

One tap.

"Good. I'm feeding oxygen into your cabin. I know that you're probably feeling dizzy, but what I need you to do, when one of you is feeling strong enough, is to empty the starboard ballast compartment."

One tap of acknowledgement. Then a groan.

"Don't force yourself until you're ready. The World Navy's not in a hurry."

"Worl' N'vy?"

"One of their boats is standing by to take you on board and tow your sub to shore."

The submarine shifted its orientation and Gordon fancied that it lifted slightly out of the seabed. "Great! You're moving... Can you release any more?"

The sub shuddered as if it was shaking the remaining silt free, and began to rise.

"That's good. You're surfacing. Don't worry. I'll be by your side the entire way." _Not that I can do anything if anything goes wrong while we're tethered together._ "Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. I see you're ascending, Gordon."

"Both of us are, but I've had to supply oxygen to the cabin. Tell the World Navy to stand by, I'm not going to be able to do a lot to help until we're topside and the hatch is open."

"I'll tell them..." There was a short silence on the airwaves. "The radio officer says that the decompression chamber is ready. I've given them the size of the sub and they think they'll be able to lift it out of the water and onto the deck."

"That's good to know. I'll have to sever the cord when I get to the surface, and having a hole in the hull isn't conducive to remaining afloat."

"I told the radio operator that. I'm sure I heard someone in the background say something like…" There was laughter in Alan's voice. "Drilling a hole in the hull of a submarine's the kind of crazy thing WASP would do."

"Hey!"

Alan chuckled.

"Surfacing..." As waves washed over the plexiglass viewport, in the distance and growing closer Gordon could see the great, grey hull of a naval vessel. "Have you told them they've got a bag of carbon dioxide to transport too?"

"Yes. The radio operator's first comment was why don't we just release it?" Now Alan's voice was filled with contempt.

"I could make some comment about the ignorance of the Navy."

"His CO made a similar comment about him."

The wash from the naval vessel was causing Thunderbird Four and GKS1 to rock and sway, threatening to crash together. It was with a lot of concentration and some delicate fine tuning that Gordon managed to stop the oxygen tube from being torn free.

The larger boat loomed over them both.

"This is W-N-One-Seven-Five," the naval boat announced. "We are alongside you."

"Thunderbird Four to WN175. Acknowledged."

"Are you able to move clear, Thunderbird Four? We can't attach all the cables while you're in close proximity."

"I am feeding oxygen though a tube into the cabin," Gordon told the radio operator. "I can pump enough in to sustain those inside until you have them on board, and then seal the hole. In case something interrupts the procedure part way through, can you attach some cables with me still here?"

"We can make attachments to the stern," WN175 confirmed.

"Good. If you need me to assist with stabilising GKS1, let me know."

"Will do."

With a gentle touch on the rudders and the throttle, and taking care to ensure that her nose pointed at GKS1 and the oxygen tube wasn't stretched too taut, Gordon made Four's stern swing out and away from where he'd been sitting parallel to the sub.

"Thank you, Thunderbird Four. Firing stern cables now."

Two thick steel cables dropped down the side of the ship's hull and clamped onto the rear of the sub.

"We have good connection," the radio operator announced.

"Pumping cabin with more oxygen." Gordon upped the rate of flow. "Once the crew has enough to hold them until you get them into the decompression chamber, I will seal the breach and hold GKS1 steady until you are ready."

"Understood."

"Standby to fire bow clamps."

"Standing by."

Ordering the World Navy about was something new, and Gordon was enjoying it. "Fire in Four..." He shot one final burst of oxygen into the cabin. "Three..." He removed the oxygen tube, the petals of its "flower" sealing the hole that it left behind. "Two..." The umbilical tube dropped free. "One..." Throwing Thunderbird Four into reverse he uttered his final command. "Fire!"

Two new cables dropped from the ship and clamped themselves to the submarine's hull, one of them covering the hole that had held the umbilical tube. Gordon wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. It would add to the seal, preventing the escape of oxygen and the ingress of water. But it also meant that the clamp's hold on the hull was compromised. Backing even further clear, Gordon got far enough away that the sub couldn't land on or destabilise him if the cables failed, but not so far that he couldn't immediately come to the submariners' aid.

GKS1 was being pulled out of the sea. It dangled, dripping water and with the large yellow balloon flopping against its side.

Gordon hoped that the balloon would maintain its integrity.

He could imagine the conversation going on, on deck. _"Target two metres below deck."_

"_All connections secure."_

"_One metre"_

"_Get the M-O out here."_

"_M-O waiting."_

"_500 millimetres..."_

"_250..."_

"_200 millimetres..."_

"_100..."_

"_Halt!"_

"_Bring it in."_

"_In position..."_

"_Lock it down."_

"_Get the Medical Officer in there now!"_

Then Gordon heard the voice of the skipper over the radio. "We've got GKS1 on board and the Medical Officer is checking the crew over. Do you require a ride anywhere, Thunderbird Four?"

"Thank you, but no," Gordon responded. "I'm decompressing myself, so I'll stay in Thunderbird Four and head to Garvelevick to meet up with the rest of the team."

"Well, if you're sure," the captain continued. "Thank you for your help, International Rescue. The crew of GKS1 wouldn't be in such good shape if it wasn't for you."

"Just doing my job." With a final goodbye, Gordon turned Thunderbird Four and set off. "Thunderbird Four to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five," Alan responded. "All finished?"

"All finished. I'm heading for Garvelevick. How are things going there?"

"I don't know. John's brought his last load to the surface. Scott's been too busy to communicate with me."

"And Virgil?"

"He's been quiet, but there's not much to talk about when all you're doing is hovering in mid-air."

"He's still only got pod two?"

"Yes."

"In that case I'll carry on heading for Garvelevick. I need to decompress anyway."

"What depth is your cabin at?"

Gordon checked his gauge. "One point five atmospheres."

"I hope you're comfortable, because you're going to be trapped in there for a long time until the rescue's over and Thunderbird Two has returned home, offloaded pod two, and collected pod four... Unless you feel like joining the Navy."

"I'm perfectly comfortable, thank you." To Alan's ears, Gordon sounded miffed by the suggestion. "I've got plenty of books and videos on my computer to keep me occupied. I can even send a few email messages to catch up with some friends."

"Those Navy guys were right. WASP does have it easy."

"And what do you do in your tin can all day...?"

"Hold on, Gordon..."

"What?"

"I'll be right back…" Gordon heard his brother's voice grow fainter as he spoke into another microphone. "Go ahead, John… I don't believe it! … But it doesn't make sense. … I can see that, but why…? How…?"

Gordon hearing only half a conversation, uttered a frustrated: "Alan!"

"Just a second, John, I'll link Gordon in…" Alan's voice was clearer on the line. "You haven't been talking to anyone else have you, Gordon?"

"Me? No, my signal's been too weak to communicate reliably with anyone except you. What's happened?

"I don't know, but we need to get hold of Scott now!"

_To be continued..._


	81. Chapter 81

They had arrived at Garvelevick.

John had made a point of congratulating Virgil on the flight before he headed down into pod two. There was an element of risk in what they were about to do, and he wanted to make sure that his brother was in the right frame of mind to do it.

Striding across the pod floor, he let himself into the Mole, strapped himself into the control seat, and fired up the video cameras that showed him the pod's interior. "I'm ready, Virgil."

"_Understood."_

The scene on the video screens began to more upwards.

Of course, it wasn't that the world around him was rising against gravity. He, in the Mole, was being lowered on a platform through the pod's floor. Thunderbird Two's hull passed before John's eyes and then he was outside and seeing the smoky ruins, framed by the close-sitting hills and cliffs, that made up the kowhelene plant. Beneath him was the narrowest stretch of beach.

The platform reached its lowest point and stopped.

"_Extending ramp."_

"F-A-B."

Another set of video cameras showed the ribbed surface that was sliding out from beneath the Mole before tilting downwards; its far edge settling onto the thin strip of sand.

"_Ramp locked into place."_

"F-A-B." John engaged the motors, drove down the ramp, and, kicking up sand behind him, easily climbed over the sea wall. Following the instructions on an on-screen map that Scott had sent through earlier, he drove away from Thunderbird Two. "Thanks, Virgil, I'm clear."

"_Understood."_

John didn't see the shadowy figure that had been concealed alongside one of the few standing structures. He didn't know that the figure made a dash up the ramp and into pod two as soon as he'd left. He didn't watch the ramp retract into the platform, trapping the figure inside the pod, before the platform was withdrawn into Thunderbird Two.

John had other things to concentrate on. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, John."

"Am proceeding towards first target."

"F-A-B… Ah… How was the release?"

"Smooth. I don't think it could have been any smoother two years ago. He was in the exact right spot, right height, and everything. It was more like driving off a highway off-ramp than out of a plane."

"Good. I'll let Dad know. He's pretending not to be, but he was concerned."

"Weren't we all? How's Gordon getting on?"

"He's sealed the valve and now he's going after the submariners."

"How are they?" John drove around a relatively intact building.

"They say they haven't suffered any injuries, but are running low on oxygen. Gordon's going to have to work fast."

"How's he going to get them to land?"

"We're working on that."

John continued forwards; following a signal to a point that Scott had picked earlier on. Crushing the remains of several smaller buildings under his tracks he homed in on a red dot on a map. The closer he drew, the bigger the dot became, until, finally, it filled the screen. Not prepared to waste time when lives were at risk, he sent the drill bit spinning, tilted it towards the ground, and moved forward.

Dirt sprayed everywhere.

He had been drilling for some time when he noticed that one of his screens changed. Little beacons of varying colours were showing. Encouraged, and knowing that the paler of those colours was his immediate destination, he pressed on, changing his drilling angle by one degree.

That beacon he was zeroing in on grew brighter, filling his screen. He slowed, not wanting to risk pushing the drill too far, his sensors telling him that he was only metres from breaking through to his target…

One metre…

Centimetres…

"_Mole! Cease drilling!"_

John frowned. There was an urgency to Scott's voice and this was enough to make him power down the Mole's engines. "Drilling ceased."

"_There's a massive subsidence. Do not move until my command."_

John responded with reluctance, but an understanding of the situation. "F-A-B." He sent a report up to Thunderbird Five.

"Are you getting a reading of any victims?" Alan asked, as they both waited for the approval to proceed.

"Yes…" John wasn't happy with what he saw. "Only one at this location, but it's yellow."

"Ah…" Alan had an immediate comprehension of John's concerns. A yellow beacon meant that whoever was trapped wasn't in good shape.

Desperate to keep his mind off that unknown person on the far side of the wall, and his fingers off the go-forward switch, John attempted to distract himself. "How's Virgil?"

"Quiet. I've been trying to chat with him to keep him company, in between keeping in contact with you fellas, but I don't think he's very happy with us."

"I don't blame him. We've spent months telling him that we understand and respect his decision, and then railroad him into doing the one thing he never wanted to do again. I'd be miffed with us too."

"I dunno, John. It seems to be more than that. He's responding to me, but he seems…" Alan evaluated his previous conversations. "Reserved? Like he has to consider what he's going to say before he says it."

"He's probably frustrated that things aren't happening any quicker..."

John wasn't usually an impatient man, life on Thunderbird Five taught him patience, but the paling yellow symbol and the knowledge of what it meant, gave the situation a sense of urgency. "This is the Mole. Any time soon would be good."

"_Just wait, Mole."_

"There's someone dying down here!"

"_Who won't survive if the ceiling collapses in on him."_

John bit back a: _I know._ And then a: _Why don't I take the chance?_ Scott was right. They only had one Mole. If anything happened to him or it, it would be more than two people endangered. It could be everyone underground at the facility.

"Don't rush him," Alan warned. "Scott's concerned about the stability of some of the buildings above ground."

"I get that," John conceded. "It's just frustrating to know that I'm this close to someone who needs help, and I can't do anything for them." Desperate to take his mind off what was happening only metres away, he checked the first aid cabinet, pulling out the items that he thought he might need. Basic kit; oxygen; defibrillator; IVs; stretcher; crush syndrome kit…

Crush syndrome kit? Seeing those words brought back memories of the last time International Rescue had used that piece of equipment. Then, there'd been three of them working to save a life… And they'd only just (thankfully) made it. This time, if there was a "this time", he'd be working alone.

Knowing that time would be of the essence, he placed the CS kit just inside the entrance hatch.

Then he returned to his seat and waited.

"_Move in, Mole."_

About time. "Understood. Starting Mole… Moving forward…"

The Mole regained its bite on the underground rock, dragged itself forward, and emerged into a world of blackness and chaos.

"Thunderbird Five to Mole. Any sign of flooding from the original explosion?"

"Negative, Alan. Any sign of flooding elsewhere?"

"There've been no reports of any. I'm keeping my fingers crossed."

"Me too... About to exit Mole."

As soon as the hatch was clear, John grabbed the basic kit and oxygen and leapt out of his craft, almost overbalancing on the rubble that strewed the floor.

Telling himself to calm down and slow down, he played his torch systematically around the room, hunting out the spot where a person lay, his life seeping out of him.

His torch found a scrap of material.

Was it only a "scrap" or was it part of a larger item of clothing still worn by its owner? Taking care, John hurried across the room. "Found him… ah, her."

He heard Alan's response. "How is she?"

John found a pulse. "Alive."

"Good."

"Just."

Alan was silent.

"She's crushed under a part of the ceiling." Knowing that there was no time to waste, John had already started doing what he could to make the woman comfortable. "Oxygen mask on… Assessing vitals…"

"Send her stats up to me. I can keep an eye on them."

"Just like last time." John's words were said without thought.

Alan's silent response was eloquent.

With one eye evaluating the scene and the other doing an equally thorough examination of the patient, John came to his conclusions. The most obvious being that this woman was in trouble.

Her lower torso and legs were pinned beneath a slab of concrete. Blood was pooling around her hips. But – in some ways this was more worrying – she hadn't moved nor shown any response or reaction to John's examination and requests for her to answer him. "How long ago was the initial explosion?"

"Erm… Three hours?"

John readied the first of many IVs. "Have there been subsequent explosions?"

"A couple."

"So, I've got a crush injury that could have been trapped for three hours or less."

"If it was three hours, you've still got an hour's window."

"We hope."

"Life signs are good, considering."

"I think I've found her ID… Her name is Hedda Shankland."

"I'll let the authorities know. What's crushed her?"

"Concrete beam." John made sure that the IV was flooding the women's system with fluids and then returned to his examination. "Hedda! Can you hear me, Hedda?" In case English wasn't her native language, he repeated the same refrain in several other local tongues.

There was no response.

John ran his hand down Hedda's side, trying to feel the extent of the compression and working to do what he could with the crush syndrome kit. "Thunderbird Five…"

A minute passed before he received a response. "Sorry, John," Alan said, "I was talking to Gordon."

"Things may not be as bad as we fear. The beam seems to be supported by at least one object, which may have been a filing cabinet. Hopefully it's enough to keep the blood circulating through her lower extremities."

"Well, she's rallied slightly since you inserted the IV, so you could be right. How are you going to remove the beam?"

"With the tripod cranes and jacks." John was already setting them up, clearing the floor of what debris he could and extending the tripods' legs so that they straddled the concrete and the cables suspended below had a firm grip of the obstacle.

"You have enough room above the beam?"

"Looks like it. It'd be easier if I had some help though."

"I wish I had a teleporter, so I could beam myself down there."

"I know, Alan, it was just a comment." John checked the connections.

"I could ask Virgil."

"No, you couldn't. And even if either of us were willing to involve him more than we already have, there's nowhere he could land. Thunderbird Two's too big… I can handle it." John returned to the Mole.

When he emerged again, he was wearing body armour, including a helmet. He was going to be operating the twin cranes remotely, but within striking range if one of the cables should snap whilst under load. Should that catastrophe happen, he didn't intend to be decapitated.

"Taking up the strain." He watched as each cable grew taut and then checked them all one last time to ensure that they had a secure hold of the concrete.

Time for the tricky bit.

"Hedda?" He knelt by her head. "If you can hear me, Hedda, I'm going to lift the beam off you. Remain calm. I'm trying to help you."

Hedda didn't respond.

Neither did Alan. Not that this worried John. His brother was keeping watch over three different danger zones; four, if you included Thunderbird Two, and he had his work cut out for him.

"Reeling in cables."

The motors in the junction box at the apex of the tripod began turning; pulling on the cables and the lump of concrete attached to them.

Something creaked.

In a hurry, yet not willing to rush things, John slowed the motors down and sped up the rate of flow from the IVs.

He checked Hedda's condition. "Pulse good. Blood pressure good. Oxygen intake good… Cables holding…"

Reassured, John increased the crane's power and the concrete beam rose quicker.

Now he was ready to install the jacks. As soon as the beam was high enough that he could wedge one beneath it, he stopped its climb and rammed the first support home on Hedda's right, before taking a quick walk around the tripod to the other side of the concrete to install the next. Hurrying past Hedda's feet, he slid the third jack into place and then, carefully stepping over the left tripod's legs, he was able to install the final one.

As one, the jacks rose in unison, assisting the cables with the strain until all were poised, ready for his next command.

Now John felt free to devote all his attention to the victim. A quick replacement of a couple of the IV bags and they were both ready for the next stage.

He froze.

Had he heard something? A creaking from the vicinity of the crane? No. It had to be the filing cabinet, flexing its steel casing as it was released from being pinned to the ground.

After another quick tour of the beam to check that the jacks were all holding, John told himself that all was well. From the crush syndrome kit, he withdrew a pressure suit. This was designed to reduce toxin flow into the body's torso and apply pressure to any bleeding wounds.

Installing the pressure suit beneath the crushed and bleeding legs was a challenge; one that involved sliding his arm beneath the concrete. But it had to be done and John, trusting his limbs to International Rescue's tripods and jacks, did it as quickly and efficiently as he could.

When he was satisfied that he'd done all that was possible, he told the cranes and jacks to continue their upward progress. As soon as the beam was clear, he sealed the suit about Hedda's body and inflated it, increasing the pressure at a uniform rate.

So far, things were going well.

That was until...

The initial explosion was followed at superhuman speed by a _ping! _This was followed by an equally mind-numbing, super-quick, reverberating _thwack_!

John found himself lying on the ground; stars dancing before his eyes.

He took his time before deciding on his next move, trying to work out what had gone wrong... And what was wrong with him.

The stars began to clear and he sat up, taking a deep breath against the small wavelet of nausea that washed up from his stomach.

Suddenly remembering where he was and what he was supposed to be doing, he turned back to Hedda.

IV flow good, oxygen flow good.

Blood pressure; suit pressure – both good.

Colour: terrible, but that was to be expected.

So, what had happened?

John turned his attention back to the crane and the jacks and knew immediately. The concrete beam, which had already withstood an inordinate amount of strain being blasted out of its role as a support structure, hadn't been as strong as he'd hoped. A large chunk of concrete had sheared off, releasing the tension in its attached cable. That cable had sliced through the cable next to it, which had snapped like a whip upwards and outwards and, he realised as he felt the gash in the side of his helmet, towards John.

Thanking his lucky stars, as the last of the dancing ones dissipated, John inspected the jacks. Each and everyone one of them had done their job, holding the weight of the concrete beam as the load had increased unevenly across them.

But he wasn't willing to trust any of them for any longer than necessary.

Calling a hover-stretcher over, he slid a plate beneath Hedda, before transferring her, on the plate, to the levitating platform.

The world did a quarter spin as he got to his feet using the rising stretcher to assist him. He followed it into the Mole and directed it to the infirmary area. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five. Go ahead, Mole."

"Have Hedda Shankland on board. Am getting her settled and then will be proceeding back to the surface."

"Understood, Mole. I'll alert the ambulance service. Anything to report?"

"She hasn't regained consciousness." John gave the injured woman a brief check over, detailing his findings out loud for Alan's benefit as he made sure Hedda was comfortable and at least had a chance of surviving the trip back to the surface.

Alan repeated his understanding and John hurried back to the Mole's control seat and told the mighty machine to reverse its course.

The first thing he saw when they reached ground level and he had opened the hatch, was an ambulance crew standing by, ready to accept his injured passenger. The second thing was the tall, seemingly unsupported, walls that threatened to crash inwards onto anyone trapped in the voids below. The third was the looming hills that formed the backdrop to the complex.

Alan having already given the medical services a full rundown of Hedda's condition, John was free to offload the woman and then climb back into the Mole. "Setting new coordinates." He sent the drill bit spinning and the Mole descending back into the hole it had just vacated.

He'd been drilling for five minutes, taking it slowly to not create any more disturbance than necessary, when he next got onto the radio. "Mole to Domo."

"_Receiving you, Mole."_

"How are you holding up? I'm heading back down."

"_No issues."_

"I'm not picking up any life signs in the vicinity of your subsidence and I'm going to be drilling away from you. I think you can release those walls."

"_Affirmative. Domo out."_

John changed frequency. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Thunderbird Five."

"How's Scott?"

"Huh?" On John's screen, Alan looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Is he okay? He seems… erm… Formal?"

"You mean not using our names?"

"And short speeches."

"I noticed that. I guess he's not happy that he's roped Virgil into a rescue when he said that was the last thing he'd do. He's shut down all external processes except those required to complete this rescue."

"I hope he realises that it's just as well he went against his word. We'd only be starting the rescue now if he hadn't. Hedda Shankland owes her life to that one decision…"

"And you."

John ignored the flattery. "Has Gordon worked out how he's going to get the sub back to land yet?"

"I was worried that we'd have to use Virgil's help again, but the Navy's steaming into town, so I'll see if I can enlist them."

John chuckled. "Being saved by the Navy. Gordon's going to love that."

"He's had to go EVA so he's going to have to decompress before he leaves Thunderbird Four."

"Will he have decompressed by the time he reaches Garvelevick?"

"I don't know. He's got plenty of time. Thunderbird Two will have to take you and pod two back to base and pick up pod four before he'll be able to leave Thunderbird Four. You might find yourself flying Thunderbird Two home… Unless Virgil decides that he doesn't want to give her up again and pushes you and Gordon out of the pilot's seat."

"I wish that was a possibility, but I decided that if he was going to change his mind, he would have done so months ago." John checked the victim monitors and veered out of his pre-drilled tunnel. "I'm seeing five life signs. All together."

"That's good."

"And a couple further on." There was a beep from the control panel. "Guess Scott's let the walls go. I've just registered some kind of seismic disturbance."

"If you're reading that from that far away and that deep, he was right to be cautious."

John agreed and drilled on for twenty minutes more. "Breaking through now."

The bit cleared the wall and the caterpillar tracks pushed the Mole into the void beyond.

Bringing the drilling machine to a stop, John opened the Mole's hatch and found himself face to face with what appeared to be the remains of a laboratory and five expectant people. "International Rescue at your service. Anyone hurt?"

He was prepared to repeat the question again in another language when a woman, who seemed to have more authority than the others, shook her head. "A few bumps and scratches, but we've patched them up." She indicated a depleted first aid kit.

"We weren't able to reach anyone," a man added. "What happened?"

John began to assist the group into the Mole. "Our understanding is that there was a blowback along the carbon sequestration pipe. We've manage to stop carbon dioxide leaking from the carbon sink, but now Thunderbird Four is getting the submariners who got caught in a secondary localised blast to safety… Sit over there and do up your safety harnesses."

"And the rest of the site?" a second woman asked as she obeyed John's instructions. "The explosion seemed huge! And with no one trying to contact us, and us not being able to contact them, we were beginning to think that we were the only ones who survived."

"There's a lot of damage," John admitted, as he helped a young man who was favouring his right leg into the vehicle and across to a seat. "But we're picking up a lot of life signs, including yours, so we're quietly hopeful." He decided against mentioning Hedda's injuries. "Do you know if anyone was working close by?"

"Magnusson and Harasymiak were working in the analysis lab," the leader of the group told him.

"And that's where?"

"Two rooms…" She stopped to get her bearings. "I can't recognise anything now. No, wait. That's where we got the first aid kit from…" She pointed one way and then another. "So that's where the analysis lab is. Two rooms that way."

"Then that's where we're going." John slid into the Mole's control seat, closed the hatch, and fastened his safety harness. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

Alan responded. "Thunderbird Five."

"I've got five on board," John told him, "and I'm heading for the analysis lab for two more." He was pleased to see that his beacon screen agreed with his statement and that both dots were brighter than Hedda Shankland's had been. "Names Magnusson and Harasymiak."

"I'll pass that information on."

Not worrying about creating any further damage, John engaged the Mole's engines and sent the great machine burrowing forward. He didn't have far to go before, once again, they were breaking through a wall.

The hatch was opened, and two surprised faces stared inside.

John didn't even bother vacating his seat. "Welcome aboard."

"What is this machine?" one of the men, John wasn't sure if it was Magnusson or Harasymiak, stepped inside.

"The Mole. Take a seat."

"A Mole?"

"Wait a minute," the other man, who had to be Magnusson by his nametag, was staring at a name stencilled on the wall. "Are you International Rescue?"

"That's right."

"Haras!" Magnusson slapped his companion on the upper arm. "This is THE Mole!"

"Huh?"

"The Mole!"

"The what?"

Magnusson rolled his eyes. "Don't you follow the news? At all?"

"You know I don't. What's a Mole? Aside from a small rodenty-type animal that lives underground."

"Rodenty-type," Magnusson snorted. "That's very scientific. Surely you've heard of International Rescue?"

"International Rescue…? Ah… They rescue… things…? Internationally?"

Magnusson grimaced at John. "I'd like to apologise for my colleague. He's the dictionary definition of the absent-minded scientist with the one-track mind. If he can't place it under a microscope, he's not interested in it."

John grinned. "Don't worry about it," he reassured him. "We've got one of those back at base. He's been known to forget his own birthday, party and everything, when he's been in the middle of a project." He gestured behind him. "Grab a seat and let's get out of here." He waited until he heard two clicks of two safety harnesses before he gunned the Mole back into life. "Next stop, the surface."

He heard a grumbled: "And it won't be soon enough."

There was little chitchat on the return journey, aside from the rest of the team explaining to Harasymiak exactly what International Rescue did.

John let them talk. He was concerned that ground about them was unstable and was being careful to ensure that they weren't about to create more problems to either themselves or those above ground.

With one final roar, the Mole crested the surface and settled onto its trolley.

After powering down, John helped his charges out of his craft and directed them towards the local rescue co-ordinators. He had to endure some enthusiastic handshakes and an "unbelievable" from Harasymiak, before he was able to climb back into the drilling machine. "Mole to International Rescue."

It was Alan who responded. "Thunderbird Five."

"Am I needed elsewhere?"

"I don't think so. Bring her back to the offloading zone and I'll check with the locals."

John did as he was instructed, reversing the Mole along its original path until he was able to find a point where he was able to make a three-point turn.

As he did, he spied something on the Mole's video monitors. "Mole to Thunderbird Five."

"Go ahead, John."

"Are you seeing this?!"

Through the video link, he could see Alan goggled reaction. "I don't believe it"

"You'd better believe it."

"But it doesn't make sense."

"I know it doesn't, but it's a fact."

"I can see that, but why…? How…?"

"_Alan!"_

"Just a second, John, I'll link Gordon in…" As John left the Mole's control seat and headed outside to confirm with his own eyes what his screens were telling him, he heard Alan ask: "You haven't been talking to anyone else have you, Gordon?"

"Me?" Gordon's voice was clearer now. "No, my signal's been too weak to communicate reliably with anyone except you. What's happened?

"I don't know, but we need to get hold of Scott now!"

"Why?"

It was John, staring at the great green craft before him, who answered. "Thunderbird Two's down."

_To be continued…_


	82. Chapter 82

_A long weekend. ;-)_

* * *

He pushed his protective hard hat back on his head, so that he could get a better view of International Rescue's mighty transporter.

Thunderbird Two, her nose jutting out over the destroyed plant and casting a giant shadow over the complex, hovered above him in mid-air. As he watched the massive green craft he allowed himself a moment's admiration at the almost unexpected skill the pilot was demonstrating. Not many would have the confidence to hover at such a low altitude and extend a ramp to allow a vehicle to evacuate the craft. Especially when said vehicle was as big and heavy as International Rescue's drilling machine. Surely the movement of the Mole would cause the slightest shift in the transporter's centre of gravity and send the aeroplane crashing to the ground?

But the tail, jutting out over the sea, remained level. Thunderbird Two seemed almost as stable as if she was powered down in her hangar back at base.

He couldn't have done any better.

Now he just needed to board her.

-F-A-B-

Scott had been on edge from the moment that he'd known that he'd have to enlist Virgil's help. He'd hoped that he'd relax after pod four had been collected from the sea. He'd hoped that he'd relax after pod two had been collected from Tracy Island. He'd hoped that he'd be able to relax now. But now he knew that that wouldn't happen. He wouldn't be able to relax until he was back on Tracy Island and had figured out some tangible way of making it up to his brother.

After his initial discussion with the local rescue team he'd returned to Thunderbird One. International Rescue was going to need a precise map of the complex and the location of those trapped inside it, and the quickest and most accurate map would be the one he made himself…

He was in the air when he'd received the first report. "Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One."

"Thunderbird One. Go ahead Thunderbird Five."

"Marine pod drop has been completed with no issues. Thunderbird Four is proceeding to danger zone. Thunderbird Two is returning to base to collect pod two."

"Understood, Thunderbird Five. Keep me informed."

But still Scott had been unable to relax.

Thunderbird One's ground penetrating radar was good, but was it going to be good enough to pick up those tiny signs of life?

The scan involved a careful tracking across the landscape. Any gaps in the data could mean that a heartbeat was missed and not recorded. Was Scott a good enough pilot to be able to hover close to the cliffs without his jets bringing the rocks crashing down on those below? Or a wing clip destabilising his own craft?

He thought he could do it.

_No_, he told himself. He _knew_ he could do it.

Acting as much out of instinct as conscious thought, Scott brought Thunderbird One's engines to life and the rocket plane lifted off the ground; as gentle as a feather wafting on a vertical updraft. Determined to keep the rockets away from the cliffs, he swung his ship around until she was parallel with the shoreline. A quick glance at the maps supplied by the locals told him where the underground complex began, and he lined his scanners up well before that mark.

He started scanning.

He was travelling at little more than twenty metres above the ground and keeping his speed slow and steady. Below him the beam from the scanner, as wide as Thunderbird One's wingtips, sought out signs of life below the debris. He could have made the scan wider to cover a larger area but, knowing how deep the complex went, he wanted maximum penetration into the earth. This danger zone wasn't so big that he wouldn't have every inch mapped out by the time Thunderbird Two returned.

Whenever that was going to be. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

"This is Thunderbird Five. Go ahead Thunderbird One."

"What is Thunderbird Two's ETA?"

"It'll roughly be three quarters of an hour before he gets to base. Maybe two hours before he returns?"

"Can you be more precise, Thunderbird Five?"

"Me? No. It depends on the pod transfer at home. And I haven't wanted to disturb Virgil while he's flying..." Alan hesitated. "But if you want me to ask…"

"No." Scott decided that, having forced Virgil into piloting Thunderbird Two, he wasn't about to force him to drag his attention away from his present task. "Just keep me informed of Thunderbird Two's progress."

"F-A-B… And Scott…"

"Yes, Thunderbird Five?"

"He's okay. I know he's not saying much, but he hasn't missed a beat nor put a finger wrong. Just because he's been out of the pilot's seat for two years, doesn't mean that he's forgotten anything. He can do this. You know that."

Scott didn't want to make that acknowledgement until this whole sorry saga was over. "Thunderbird One out."

He reached the end of his first scan. Pirouetting about a wingtip, so that he had a four-metre overlap, he started another twenty-metre wide lap of the kowhelene plant.

His complete scan took a little over an hour, with a break to acknowledge Thunderbird Two's arrival at Tracy Island and, in Alan's words "seamless collection of pod two."

But Scott couldn't relax.

Before coming in to land, he checked the scans to make sure there were no gaps, noting the signs of life on the display. There appeared to be one reasonably large group in that area, maybe three levels underground; and another over there… This one's signal wasn't as strong, perhaps because the individual was deeper… Or maybe because they'd been injured in the first blast. Whatever the reason, rescuing that individual would be the Mole's first priority.

There were some life signs in a building to port, and some in a building to starboard… Scott directed the locals towards them, concerned that there was a chance that the buildings could collapse before the Domo arrived. If they didn't he'd have to use the stabilising machine to shore up the walls and John would have to take control of the Mole alone.

Scott wasn't worried about that.

What worried him was the explosion.

He was just bringing Thunderbird One around to land when something astern blasted hot, fiery air and debris into the sky. As the shockwaves reverberated off the nearby cliffs, Thunderbird One's alarms started screaming and her computers kicked into action to keep her airborne. Scott's own reflexes flew over the controls, feathering the jets, and pulling back on the joystick to stop his craft from crashing. Thunderbird One responded with ease, turned on a pin, and sped out to sea.

Not giving himself time to get his heart rate back down to normal, Scott turned his ship back.

Before, Garvelevick had been a ruin. Now it was a smoking ruin. He told his scanners to seek out the heat source that was the seat of the explosion and overlaid that information on the scans he'd just made; noting that none of the victims had been directly affected by the blast, but that all were in a situation that was more precarious than before.

"Thunderbird One to Garvelevick Rescue."

"Garvelevick Rescue receiving."

"Anyone hurt down there?"

"No. How about you? That was an amazing bit of flying."

With a: "Good computers," Scott sidestepped the praise. "Do we know what happened?"

"At a guess, one of the oxygen cylinders exploded."

"Only one?"

"It seems localised. We have other cylinders scattered around the complex."

Scott resisted groaning out loud at the news. "I've done a scan of our known victims." He sent the results down to those on the ground. "Zone one isn't in immediate danger, but the victim in zone two is close to the fire source…" Scott checked his monitors and watched as the fire reached another building which, slowly at first and then with a mini-explosion, ignited. "Are there more cylinders in the vicinity?"

"Ah… Yes."

"Right. So, zone two is our priority."

"We'll see if we can get to them."

Whilst they'd been talking, Scott had been analysing the data that he was receiving. Something wasn't adding up and, at first, he couldn't work out what was wrong.

Then he knew. "The ground's subsided beneath zone two."

He heard the man on the ground curse. "We're checking it out."

Scott waited, telling himself that his uneasiness was pointless.

"The ground's too unstable. We can't get close."

"Are you able to deal with that?"

He could hear the stress in the other man's reply. "No. We're overstretched as it is. The rest of our fire crew are at the other end of the complex."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do from the air."

The first thing to do was find exactly where this individual was, confirm that they weren't injured, and ascertain a plan of attack.

Finding the person would be easy. So would fighting the fire. It was getting the trapped individual to safety that was going to be the most difficult… And the most important.

Scott gently leant on the joystick, encouraging Thunderbird One forward and towards where his sensors told him there was human life. The beacon homed in on a hole in the rubble, barely wide enough for a person to pass through.

If Scott was going to make this a successful rescue, he needed to know what condition the trapped person was in. Mindful of this, told an automatic system to load two items onto the end of a cable. Then, with the minutest of nudges to line the winch up with the hole, he moved Thunderbird One into place and lowered the cable.

It took some precision, trying to thread the length of composite materials down through the hole, whilst nearby a fire raged and oxygen cylinders threatened to explode at any moment, but Scott held his nerve and his aeroplane steady.

The end of the cable and its cargo disappeared through the hole.

He waited a moment to allow whoever was trapped to get over the shock of something intruding into their prison before speaking. "This is International Rescue craft: Thunderbird One. Can you hear me?"

He waited. Then he heard a voice over the radio; that of a woman. "Urm… Thunderbird One?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Good."

"What's your name?"

"Meghann Ferrato."

"Are you hurt, Meghann?"

"Ah… No? Just some bumps and bruises and a few scratches."

"Good. Feel free to use the first aid kit if you think you need it."

"Thank you?" The woman still sounded unsure of herself.

"We are going to get you out of there." Scott sounded confident. "But we're going to have to pull you through the hole vertically. Are you able to stand and get into a safety harness?"

"Stand? Yes, I can do that. There's enough room. Get into a safety harness…? Will it be tricky?"

"I'll give you instructions. Do you have enough light to see what you're doing?"

"Just."

"There's a light source in the first aid kit. Have you removed both it and radio from the cable?"

"Yes."

"Good. While I'm retracting the cable, strap the radio about your wrist. We don't want to lose communications with each other."

"No."

"Retracting cable." Scott told Thunderbird One to reel it in before entering another code. Following his instructions, the automatic system added a different attachment to the end and then beeped that it had completed its assignment. "I'm sending down the safety harness." He watched a video screen as the cable dropped lower and lower. "Approaching hole… Entering hole…"

"I can see it."

Meghann would need plenty of slack to be able to don the harness and Scott figured that half a body length should be enough. "Let me know when it's touched the ground."

"It's on the ground… Oh!"

Scott heard the exclamation of surprise and knew that a holographic image had been projected in front of the startled woman. "I need you to put the harness on, Meghann. Can you follow the hologram's instructions?"

"Follow the…? Yes… Yes, I can."

"Good. It will repeat on a loop until you let me know that you've got the harness on. Please make sure that you follow each step carefully. This is for your own safety." As Scott radioed her name through to the Garvelevick authorities, he imagined Meghann duplicating each step performed by the hologram; aided in his imaginings by the mutterings of _left leg through the hole_ over the radio.

"I have the harness on."

"Well done, Meghann. Push the red button in the centre of your chest harness. That will tighten it and ensure that you can't fall out." Scott watched as a flicker of flame licked at one of the walls adjacent to the cable. _Come on… Hurry up!_

"Ouch! That's tight! … I've done it. What do you want me to do about the first aid kit?"

"Don't worry about that… Taking up slack in cable."

"Garvelevick to International Rescue."

Scott kept his reply professional and succinct. "Go ahead, Garvelevick."

"The fire's spreading close to where you're working."

_I'm aware of that!_ "Thank you, Garvelevick. I'll keep a watch."

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One."

"Keep the airwaves clear, Thunderbird Five."

If Alan was miffed by his dismissal, he didn't show it.

With the radio waves quiet, at least in the short term, Scott was able to direct all his concentration back onto the task at hand. The hole wasn't very big, and he didn't want Meghann swinging into its sides at an inopportune moment.

"Erm… Thunderbird One?"

"Yes, Meghann?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine."

"It's just that I'm ready and you said you were taking up the slack and nothing's happened and I don't mean to tell you your job but it's dark in here and dusty and I can smell smoke and…"

"Whoa! Meghann! Calm down… I'm sorry there was a delay. There was some radio traffic I had to get out of the way. Retracting cable now." Through the monitor connected to the cable below him Scott saw the cable grow taut and then start to swing. "I'm going to stop retracting now and give the cable a chance to settle down. Okay?"

"Okay…"

"It's only for a moment and it's to make the trip up more comfortable for you. There… You're not swaying so much now, are you? Does that feel better?"

"Y-Yes."

"Retracting cable." With an iron grip on his controls, Scott held Thunderbird One steady as Meghann's head and hands appeared through the hole. He could see her blinking against the dusty and smoky sunlight. Her hands had a tight grip of the cable.

There were her shoulders… And her chest… Her hips…

Another oxygen tank exploded.

The shockwave radiated out across the compound, sending a fireball shooting straight up into the air, and bricks and blocks tumbling…

Directly in front of Thunderbird One's nose.

With not only his life, but Meghann's to worry about, Scott reacted the only way he could. He pulled back on his sidestick and gained altitude fast. Meghann swayed beneath him, only narrowly missing catching her feet on what had been a concrete floor as she shot out of her prison like a firework out of a bottle. Over the radio, Scott heard her yell as the cable snapped back beneath his craft.

He kept climbing until he was sure that they were well clear of any unwanted surprises. Then he opened the mic. "Sorry about that, Meghann. I had to put my foot down for both our sakes."

"I-I understand."

"I'm going to talk to the Garvelevick authorities to see where they are going to meet up with you. Don't panic. I'll get back to you in a moment." Scott changed channel. "Thunderbird One to Garvelevick Rescue."

Garvelevick Rescue's "Are you all right?" sounded like an echo from earlier. "How's Meghann Ferrato?"

"Had a bit of a shock, but she'll be all right. Where can I put her down?"

"There's an ambulance waiting at the top of the cliff. They can look after her and evaluate any injuries."

"Understood. Thunderbird One out… Can you hear me, Meghann?"

There was a moment's pause then: "Huh? Oh, sorry. I was looking at the view."

Scott managed a chuckle. "Can you see that ambulance dead ahead of us?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to drop you off there."

"Thank you, Thunderbird One."

"It was my pleasure, Meghann." Descending slowly, Scott allowed her feet to touch the grass before stopping. He entered a code. "Push the red button and the harness will loosen enough for you to step out of it." He increased the slack in the cable.

"It was cutting into me so much, that I doubt I'll be able to step anywhere." But, despite Meghann's negative prognosis, she slipped the harness off her shoulders and to her feet. As she walked clear, she gave a wave up to the rocket plane.

Retracting the harness, Scott acknowledged her wave with a waggle of his wings and turned back to Garvelevick. "Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Five."

He heard Alan's response. "Thunderbird Five."

"Zone two cleared. Am free to receive radio communications."

"Thunderbird Two at halfway point on return journey."

"Has Thunderbird Two given an ETA?"

"Negative. Virgil's not saying much at all, not even to John. I just saw that they'd reached the halfway point and thought you'd want to know. Do you want me to patch you through?"

_Yes. I need to know Virgil's all right and isn't mad with me._ "No. Let me know when Thunderbird Two's approaching danger zone."

"Okay... Just so you know; Thunderbird Four's sealed the CSS pipe and is preparing to bring the sub to the surface. We... erm... We may have to use, ah, Thunderbird Two to transport the crew to shore."

Scott could hear the uncertainty in Alan's voice as the suggestion was made. "That's a negative, Thunderbird Five."

"I don't want to do it either, but we may have no choice... Unless you can think of an alternative plan."

Scott couldn't. "Can Thunderbird Four escort them to port?"

"Negative. The sub's too badly damaged and the crew may be suffering from the bends. The sooner we can get them into a decompression chamber, the better. And Gordon had to go EVA, so he's going to have to decompress as well. Even if we could work out some way of getting him into Thunderbird Two, he's not in a fit state to pilot."

"Understood. Let me know if he has any issues. For now, get onto rescue HQ and see if they have any suggestions about the collection of the sub's crew."

"F-A-B. Thunderbird Five: out."

Unable to do anything about Thunderbird Four's situation, Scott took a moment to evaluate his own. One panic was over, but he still had work to do – starting with putting some of those fires out.

Once again Thunderbird One cruised across the danger zone. This time releasing an extinguishing compound designed to smother any flames it came into contact with.

It took Scott ten minutes to douse the entire complex with the fire-retardant foam and by the time his self-imposed task was complete, the local authorities had managed to release zone one – the group that had been trapped above ground level.

Scott allowed himself the luxury of a smile. Knowing that his services weren't going to be needed for that emergency, meant that he could concentrate on assisting John and the Mole.

He'd known almost as soon as he'd returned to the danger zone that they'd have their work cut out for them. Much of the ground had sunk, leaving a giant bowl in the complex. Any digging beneath the earth would cause the ground to subside even further, which would create a domino effect when unstable walls fell, compacting the ground beneath them, creating further subsidence, and trapping anyone underneath. Scott was going to have to ensure that none of those buildings collapsed any more than they already had. He'd picked a potential candidate for the Domo, but one machine holding up one wall wasn't going to be enough.

Swinging Thunderbird One around, he pointed her nose downwards towards the first of the unsound walls. When he was sure he was in the most optimal position possible, he sprayed everything with a fine mist that broke down the fire-retardant, hardened upon contact, and solidified, stabilised, and made the structure more rigid. There was still a chance that it could fall over, but at least that chance was minimised.

Satisfied that the first wall wasn't an immediate threat, Scott moved onto wall number two; then number three; then the Domo wall; and then finally…

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird One."

"Thunderbird One responding."

"Thunderbird Two's approaching Garvelevick. They've made good time."

"Good. Tell John that I've sent through the coordinates showing where he's got to start drilling. And tell him to go easy. I've rigidified some of the buildings, but they still could fall. There's one that I'll hold fast with the Domo."

"How many trips has he got to make?"

"Two. One victim is either deeper in the ground or in bad shape. That's his first target."

"I'll let him know."

"How's Thunderbird Four progressing?"

"I've made arrangements..." Scott frowned at the unprofessional chuckle in Alan's reply. "...for the World Navy to collect the sub. Gordon will decompress as he returns to Garvelevick."

"Has he experienced any issues?"

"Negative."

"Keep me abreast of all that's happening."

"F-A-B. Anything else?"

"Tell Thunderbird Two…" Scott hesitated. "Tell Thunderbird Two that we appreciate his… speed."

"F-A-B," and Alan signed off.

Having stabilised the final wall, Scott landed Thunderbird One. His landing zone was too close to the cliffs for his liking, but the subsidence to much of the surrounding landscape had limited his options.

Knowing he had to make the best of a bad situation, he lowered a hoverbike from One's undercarriage to the scorched and blackened ground, donned his protective hard hat, jumped on the 'bike, and motored towards the beach.

A dark silhouette crossed the landscape.

Scott arrived just as Thunderbird Two went into a low hover, her nose over the beach, her tail over the sea. Sheltering in the shadow of a building, he pushed his helmet back and watched as the platform was lowered and the ramp was extended. He saw the Mole, kicking up brick dust and sand, drive down the ramp and towards the first drilling point.

Under less stressful situations, Scott would have offered Virgil his congratulations and made some light-hearted, generous, and honest comment about how his brother hadn't lost his touch, but the second the Mole was clear, he was running up and onto pod two's platform. He crouched down, clipping a harness from his belt to a bolt on the floor. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. Retract ramp."

"Retracting."

As soon as the integrity of Two's hull was restored, Scott unclipped his safety harness and jogged across to the Domo. He climbed on board, stored his protective helmet, ignited the Domo's engines and, as sophisticated computers made complex calculations about the best way to maintain Two's centre of gravity, drove to the centre of the pod. "Lower platform, Thunderbird Two."

The descent was as gentle as a feather wafting on a summer's breeze. The ramp extended, and Scott drove the Domo forward and onto the beach.

He followed John's path before turning off metres before the giant borehole in the ground. Trying to keep vibrations to the minimum and keeping as far as he could from the buildings he'd secured, he circled around much of the complex until he was facing the wall that he earmarked for the Domo treatment.

His sensors told him that the ground was moving.

Scott was pretty sure that he knew why. "Mole! Cease drilling!"

He heard his brother's voice; frustrated, but obedient. _"Drilling ceased."_

"There's a massive subsidence. Do not move until my command."

"_F-A-B."_

Nudging the Domo forward, Scott pressed its three support cups against the rigidified surface and applied the backwards force that would hopefully stop it from toppling on top of those buried beneath.

"_This is the Mole. Any time soon would be good."_

"Just wait, Mole."

"_There's someone dying down here!"_

"Who won't survive if the ceiling collapses in on him." But even as he spoke, Scott doubled his efforts. He knew that John wouldn't have spoken like that if he wasn't genuinely concerned for the victim's health.

Finally, he was satisfied that it was safe to advance. "Move in, Mole."

"_Understood. Starting Mole… Moving forward…"_

Now Scott could do nothing. Nothing but wait whilst keeping a gentle traction on the wall and an eye on the dangers all around him.

Wait and try not to think.

He told himself to concentrate. If anything was going to collapse, he needed to be awake enough to warn John to take evasive action and to take action himself. If Gordon needed assistance, he needed to be awake enough to come up with the solution. If Alan needed to pass on a message from base, or the Garvelevick team, he needed to be awake enough to take in and respond to what was said. If Virgil needed affirmation, he needed to be alert enough to tell his brother that they all appreciated him putting himself out like this.

Time passed slowly as Scott transferred his attention from his feathering of the Domo's controls, to the screens detailing the stability of the land and structures around him, to Alan's reports from Thunderbird Five, to keeping an ear out for any attempts at communication from Thunderbird Two.

"Thunderbird Five to Domo."

"Domo. Go ahead, Thunderbird Five."

"John's got Hedda out alive. He's heading back to the surface as we speak. I've alerted the local ambulance service to take over her care. That'll free John up to head back down. There's at least one more group he has to rescue."

"Understood, Thunderbird Five. Let me know when I can release the Domo."

"F-A-B." And the radio waves were silent.

But not for long. _"Mole to Domo."_

Scott almost jumped at hearing John's voice. "Receiving you, Mole."

"_How are you holding up? I'm heading back down."_

"No issues."

"_I'm not picking up any life signs in the vicinity of your subsidence and I'm going to be drilling away from you. I think you can release those walls."_

"Affirmative. Domo out." It was with a sense of relief that Scott released the wall and backed clear.

The wall remained upright. Its torn edges standing proud in a gesture against gravity.

There was only one more rescue to complete, and that was below ground. As John had rightly said this last group were away from the subsidence and had little to fear from structures collapsing on top of them. This meant that, today at least, the Domo was now redundant. She couldn't be packed away as her pod, inside Thunderbird Two, was hovering some distance out in the bay. Since she'd have to return to the pod before the Mole, Scott decided that he may as well park her close to where she'd been offloaded.

The quicker they loaded the Domo and the Mole, the quicker they could get home. The quicker they could get home, the sooner he could begin to make his apologies.

Scott finished his task, vacated the Domo, climbed onto his hoverbike, and headed back towards Mobile Control.

He was greeted by the team leader of Garvelevick Rescue.

The other man chanced a nervous smile. "Have you nearly finished?"

"Nearly," Scott confirmed. "The Mole's in the process of releasing the last pocket of survivors. My scans showed that they were lucky. If any of them have been injured, it's not serious."

He saw the team leader relax in relief.

Scott indicated Mobile Control. "I won't pack anything away until we're ready to leave. Thunderbird Two will have to make two trips to…"

There was a shout from a member of Garvelevick Rescue.

"I'm needed." The team leader's worried expression returned. "Excuse me." He hurried away.

Scott waited to see if International Rescue's assistance was going to be required, but no one in the Garvelevick team looked his way.

In the distance the green bulk of Thunderbird Two hung in the air. A sentinel over Garvelevick's devastation and a reminder of what seemed to Scott to be almost an act of treachery.

He made a decision. Now that he was almost as redundant as the Domo, he had the time to make the first of many apologies. It wasn't something that he wanted to do in public, and so he vacated Mobile Control and started walking towards Thunderbird One.

He was halfway there when his world crashed down around him…

_To be continued…_


	83. Chapter 83

"Good day to you, Jeff." Lady Penelope and Parker, escorted by Grandma Tracy, entered the lounge. "We had a wonderful flight."

"Good."

If Lady Penelope was surprised by the curtness of her employer and friend's manner, she didn't show it. "Your mother has informed us that the team is on a mission."

"Yes," Jeff growled. "_The Team_…The team _including_ Virgil."

"Virgil?" Lady Penelope permitted the smallest of frowns. "Has he changed his mind about his membership of International Rescue?"

"No, he hasn't. We forced him to go because we needed an extra pair of hands. And if _you_ had been doing _your_ job properly and had found someone to replace him, _we_ wouldn't have forced him into a situation that he didn't want to be in, and _we_ wouldn't have someone without adequate training operating in the field!"

The response to Jeff Tracy's outburst was an admonishing, "Mr Tracy!", a more scolding "Jefferson!", and a surprised, but otherwise unconcerned, "Jeff?"

He realised that he'd over-reacted. "I'm sorry, Penny. I know you've been doing your best. And we do have strict criteria for potential candidates."

"And it appears that you have found the ideal candidate without my assistance."

"This is a one off. If the rescue hadn't been sea and land-based, requiring Thunderbird Two to make two equipment supply runs, we wouldn't have asked for his help. But we needed someone with the skills and experience to fly Two. I hope we haven't overestimated his abilities."

"Has he flown Thunderbird Two since his accident?"

"Only on that flight on the day after he'd resigned, to prove to everyone, including himself, that he'd made the right decision. And, apparently, although today is the first I'd heard of it, in the simulator."

"So 'e h-ain't gone completely cold turkey," Parker offered. "'E'll be harll right, Mr Tracy."

"I don't doubt that, but I can't help feeling that we've betrayed him."

Lady Penelope claimed an easy chair with the grace suited to her position and belying her vocation. "Is that how Virgil feels?"

"I haven't spoken to him," Jeff admitted. "All communications have been through Alan," he glanced up at the second to last portrait. "And he said that Virgil's not been saying much."

"I shouldn't worry about that," his mother reminded him. "All he's had to do is pilot Thunderbird Two and then standby until his brothers need him for the return journey. Alan won't have had the time for real conversations, and Virgil will be bored…"

-F-A-B-

Virgil might have been bored, sitting alone in Thunderbird Two with nothing to do. He might have been bored if he hadn't been dealing with a confusing maelstrom of thoughts.

It had been two years since he'd been here, sitting at the controls of Thunderbird Two.

It had been two years since he'd been on a rescue… At least a genuine International Rescue rescue.

It had been two years since he'd nearly lost his life.

It had been two years of watching the stress his family went through each time one of his brothers was endangered, injured, or almost killed.

He didn't want to be here.

But why was he feeling so confused?

It had to be because he was sitting at the controls of Thunderbird Two.

Things had changed. Equipment had changed. The pilot's seat was a fraction lower to compensate for Gordon being a fraction taller. That button wasn't there before. That panel wasn't that colour before. The pilot's seat had been reupholstered. The control yoke had been replaced. There wasn't the old feeling of familiarity. There wasn't the old feeling… no… certainty, that he was at one with his craft.

Thunderbird Two wasn't Virgil Tracy's aeroplane anymore.

Virgil wanted nothing more than to go home and pour his confusions into his piano.

That was a thought. Maybe music would help to calm him down?

Talking himself through every step of the process; desperate to convince himself that he wasn't about to do something catastrophic like press the ejector seat button; Virgil brought up Thunderbird Two's playlist.

Gordon's song.

Gordon's song.

Alan's song.

Gordon's song.

John's song.

Even Scott's song.

There was nothing that resonated with Virgil today. No tune that matched or soothed his emotions, or could pour oil on the restless turmoil of his mind.

He wasn't even sure what emotions he was feeling. Here he was, trapped in an aeroplane, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. He wished he'd had the time to grab his tablet before he'd been forced to… No. That wasn't fair. He hadn't been forced. He could have said "no" and he didn't, so he was as much at fault for finding himself in this predicament as the rest of his family. But still he wished he'd grabbed his tablet before he'd been "asked" to assist on this rescue. Then he could have whiled away these long, tense, confusing hours, drawing, or composing, or ordering spare parts for his restoration project.

He felt like leaping to his feet and pacing up and down the flight deck, but restrained himself. If his brothers needed his assistance, they might need it instantly, and he knew from prior experience that even the second wasted dashing to the pilot's seat and strapping himself in, could be a second that was better spent in flight.

But, as an act of rebellion, although he did have his safety harness on, he didn't have it done up tight.

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two."

_Go away, Alan. I don't feel like talking to anyone._ "Thunderbird Two, receiving."

"Do you know how good it is to hear your voice saying that?"

Virgil let his silence make a comment more eloquent than words could have done.

"I know…" Alan sounded contrite. "Piloting Thunderbird Two's the last thing you anticipated doing today. But you must know how grateful we all are that you were willing to step in like this."

_I do, but don't expect it to happen again._ "How are things progressing?"

"Gordon's bringing the submarine to the surface. The World Navy's going to retrieve it and take it back to shore. Their ship has got a decompression chamber and a doctor on board, so the submariners will be looked after."

_That's good._

There was an uncertain chuckle. "But I don't think Gordon was that pleased to have to rely on the Navy's help. It upset his WASP sensibilities... Ah... He had to go EVA, so he's going to have to decompress too. Once he's finished transferring the submariners, he'll start motoring back to Garvelevick."

_I could go and collect… No, I couldn't. _"What is John doing?"

"He's in the Mole. He's found one woman who'd been crushed by a concrete beam and he had to release her without any help. I think it brought back bad mem…" Alan cleared his throat. "Anyway, he got her out alive, and that's always a good thing."

_He shouldn't have had to do that alone. Couldn't I have…? _"What is Scott doing?"

"By all accounts the initial explosions trashed the complex. He's been using the Domo to ensure that nothing falls in on those underground…" Alan paused. "You know that he feels really bad about roping you in like this? He's put the shutters up and the only stuff that's getting through is anything directly related to the rescue."

_Don't worry about me, Scott. _"You needed my help."

"We did. We really did. But… Like I said, he's feeling really bad that he involved you. But don't be mad at him…" There was a pause. "It's my fault."

_Huh?_ "Your fault?"_ No, it's my fault for saying yes. _

"Yeah. Urm, a while ago I suggested to the rest of the team, that is, I mean, our brothers, that we should trick you into taking part in a rescue."

Unable to believe that anyone would dare risk suggesting such a thing, Virgil stared at his youngest brother.

"Yeah. That's about the look Scott gave me. He was completely against the idea. Not only because you're out of practice; even though we all thought, and you've shown, that you wouldn't have any issues; but because he didn't want to be disloyal to you. You've made your position clear, and he made his position clear that he would never use his position to force you to, erm, back down from your position. And now that he's had to reverse his position and ask you to help… He's found himself in a bad position."

_Oh-kay… I'll analyse that later and see if it makes sense. _"How much longer before everyone's finished?"

"Gordon's going to try to time his return to Garvelevick so that he's fully decompressed by the time he gets there. John's onto the easy rescues, and Scott'll be able to stand down the Domo soon." Alan managed to drag up a cocky grin from somewhere. "Everyone above ground's safe, so you can expect a call from him then."

_To check up on me. To see if I'm mad with him. To see if I want to…_ "I thought you said he'd put the shutters up."

This time Alan showed no pretence at being upbeat. "He has. But only because he's got a major case of the guilts. You know that the first chance he gets he'll start grovelling." There was a sound behind him, and Alan half turned away. "Gordon's calling me…"

_Should I offer to go and collect him?_

"I'll call again soon, okay?"

_Don't bother. I have nothing to say to… _"Okay."

And Virgil was alone again. Alone with only his thoughts for company.

He thought about what Alan had said. He considered his feelings and how he felt towards International Rescue, and came to a decision. When he got home he'd tell his father, and Scott, and _everyone_, that today was an aberration and that it was never going to happen again. It was time they stopped messing about and finding excuses and make a real effort to find someone to replace him. He was never, NEVER, going to be put into this situation again. His days with International Rescue were over!

Virgil caught his breath.

Something was pushing down on him. Squeezing him. Crushing him. He was almost smothered with an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu as he was transported back two years to ACE where he was trapped and dying…

Wait a minute…

Something was different…

Last time, and it hurt to remember this, but Virgil knew that he had to; last time it was only his lower torso and left hand that had been crushed and immobilised. Why then were his shoulders, and upper chest, and right arm also feeling constricted? Why did he feel like gasping for breath? Why had he lost control of what was happening to his body?

And then he knew.

He knew with certainty that he had to regain control. And he knew how.

Tightening his safety harness, Virgil engaged Thunderbird Two's forward motors.

-F-A-B-

_Breathing wasn't supposed to be this difficult... _

_Was it?_

Scott's initial thoughts were a confused mess of everything and nothing.

Something had happened and, at first, he wasn't sure what. Then, as his mind cleared, he became aware of being trapped; of being pinned; of being unable to move…

Of being unable to breathe.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he evaluated his situation.

He was trapped.

Something, he didn't know what, had started a chain reaction. Maybe one of the buildings he'd been so careful to ensure didn't fall, had fallen? The concussive forces of the collapsing building may have released the loose rock, and stone, and dirt off the cliff face. He'd had the misfortune that it had fallen as he'd skirted it to get to Thunderbird One…

Entombing him up to his neck against a wall of rock.

Panic almost overtook him, and he squirmed, desperate to get free of the suffocating, constricting earth. As he wriggled, the smaller grains settled more tightly about him, compacting and squeezing the life even more out of him.

He told himself – he _made_ _himself_ – calm down, and told himself to take a deep breath.

Except he couldn't.

The compressing soils stopped his chest from expanding fully, and when he breathed out they settled even closer.

He was, he knew, slowly suffocating.

The realisation was enough for panic to set in again, but he told himself that panic would achieve nothing. Panic would make things worse. Panic would kill him before anyone would have a chance to realise that he was in trouble.

But how could he let them know that he was in trouble?

When the world had crashed down about him, Scott had done the only thing he could do. He'd instinctively raised his arms to protect his body and face. But now his arms were just as entombed in the concrete-like earth as the rest of him. As he surveyed his world, his eyeline just centimetres above ground level, he could see the fingers of his left hand, poking through the soil, a hand's width away from his face. If he could expose his wrist, then maybe he could reach his watch and send an SOS to Alan in Thunderbird Five?

Putting all his energy into this one action, Scott flexed the muscles of his left arm and pushed upwards. Then he pushed sideways to the left… Sideways to the right… Away from him… Towards him… And as he attempted each movement, he felt the dirt pack more tightly around his arm. Worse still, his efforts increased his rate of respiration and the earth about his chest became even more compacted.

_Keep calm and evaluate your situation._

Get some control again; that was important. Know your enemy; even if that enemy was tons of earth and rock. Take stock and discover what was in your favour.

Looking around Scott realised it wasn't much.

He gazed along the dirt that felt like it stretched out miles before him to see if his destination, Thunderbird One, had been damaged, but he didn't think the rockfall had reached it.

Not that she could help him.

Mobile Control wasn't within his line of sight, so he couldn't hope that maybe it would pick up some stray communication. The local workers were also out of sight.

He had no way of calling for help.

Scott told himself to keep still and relax. He'd have no chance of survival if he didn't.

But what chance of survival did he have? He couldn't rescue himself and he couldn't let anyone know that he was in trouble. By the time his brothers finished each of their individual missions and realised that he wasn't at his post, it would be too late. And would they even find him then? A head and some fingers poking above the dirt? What if more of the cliff were to fall on top of him? Was that likely?

Scott looked up.

Above his head loomed a boulder jutting out from the crumbling surface of the cliff. Was that an integral part of the bedrock that nothing short of a blast from Thunderbird One's cannon could shift? Or was it the reverse of an iceberg, with two thirds of its bulk exposed and waiting for a mere shift in the breeze to send it toppling?

_Don't panic. You mustn't panic. You are in control._

Except that Scott Tracy knew that had lost all control over his destiny.

-F-A-B-

Virgil Tracy knew who he was looking for, but he didn't know why or where. Thunderbird Two's scanners and readings were telling him nothing. He gave the briefest consideration to giving Thunderbird Five a heads up, but theorised that, with the rest of the team underground and out to sea, there nothing that any of them could do other than jeopardise their own rescues.

He saw Thunderbird One standing just clear of a rockfall that had cascaded down from nearby cliffs and decided that the International Rescue craft would be a good place to start searching.

-F-A-B-

Scott saw the great green bulk of International Rescue's transporter craft fly into his field of view. He wanted to holler, and scream, and jump up and down and wave his arms in the air to attract his brother's attention.

But he could do none of that. He could barely breathe, let alone move, and so he watched in helpless resignation as the green beacon of hope flew slowly past him.

-F-A-B-

Virgil reached Thunderbird One and hovered above it. The rocket plane looked abandoned, and something told him that his supposition was correct.

Where to now?

He could see no reason to continue searching beyond Thunderbird One. There was little damage after this point and there was nowhere for Thunderbird Two to land. Time for a methodical scan.

Virgil turned the control yoke, intending to retrace his path.

Something, he didn't know what, made him stop. Almost without conscious thought he reached out for the switch the controlled one of Two's many video cameras and focussed it on the top of the cliff. Then he allowed it to track downwards…

-F-A-B-

Scott, his lungs burning as they fought for each agonising breath, had almost told himself that it was time to give up when he saw Thunderbird Two turn to face him. Hope, not so much swelled as flickered, inside him. He waited with bated breath to see what the mighty craft did next.

The great aeroplane started moving.

Scott couldn't believe it. She was moving towards him! Her nose was pointed directly at him! But what could she do at that height? She couldn't get close enough to him to allow someone to rappel down, thanks to the proximity of the cliff and that overhanging boulder. The debris field was unstable, he could feel that, and any attempts to walk on it would be dangerous – not only to the rescuer, but also the victim when the rescuer's weight compacted the dirt around him even more.

Scott needed to warn Thunderbird Two's crew about the danger they were placing them all in!

But he couldn't move. He watched helplessly as Two grew closer; a panel opening down beneath her nose. He didn't have time to consider what the panel was for and what the crew's plan was when eight projectiles shot out. Spears, he knew what they were made of, but his brain didn't seem to want to tell him at that moment, embedded themselves in the rock above him, forming a barrier between that balancing boulder and the helpless man below it.

If Scott could have made a sigh of relief, he would.

Thunderbird Two turned away.

Seconds earlier, this sight would have sent Scott into a rage of despair, but now it allowed that feeling of hope to swell in intensity. They knew he was here. They knew he was in trouble. And they were going to get him out of there.

-F-A-B-

_How am I going to get him out of there?_

Virgil knew that he couldn't effect a rescue from the air. He was alone and there was no one to manipulate the grabs, nor hold Thunderbird Two steady whilst he rappelled down. And once he got there, what was the surface like? Could he approach Scott without endangering either of them?

No. This mission required a land-based attack.

A flick of a switch and glance at the scanners showed him that there was one place where Thunderbird Two could land. That it was going to be more than a bit of a squeeze didn't even occur to him, as he manoeuvred the great craft around to line up with his intended landing zone. His hands flew over the controls as he feathered this jet, and powered that jet, and regulated this aileron, and adjusted that flap, and fine-tuned the rudders, elevators, and stabilisers.

Thunderbird Two touched down, crushing the remains of several buildings into powder.

Virgil had no sooner told her to raise up onto her legs and expose her pod when he was running through his craft. There was only one machine at his disposal, but this was the machine he needed.

The pod door was already opening when he clambered into the Firefly and ignited her engines. With a roar that Scott probably heard, he floored it, and the auxiliary vehicle launched itself out of its resting place and down the ramp before the door had reached its nadir.

Lowering the scoop, Virgil sent the Firefly ploughing through the remains of a building as he carved out the shortest route to the danger zone.

He arrived at the wall of rocks and debris and stopped.

Once again, he was out of his seat and running towards the rear of his craft. Delving into various cupboards and lockers he pulled out a medical kit and a jetpack. Slinging the latter onto his back, he cradled the former in his arms and stepped outside. The jetpack ignited, and he was flying above the loose platform of gravel and dirt and towards his brother.

Scott watched his approach, trying to look cool, calm, and in control; and not out of control, lightheaded, and terrified to within an inch of his life.

Hovering horizontally above the dirt so he wasn't touching the unstable surface, Virgil greeted his brother without ceremony. "Don't try to move." Dragging an oxygen cylinder out of the medical kit, he unravelled the mask before, with a: "Let's get this on you," he placed the mask gently over Scott's face.

Scott inhaled the sweet, cooling oxygen. The burning of his lungs lessened, and his head cleared somewhat. Perhaps he could try speech?

"Don't try to say anything," Virgil warned. Then he moved back and held his hands out to the side. "And don't move anything except your eyes. Look at my right hand... " he waved it, "...for yes. Left hand for no. Is your neck sore?"

Scott made a point of looking at his brother's second hand. _No._

"Is your back sore?"

_No._

"Is your head sore?"

_No._

"Any injuries? Are you in pain?"

Pain? Scott decided that he wasn't in any pain. Discomfort; even acute discomfort; yes, but he didn't think anything was broken or bleeding. He shook his head.

The movement allowed Virgil to relax a smidgeon and he lowered his hands. "Let's get rid of some of that dirt." He began scraping at the pebbles and rocks around Scott's chin and upper chest. His nails broke, were shredded and filled with gunge, but he kept on digging until as much dirt was falling back into the hole as he was releasing. Then he stopped. "I know you said that your neck's not hurting, but I'd be happier if I were to put a neck brace on you. Okay?"

_Don't make it too tight._

Almost as if he'd obeyed the unheard instruction, Virgil wrapped the brace around his brother's neck, making sure that it offered support, but didn't restrict the airway. Then he began clearing away some of the dirt from around Scott's protruding fingers. "I'll put a monitor on here and then I can keep an eye on you while I use the Firefly to clear away some of this rubble."

Scott, the movement restricted by the brace, nodded his understanding. As the last of the dirt was pulled clear he moved his fingers in a pincer movement, catching his brother's hand in his fingertips.

Surprised by the gesture, Virgil pulled free.

Then he reached out again, grasping Scott's exposed digits in a solid, reassuring hold. "You never gave up on me, and I'm never going to give up on you," he said softly. "Remember that."

Scott nodded, managing a slight smile as the reassuring grasp of life was released and a monitor placed over his index finger.

Virgil checked the monitor's readings; his face expressionless. He reached for the medical kit. "I want to get some fluids into you, and there's only one way I can. Do you trust me to do this?" He tore open a packet, cracked open the neck brace, and started cleaning his brother's throat.

_Of course, I do._ Scott nodded.

He barely flinched when the cannula entered the vein in his neck. His lungs were starting to burn again.

Virgil made sure that the IV fluid was flowing freely. Then he moved back, making a point of fixing his brown eyes on Scott's blue ones. "I'm going to…"

There was a sharp crack from above them.

Virgil barely had time to analyse the source of that noise before he was reacting to the danger. Hoping that the jetpack wouldn't lose power and cause him to crash onto his unprotected brother, he threw himself above Scott's head to act as a human shield. Buffeted by the torrent of pebbles and rocks that fell through the gaps in the protective fence formed by Thunderbird Two's projectiles, neither man could do anything other than brace themselves as the biggest boulder of them all teetered, fell, hit the barrier, and slid clear. It landed on the rockfall with a concussive, compressing thud that showered the immediate area with more dust.

And then it was quiet.

Coughing from where he'd inhaled that dust, body aching from the bruises that were forming, and blood oozing from minor scratches to his face, Virgil told the jetpack to gain height and move away. Concerned, he moved back into Scott's field of vision. "Are you okay?"

_Not really._ Scott nodded.

Virgil looked unconvinced as he checked that the oxygen cylinder was undamaged and the flow unimpeded. Scott's breathing was becoming audible; a gasping wheeze that was as much a call for action as if he'd been begging for help.

There was nothing more he could do. Grasping Scott's hand and locking eyes with his brother Virgil gave him the bad news. "I have to leave you now…"

He felt a twitch from the gritty fingers beneath his.

"…I'm going to use the Firefly to clear this rubble away. As soon as I can dig you out safely, I'll be back."

_Don't leave me!_ Scott nodded.

Virgil hesitated. He'd seen an unfamiliar expression in Scott's eyes. "How about I give you something to make this easier for the both of us?"

Every breath was a painful fight for existence. But at least that pain told Scott that he was still alive. Did he want that certainty taken away from him?

Virgil was already preparing an injection of anaesthetic and inserting the needle into the IV line. But, before he pressed the plunger, he gripped the exposed fingers one last time. "It won't be long, and it'll be all over," he promised, as he forced the drug into the IV line.

He watched as Scott's eyelids drooped and closed, and his head lolled forward. He felt the tense fingers go limp and slip free of his grasp.

Needing to ensure that his brother's airway remained open and receiving as much oxygen as possible, Virgil carefully tilted Scott's head back against the neck brace. Then he held the hand one last time, giving the unresponsive fingers a final squeeze. "I won't be long."

And then he was out of there. Flying at the fastest speed that he could coax out of his jetpack. He reached the edge of the rockfall and touched down, dropping what remained of the medical kit as he ran at full speed toward the Firefly.

"Hey!"

With a silent curse, Virgil skidded to a stop.

It was the leader of Garvelevick Rescue and he looked concerned. He squared up to the man he'd never seen before and had no insignia to show that he was a member of International Rescue. "Who are you?"

It was only then that Virgil realised that he was wearing his standard work overalls. "I'm Thunderbird Two's pilot. I was doing some maintenance when we were called here. I haven't had time to change."

"Well…" The Garvelevick evaluated what he'd been told, the dirt and scratches on the other, and what he'd seen and heard, and reached the conclusion that this man could be the real deal. "We were told you couldn't land. What's wrong?"

"It's my" _brother_ "colleague. He's been trapped by the rockfall."

The other man paled. "Trapped? You mean crushed?"

"The rockfall's compressing his chest and he can't breathe. He's in a bad way. I've given him oxygen and fluids, but he hasn't got much time."

"Let us help."

"You can't do anything yet. Not until that dirt been cleared – it's too unstable. Have you got a bulldozer or something similar?" Virgil was disappointed to see the Garvelevick representative shake his head. "Then stand back." He jogged over to the Firefly with one parting instruction. "As soon as I give the word, send your paramedics in."

He wasted no more time climbing into the Firefly and hitting the ignition switch. The mighty machine bunny-hopped forward and he cursed once more. Carry on like this and Garvelevick's concerns about his identity would resurface. Telling himself to calm down he pressed down on the accelerator again as he tuned a monitor into Scott's stats.

They weren't as good as he'd hoped.

He approached the rockfall.

Pushing forward at an angle that would steer the debris away from his entombed brother, he watched as the various dials worked their way up to the red. He needed as much power as he could coax out of the machine, but he didn't need to blow its engine and destroy any hopes of Scott's survival.

His mind flashed back two years to ACE. Then he'd been using the Firefly to push an obstacle clear to save someone important to him. But now it seemed even more urgent.

The scoop pushed its first load clear and Virgil resumed his assult, his second foray attacking the pile of earth from another angle. The third brought him closer to the cliff face.

He continued on. Continuously evaluating the best angle of attack and monitoring Scott's condition. The pile of rocks and earth was slowly decreasing…

But so were Scott's oxygen levels. He was dangerously close to heart failure.

Raising the Firefly's scoop, Virgil drove up to the rockfall next to the cliff face. Then he released the scoop mechanism in an uncontrolled free-fall. The lower part of the scoop's blade dug into the earth and he slammed the vehicle into reverse, dragging screeds of debris with him. Then he repeated the action again.

Once he'd got as close to Scott as he dared, he moved a little to the right and resumed his assault.

He was startled by movement to his left outside the Firefly. A group of people swarmed the edges of the debris field, close to the dangerous cliff face, digging industriously and dragging large clumps of earth clear.

He sent them an unheard thank you, raised the scoop, and dropped it back down. This time, as he dragged the soil and stones away he realised that more was falling with him. The weight of the huge boulder was pressing down, pushing the earth beneath it outwards. This was a bonus at the margins where he and the others were working, but would be adding to the pressure already afflicting Scott's torso.

Virgil scraped one more load clear until he was right next to the boulder.

This was going to take some finesse. If he wasn't careful he'd push this monster of a stone closer to Scott or the unprotected diggers who were fighting to save the man who'd helped save so many of their own.

The leading edge of the scoop dug into the top layer of the rockfall and cut beneath the boulder, but, with the scoop's support struts impeding access, he couldn't get close enough to lift it clear. Once again Virgil threw the Firefly into reverse and dragged what rubble he could out of the way, smoothing it down to make a ramp.

The next time he attacked, he drove up onto the ramp, gaining some much needed height. He dropped the scoop, cut under the boulder and, with a nudge forward and a gentle rock back, lifted it clear. Dirt and stones fell through the viewport hole and ricocheted off the Firefly's fuselage as he carried the weight clear and dumped it well away from all the activity.

Then he returned, raised the scoop, and prepared to drag more rubble clear.

That was until he heard a shout and saw someone wave their arms at him.

Abandoning the Firefly, he ran across to where the men were working, stopping just short of joining them. There were enough people there fighting to save Scott's life. They didn't need another getting in their way – no matter how desperate he was to help.

The man from Garvelevick saw him and came over. "They've cleared the dirt from around his chest, so he's getting more air…" He indicated a second man, this one in a paramedic's uniform. "Can you give us details of the injuries sustained and the treatment you've give him?"

"I don't know much," Virgil admitted as the paramedic took notes. "He didn't have enough air to talk, but when I asked him if he was injured he shook his head. Of course, knowing Scott, that could be bravado to stop us from worrying."

The paramedic made a note. "His name's Scott?"

"Yes."

"I see he's got a neck brace on. Has he got a spinal injury?"

"Not that I'm aware of. He told me that he doesn't have any head, neck, or spinal pain."

"He was talking?"

"I told him to look at my right hand for yes, left hand for no."

The paramedic nodded his understanding.

"The problem is that each time he breathes out the dirt settles closer around his chest, so he can't drag in as much air on the next breath."

The paramedic nodded again and made a note.

"I thought that if he wasn't consciously fighting to breathe, the compression would happen slower." Virgil explained about the IV and the anaesthetic. "I've put a monitor on his finger and I've been following his stats..."

"Can you send through those to here?" The paramedic held up a tablet.

Virgil did so. "His oxygen levels have been dropping. I've been worried that he'll suffer heart failure."

"Well, you can stop worrying." The paramedic indicated the intense activity before them. "They've got him out." He pushed a stretcher closer.

Virgil's instinct was to follow him, to do what he could to help and to just reassure himself that his brother was alive, but he held himself in check. The team didn't need him getting in the way and his monitor wasn't screaming that something serious had happened. But even knowing that the anaesthetic would still be working, didn't make seeing the lolling head and limp limbs any easier to take.

Scott, his back pressed up against a stabilising board, was eased into a rescue worker's arms, and gently pulled clear. Another jumped into the hole that had just been excavated, grabbing and lifting his legs. Together they carried the unconscious man towards the stretcher and laid him down.

As the paramedic changed the IV bag to something that didn't contain a knockout drug, Virgil took the opportunity to move closer, relieved to see that the oxygen mask was still fogged up. But it was a relief tempered with concern.

Scott was coated with mud and dirt and, despite the oxygen feed, his skin was grey and his lips blue.

He showed no signs of waking up.

_To be continued…_


	84. Chapter 84

"Thunderbird Two's down."

"What!?" Those listening in heard Gordon's exclamation of surprise and concern. "Down? Do you mean she's crashed?"

John started walking closer to the great, green aeroplane. "I don't think so…"

"She's intact," Alan confirmed. "At least, I'm not getting any readings of catastrophic failure or damage." His brothers waited as he tried to find someone who knew the full story. "Scott's offline."

"Offline?" John echoed. "What do you mean offline? Try his watch."

"I've tried his watch. I've tried Mobile Control. I've tried every means of contacting him that I can think of, and none of them are working."

"Are they not working, or is he not answering?"

"His watch isn't working. Everything else seems fully operational."

"What about Virgil?"

"He's just not responding. I'll track him…" There was a pause and John visualised the processes Alan was going through to find their brother. "He's in the workshop at base."

"Except that we know he's not. Either that or a hologram flew me here."

"He must have taken his watch off."

John ignored the obvious. "For him to even attempt to land here, where there's nowhere to land, something major's happened." He started jogging towards Thunderbird Two. "I'm going to check it out."

"Keep communications on open video," Alan told him. "We want to see and hear everything. I'll let Dad know what's happening."

"F-A-B." John slipped on a pair videspecs; spectacles that appeared to be sunglasses – until you knew their secret. Video cameras concealed within the frame enabled those watching the broadcasted feed to see a 3D holographic representation of the wearer's view of the world.

"I'm increasing speed." Gordon had already pushed forward on the throttle. "I'll be with you inside twenty minutes."

"What about your decompression?" Alan checked.

"I'll worry about that when I get there."

John was skirting Thunderbird Two. "The access hatch is locked, but the pod door's wide open."

On a holographic screen, Alan was seeing almost exactly what John was seeing.

So was Jeff. "What's inside, John?"

John jogged up the ramp and his videspec's lenses lightened as the world around him grew darker. "It won't be the Mole or the Domo…" He crested the top of the ramp. "The Firefly's gone." He scanned the pod's interior, looking for a clue. "Virgil must have taken it, otherwise he would have done a hover-unload for Scott and would still be airborne."

"I'll try the Firefly's radio," Alan offered. "Nope. No one's answering."

"I'm not liking this," Jeff admitted. "If Scott's not answering, his watch is broken, and Virgil thought that something warranted him landing Thunderbird Two…"

"In a confined area," Alan added.

"...and he thought he needed to use the Firefly…"

"We know, Dad." John stood at the apex of the pod's entrance and surveyed the scene before him. His videspecs darkened again to cut out the glare.

"What can you see, John?" Gordon, trying to push that extra bit of speed out of Thunderbird Four, wasn't free to watch the same holographic image that his family were.

"Devastation. Debris. Thunderbird One."

"How is she?"

"Looks fine from here. There's been a rockfall at some point, but I don't think its caused her any problems. I can't see anything in the direction the Firefly went. It's cut a great gouge through some buildings."

"Any fires or smoke?"

"Dozens, but they're all behind me."

Alan was viewing live video from Thunderbird One. "There's some disturbance to the rockfall. Maybe you should follow the gouge?"

John had already reached the same conclusion and had started his trek down the ramp.

He reached the bottom and came across a member of Garvelevick Rescue. "Have you seen the rest of my team?"

"Uh… Yeah… They're…" The man went to point in the same direction as the Firefly's tracks, but then heard something behind him. "Over there."

Looking over the man's shoulder, in the direction of his pointed finger, John saw a procession making their way towards a waiting ambulance. As he watched, a blue-sleeved arm fell from the stretcher the group surrounded. The arm hung limp and unresponsive, swaying under the stretcher's rough motion until Virgil lifted it up and reverently placed it back under the sheet.

John managed a courteous thank you to the man before he was sprinting. He skidded to a stop and looked down on the stretcher, seeing his eldest brother beneath a survival blanket and an oxygen mask. Scott's skin looked pale, blue, bruised, scratched, and altogether too lifeless. "What happened!?"

"He's anaesthetised." Upon hearing Virgil's voice, John looked across the stretcher at him. "I thought it would be easier for both of us."

"Is that how you knew?" John looked back down at his deeply unconscious brother. "What happened?" he repeated.

Virgil pointed across to the rockfall. "That happened. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How'd he get out?"

"These guys," Virgil indicated other people about them, as the stretcher began a slight climb up a small hillock to a parking area, "dug him out."

"After you'd found him, given him oxygen, and had got rid of the worst of the rubble with your machine," Garvelevick's lead rescuer clarified.

"Virgil…?"

But before Virgil had a chance to answer John's unspoken question, they'd reached the ambulance.

"Right," as two others loaded the unconscious man into the vehicle, a paramedic turned to the men of International Rescue. "Is someone coming with us?"

John gave an emphatic nod of his head. "Yes!"

"John…" Virgil's response was more circumspect. "We have to follow the process."

"The process" had required a lot of discussion before all members of the International Rescue team had come to an agreement. In the off-chance that one of them was injured during a rescue, no one would travel with the injured party. Instead, as hard as they all agreed it would be, those remaining would stay behind, do what they could to make the rest of the rescue a success, and then pack away all their equipment. Once they were no longer required at the danger zone, then they would be free to fly to the medical establishment and check on their fallen comrade.

The logic behind this decision was manifold. It gave the reason why they'd been called out the best chance of reaching a satisfactory conclusion; it ensured that none of their sensitive machines were left unguarded for less scrupulous members of the public to explore; it gave purpose to the otherwise futile waiting time as medical staff made a full examination, treatment, and prognosis; and it meant that if whoever had been injured was allowed to leave the hospital that day, transportation was close by and could fly straight home without uncomfortable and unnecessary delays.

"No." John shook his head. "We won't travel with him."

But neither brother moved as Scott was made comfortable, the doors closed between them, and the ambulance drove away.

The Garvelevick team leader walked across to them. "I'm sorry about all this. He… That is all of you… have saved a lot of lives today. It doesn't seem fair that your colleague's been injured helping us."

Neither John nor Virgil could find the words to respond to him.

The team leader understood. "It's hard knowing that a team member's been injured," he admitted. "Working close together, in hazardous situations like this, you all become just like brothers. I know that I feel like that about my team."

"Yes," Virgil agreed. "Just like brothers." He turned back to John. "We've got work to do."

"We do." John faced the team leader. "Do you need our assistance anywhere else?"

The Garvelevick man shook his head. "You've done all we need to ask of you, thank you. You can pack up and go and see how your colleague is… I hope he's all right. Please thank him on our behalf. He reached out to shake Virgil's hand. "And congratulations on an amazing bit of flying."

Virgil shrugged. "Good computers."

"That's what he said."

As soon as the other man had left, John turned to his brother. "Right! Now tell me exactly what happened!"

"I did."

"The condensed version. Now that the locals are gone you can tell me everything."

"I don't know why Scott was where he was or what he was doing, but the cliff collapsed about him. He couldn't breathe because the dirt was compressing his chest. We had to dig him out."

"More detail. How did you know he was in trouble? Alan didn't have a clue that anything was amiss until I surfaced in the Mole and saw Thunderbird Two."

"I felt it," Virgil admitted.

"You felt him being compressed?" When Virgil nodded, John pressed him further. "That must have brought out a serious case of déjà vu."

Virgil grimaced. "It did."

"Are you okay?"

Virgil nodded.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Realising that now wasn't the time to be delving into that part of the story, John changed tack. "You were standing-by, nowhere near here because there was nowhere here to land, and yet you safely found the only patch of dirt big, sturdy, and clear enough to touch down on! How the heck did you do that?"

"Good computers," Virgil repeated.

"I know that, but…" John indicated the scene before him with a broad sweep of his hand. "…how in the name of Alpha, Beta, _and _not to mention Gamma Centauri, did you manage to land Thunderbird Two there?! Even our computers aren't that good!"

Virgil turned to look in the direction that John had indicated.

Thunderbird Two was sandwiched between the tallest of the cliff faces and a seawall that protected the kowhelene plant from the waters of the North Sea. Little more than a couple of metres separated the great craft from the twin obstacles. More than that, from where they were standing, it appeared that her port wing was positioned directly beneath an overhanging outcrop in the cliff.

"I've got to get a closer look at this." John began walking. "What happened after you'd landed?"

"I knew that if he had been buried, I'd have to dig him out, so I got the Firefly. I knew that he needed oxygen, and that if he needed oxygen then he'd probably need other medical help. I figured that there was a chance that the ground around him would be unstable, so I used a jetpack. I got to him, gave him oxygen, checked if he had any spinal or head injuries…"

"Were there any?"

"He didn't think so."

"He was communicating?"

"In a fashion. Nods mainly. I installed an IV and gave him some levoforme, so he wouldn't be stressed. I then returned to the Firefly and started carving the rubble away from him. It's the Garvelevick guys who cleared the dirt around him enough to get him out."

John grunted. He was sure there was more to this story but accepted that they all could wait for the formal debriefing to hear the minutiae.

They were now under the outcrop that jutted out over the port wing and John stopped walking, looking up at what seemed to be an almost impossible situation. "I'll say it again. How on every planet in the Milky Way Galaxy did you land here?"

Virgil shrugged.

John decided that, in the absence of their regular rescue co-ordinator and anyone else who was still an official member of the team, that he'd better take control. "Okay… I'll store away the Mole and the Domo. You can retrieve the Firefly and work out how you're going to get Thunderbird Two out of here."

There was no response.

"Virgil?"

The younger man appeared to be mesmerised by the number two on the aircraft's flanks. It took John's gentle touch on his shoulder to wake him out of his reverie. "Huh?"

"Are you with me?"

Virgil frowned. "I'm standing here, aren't I? Despite everyone agreeing that I'd never have to do anything like this again."

"I know… and we feel bad enough about that without everything else that's happened... But what I meant is that we've got work to do. Are you up to loading up the Firefly and flying Thunderbird Two out of here?"

"Me?" Virgil stared at him. "I'm not her pilot. You're going to have to do it."

John shook his head. "I can't."

"You're a good pilot."

"Not that good."

"Yes, you are."

"Getting her out of this situation… No chance."

"Don't sell yourself short, John."

"Flying her from A to B with a pod drop and retrieval thrown in, not a problem. But I haven't done enough flying in her to pull off a stunt like this."

"You've flown her more often than I have these past two years."

"I haven't done anything tricky."

"Then Gordon will have to fly her."

"_No way!"_ The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and John looked at his watch.

Virgil was startled by the unexpected interruption. "Are you still on open video?"

"Yep," John confirmed. "Gordon's miles away in Thunderbird Four. Once he gets here, he's got no way of transferring to dry land. And he's still decompressing."

"_And I'm not that good a pilot."_

John frowned at his watch. "I wouldn't say that."

"_I'm not. There's no way I would have attempted to land there, let alone take off again." _

"Okay." John lowered his watch arm. He cast a brief, frustrated, look in the direction that the ambulance had departed, before turning back to his recalcitrant brother. "You know that we've only got one other option…"

"But…"

"We've got no choice. I doubt that even Dad would be willing to extract Two from this situation. And, if I'm honest, you're the only person I'd trust to do it… Sorry, Gordon…"

"_Apology accepted, and statement endorsed."_

"Even if you'd been out of action for a decade, Virg, I'd still say that you're the man for the job."

"_Seconded."_

"_Thirded,"_ Alan piped up.

"_Passed unanimously," _Their father's strong voice rounded off the discussion.

"There you go," John gave Virgil a supportive hug about the shoulders. "You can't have a better endorsement than that."

"All right…" Virgil reluctantly, had become aware that he didn't have much of a choice. "But you'll have to come with me, John. I'll need a spotter."

"Not a problem." John grinned. "I don't mind flying with you, but I won't fly for you. Now, let's get everything wrapped up so we can get out of here…"

-F-A-B-

"Get onto the hospital, Alan, and try and find out how he is."

"F-A-B, Dad." Alan looked as shocked as Jeff felt. Neither of them had had the slightest inkling that anything was wrong until John had reported that Thunderbird Two had landed and Alan hadn't been able to reach Scott.

"Can you tell us anything, Brains?"

"N-No, Mr Tracy. Scott's watch must have been damaged in the rockfall, so I'm not, ah, getting any readings from that. And, as we don't know the depth he was buried at, the compactness of the soil, the amount of pressure exerted upon his body, and how long he was trapped for, I can't even formulate an intelligent hypothesis. The video that John sent seemed to show that he is in a deep state of unconsciousness, but how much of that is due to any injuries sustained and how much is due to the anaesthetic that Virgil administered, I can't tell."

"Thank heavens Virgil was there," Grandma stated. "I dread to think what Scott must have been going through. It must have been horrendous."

Lady Penelope laid a gentle hand on Jeff's arm. "Is there anything that we can do to help?"

He let out a breath that did nothing to release the tension inside of him. "Thanks, Penny, but not now." He got to his feet. "I'd better go and get Alan. Will you come with me, Tin-Tin?"

She gave a gentle smile, which was tempered with her feelings of concern; feelings shared by everyone in this room. "Of course, Mr Tracy."

"Brains. If Thunderbird Two returns before we do and if waiting for us is going to hold up her return flight, I want you to fly back with them. You'll have a better chance of understanding and interpreting any medical results."

"Yes, Mr Tracy."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Ready?" John asked.

They'd finished packing away their equipment and the Mole, Domo, and Firefly were all safely stored in pod two, with the same mathematical precision that they had on the outward flight.

John and Virgil had met in Thunderbird Two's cabin. John going straight over to the port windows to get a better view of the outcrop overhanging the wing. He gave a low whistle. "There must only be a metre's clearance!"

"There was more when she wasn't on her legs."

"Yeah, I know, but even so…" John whistled again. "You've missed your calling, Virgil."

Virgil didn't acknowledge the statement. He had enough to worry about, trying to work out how he was going to get a 500,000-kilogram aeroplane off the ground without creating a fireball that had the potential to start the original disaster all over again.

And this time International Rescue wouldn't be available to put out the fireworks.

"Lowering over pod."

-F-A-B-

Flying high above the planet in Thunderbird Three, Jeff and Tin-Tin, with little to do until they drew near to Thunderbird Five, watched John's holographic feed.

Jeff let out the same low whistle that John had at the sight of the proximity of the port wing to the overhanging rocks.

"How did he manage to land there?" Tin-Tin asked, not expecting an answer.

"Determination and experience. He knew he was Scott's only hope."

"Did he know through his empathetic clairvoyance?"

"I assume so. I hope he'll be willing to tell us at the debriefing…" Jeff watched the hologram as the scene slid upwards. "Assuming he's willing to attend the debriefing…"

-F-A-B-

Debriefings were the furthest thing away from his sons' minds as they prepared to leave the ground.

"Okay, Virgil," John told him. "You're clear to port – in a manner of speaking."

"Right... Igniting VTOLs." Virgil felt the vibrations through Thunderbird Two. "Lifting off."

John watched as the jutting outcrop grew closer to the port wing. "Fifteen metres clearance... Ten... Nine..."

"Moving to starboard."

Thunderbird Two moved horizontally away from the cliff face, narrowly missing the top of the seawall. Brick and concrete dust, the remains of once sturdy buildings, crumbled away from her undercarriage.

"Eight metres vertical clearance," John repeated. "Seven..."

"Am I clear horizontally yet?"

"Not with an adequate safety margin. Can you give us another two metres horizontally?"

Tipping Thunderbird Two so her starboard wing was ten metres higher than her port, Virgil slipped his craft out from under the obstruction.

"You're clear to ascend vertically."

After a precautionary horizontal shift of ten metres further to the right, Virgil gained height. He reached a safe altitude, well above Garvelevick, and set Thunderbird Two onto hover. "She's all yours," he said, getting out of the pilot's seat.

John stared at him in stunned disbelief. "What?"

Virgil retreated to one of the passenger seats and did up his safety harness. "I said she's all yours. You can fly her."

"But..." John concluded that he had no option. Without a further comment he claimed the pilot's seat, engaged the forward motors, and sent the mighty aeroplane flying back to Tracy Island.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

John had returned pod two to Thunderbird Two's hangar and loaded pod four ready for their return. "How far out is Thunderbird Three, Brains?"

"Ah... Ten minutes."

"Then we'll wait. Okay, Virgil?"

Virgil, as he hadn't since he'd relinquished Thunderbird Two's controls, didn't respond.

John frowned.

He was still frowning, chaffing at the delay, when he heard the passenger lift. It chimed open to reveal his father, Alan, and Brains. "Buckle up. I want to get moving."

Alan looked between his two brothers. "Erm... Who's piloting?"

There was no response from Virgil and an "I don't know what's wrong" shrug from John.

Alan stepped closer to the latter. "You've had a busy few hours. Do you want me to relieve you?"

"You've just had a flight in Thunderbird Three."

"I haven't been trying to keep people alive with no assistance."

"Okay." John's safety harness fell free as he stood. "Thanks." He took the seat next to his father.

Jeff waited until his son was secured into the seat and the noise of launch masked his question. "How's Virgil?"

"I dunno, Dad. He hasn't said a word since we left Garvelevick. It's like he's in a world of his own." John raised his voice. "Any word on Scott?"

Brains checked his tablet. "The doctors have just finished their report. He's suffering severe bruising over much of his body, and there is some compression damage to the cartilages of thoracic region along with signs of stress to the structures of his ribcage."

"Any breaks?" Jeff checked.

"N-No. Although there does appear to be some weakening and distortion. His lungs, aside from bruising, appear to have no physical damage, as do his other internal organs. His cardiovascular system..." Brains read some more. "...was also stressed."

"What do you mean by 'also stressed'?" Alan queried, hanging onto every word despite his preoccupation with getting as much speed as he could out of Thunderbird Two.

Brains, wanting something less confrontational than the others' gazes, looked at the back of his friend's head. "The high level of bruising he sustained equated to a small to moderate amount of blood loss, which could have led to shock, but was negated by Virgil's administering of fluids via the IV. Also, Scott was on reduced oxygen levels for a long time. If it hadn't been for Virgil's application of oxygen via the mask, he would have suffered heart failure."

Jeff's voice was quiet. "Has there been any damage to his heart?"

"Bruising," Brains confirmed. "The compression was severe, but not immediately life threatening."

"If he was on reduced oxygen, could there be any brain damage?"

"Scans show little to no damage, but a full examination won't be able to be conducted until he has woken up."

"Assuming there are no issues there, what's his prognosis?"

"Good." Brains' immediate response allowed Scott's family to relax a little. "With adequate rest and minimal stress, he will make a full recovery. The hospital has him sedated."

John leant around his father, so Brains could see him clearly. "Will they want to keep him in? Or can we take him home?"

"Th-That decision will be made when we get there."

-F-A-B-

It was Alan who performed the pod drop and then subsequent collection of Thunderbird Four.

Jeff took the time that it took for pod four to accept International Rescue's submarine to claim the seat next to his middle son. "You did well, Virgil."

"Did I?"

Encouraged by the two words, Jeff smiled. "You heard Brains? Scott's going to be all right. Thanks to you." He put his arm about the tense shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. "Thank you, Son."

"I just did what needed to be done. The others would have done just as well."

"I don't think so. I doubt that even Scott would have attempted a landing as tricky as that." When there was no response, Jeff continued. "We'll ask him when he's feeling better."

There was a slow nod.

"How are you?"

"Me?"

"Yes. You, Virgil. How are you?"

Virgil shrugged.

Jeff didn't know if he should ask his next question. "How's Scott?"

There was another shrug before Virgil released himself from his safety harness and disappeared through the door in the rear of the cockpit.

His father was about to go after him when there was an announcement from the pilot's seat. "About to retrieve pod."

Jeff strapped himself in.

-F-A-B-

Gordon had been surprised when he entered the cockpit and found Alan at Thunderbird Two's controls. "Where's Virgil?"

"According to this," Alan indicated his control panel. "He's in the sickbay."

"He's what?!"

"It looks like he's got the room ready for Scott, and now he's just sitting there. Dad's gone to talk to him."

"Are we taking Scott home?"

Brains consulted his tablet again. "Th-That will depend on how he is when we get to the hospital."

Gordon, knowing that there was no way that he was going to be allowed near the controls of a Thunderbird so soon after decompressing, collapsed into one of the passenger seats and did up his harness. "Who's going to fly Thunderbird One?"

John sighed. "I'll do it. If Scott thinks you're going to fly his precious plane, he will have a heart attack."

Gordon grinned. "He doesn't have to know."

"How do you want to do it, Alan?"

"Air to ground transfer?" Alan suggested, then it was his turn to grin. "Unless you want me to try to land Thunderbird Two where Virgil did."

"Ah. No."

Gordon chuckled.

John ran his fingers through his hair. "It was hair-raising enough sitting with him in the cockpit as we took off," he told his brothers. "The landing would be even worse."

"I still can't believe that Virgil attempted to land there, let alone managed it."

"No…" John looked towards the door that led towards the sickbay. "Me neither…"

-F-A-B-

Jeff was in that room with the object of their discussion. "Is everything all right?"

Virgil looked around the sterile white room. "I think so."

"I mean with Scott."

"Scott's as good as Brains says he is. I don't know any more than that. He's not telling me anything else."

Jeff accepted his son's response. "And you?"

Virgil shrugged.

"I'm sorry that we put you into the position, Virgil, but you must also realise that I'm glad that you agreed to go. We all are."

Virgil nodded.

There was a click to the intercom. "John's about to go down to collect Thunderbird One. He's going to meet us at the hospital."

Jeff opened the link. "How is he getting down there, Alan?"

"Air to ground transfer."

"Do you need a hand?"

"No. Gordon can handle the winch."

"Tell John to be careful, and we'll meet him at the hospital."

"F-A-B." Jeff saw Virgil flinch at the call sign.

-F-A-B-

John's transfer to Thunderbird One was completed without hassle, as was Thunderbird Two's landing at the hospital.

A sedated Scott was loaded into the transporter's sickbay and hooked up to several monitors. Jeff and Virgil looked on as Brains made his own examination – making occasional notes into his tablet PC.

Finally, he turned back to the two Tracys. "I concur with the hospital's diagnosis. When he's settled into the infirmary at home, we'll allow him to wake up naturally. But be aware that he's going to be very sore for a few days."

Jeff sat forward. "So, there's no brain damage?"

"There's no _evidence_ of brain damage," Brains clarified. "I'll take the time that he's stood down from all duties to ascertain if there are any issues."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was to be two days before Brains was able to make his first neurological assessment.

Jeff was nearly pushed off his chair before being deafened by a "Dad!" in his ear.

"Alan!"

"I've been trying to find you."

"I'm sure the whole household's aware of that."

"You've got to come!" Alan pulled at his father's arm like a five-year-old. "Scott's waking up!"

"What?" Jeff leapt to his feet, banging his knees against his desk in the process.

He set off after his youngest son at a fast jog. "Why … *puff* …. didn't you … *pant* … try to … *gasp* … call me?"

"Didn't think of it." They reached the door to the infirmary and Alan burst inside the full room. "Is he awake yet?!"

"Not yet," Grandma reassured him as Jeff asserted his place opposite her at the raised head of the bed. Virgil and his other sons shuffled along without complaint.

Being the one part of his son's body not scratched nor bruised, Jeff ran his fingers through his eldest's hair. "Can you hear me, Scott? It's time to wake up." There was no response and he shot a querying glance in Brains' direction.

"B-Be patient, Mr Tracy," he was told.

"We've all been patient for the last two days. The hospital didn't say anything about him being unconscious for this long. Are you sure he's not in a coma?"

"He has been responding to pain and light stimulus, so no, he is not in a coma. The body is a great healer when given the opportunity, and Scott's body is doing what it needs to r-recuperate."

While this was reassuring, Jeff wasn't sure that his need to know that his son hadn't suffered any long-term complications wasn't greater. "Alan said he was waking up."

"He twitched," John told him helpfully. "He'd been still for so long that we all assume..."

"He moved!" Gordon's yelp, as he pointed to the head of the bed, was a more excited echo of John's statement. "His eyes definitely moved!"

"They're shut," Alan told him.

"You can still move your eyes beneath your eyelids."

"It c-could just be the rapid eye movements of sleep," Brains cautioned.

"I don't think so." Gordon shook his head. "He hasn't done any REM until now."

Grandma picked up her grandson's limp hand. "Scott. Come on, Darling, it's time to wake up. We need to know that you're all right." She let out a little gasp as his fingers twitched; squeezing her hand.

Scott's eyelids fluttered open...

And then closed again.

"Come on, Son," Jeff cajoled. "Look at us – Please."

As if he was obeying an order, Scott opened his eyes. Then he squeezed them shut and rolled onto his side as he curled up to protect his battered ribcage, dislodging the air line that fed oxygen into this nose. Several pairs of hands reached out to nudge it back into place, but all were gently pushed clear when Brains checked and repositioned the line himself.

Scott opened his eyes.

Pleased, Jeff leant closer, so he was in his son's field of view. "Can you see me?"

There was a small nod.

Jeff smiled. "Can you hear me?"

There was another nod.

"Are you feeling sore?"

A third nod was accompanied by a grimace.

"That's to be expected. But you've had a full examination and the doctors say you're going to be all right... Can you remember what happened?"

Scott closed his eyes, but this time everyone assumed that it was because he was running previous events through the computer of his mind. This assumption was confirmed when, opening his eyes, he nodded again.

Then those eyes roved further down his bed to the person sitting at his father's shoulder. His mouth opened.

"Sor-ry."

It was only one word; one whispered, raspy word; but, for whatever reason, that word was enough for Virgil to leap to his feet and stalk out of the room.

Surprised, everyone, including the patient, watched him leave.

After a brief debate with himself about whether he should follow, Jeff turned back to the bed, seeing a pair of confused blue eyes looking up at him. He patted Scott's arm. "He's barely left your side since the hospital released you. Now that he knows you're awake and are going to be okay, he most likely decided that he had an urgent need to check on Thunderbird Ten."

But Virgil didn't return.

_To be continued..._


	85. Chapter 85

The last rays of the tropical sun were making Virginia's solar flower dance.

Virgil sat in his bedroom, his feet up on the windowsill, and watched as the leaves beat their tempo and the smiling plastic face kept time.

There was a knock on his door. "Come in."

"Virgil...?" It was his grandmother. She entered the room as if she was unsure that she'd heard his greeting. "It's dinnertime, Virgil."

He didn't look away from the dancing flower. "I'm not hungry, Grandma."

"You've had hardly anything to eat since Scott came home."

"I'm all right. I'll grab something later."

"I know you're completely better, but you've got to look after yourself."

"I know."

She took a step closer. "What's wrong, Honey? You're so quiet."

Virgil shrugged, his inspection of the flower unwavering. "Got a lot to think about."

"Would it help if you were to discuss it with someone?"

He shook his head.

"I can have dinner later. I don't mind."

"No. Thanks, Grandma."

"Maybe you should talk to Scott?"

Virgil looked out the window.

"He's determined that he's going to join us for dinner, no matter what Brains and your father say. If you want to talk to him in his room, I'm sure that would be enough to convince him to stay in bed. I could bring both your meals to you."

"You don't have to put yourself out on my account."

"I don't mind. I worry about you boys."

"That's why I left International Rescue. I didn't want you to worry about me."

"Then won't you come down to dinner."

Virgil thought about it briefly. Then he shook his head. "I'm honestly not hungry."

"I'll put yours on a plate and put it into the fridge. You can heat it up if you want it later."

Finally, he looked at her with a half-smile. "Thanks, Grandma." He resumed his inspection of the solar dance.

She'd been gone for half an hour when he made his decision.

-F-A-B-

The eldest of the Tracy boys joined the family in the dining room at the same time as his grandmother.

"Scott!" she scolded. "You should be in bed!"

He responded with an expression that was half a painful wince and half a bluffing smile. "I'm sick of being in bed. I wanted to eat with my family." He looked around the group and considered protesting when Tin-Tin held a chair out. Then, deciding that he was too sore to make the effort, he permitted her to push it back under him as he sat down. "Where's Virgil?"

"Good question." Jeff did the same scan of those present. "Where _is_ Virgil?"

Grandma sighed. "In his room. He says he's not hungry."

"Not hungry?" John looked concerned. "He wasn't hungry at lunch either."

"Or breakfast." Alan shovelled a forkful of peas into his mouth, and was told off by his father for not waiting until everyone was sitting at the table.

"I have barely seen him since I arrived on Tracy Island," Lady Penelope informed her friends. "He has either kept to himself..." She looked across the table at the man who was stiffly trying to cut into his scalloped potatoes. "Or been maintaining watch in the infirmary."

Scott glanced up, the shadows under his eyes matching the bruising peeking through the open neck of his shirt. He would have preferred to have worn something with a high neck to hide them, but had quickly discovered that the pressure on his bruises was more irritating than the looks of pity from his family.

Kyrano inclined his head. "Is Mister Virgil ill?"

"I don't think so," Mrs Tracy told him. "He's still a good colour. He said he's got a lot to think about."

"I'll bet," Gordon growled. "Starting with how we put him into the very position he never wanted to be in again."

The room was quiet in silent agreement.

It was after the meal, that Jeff decided that it was time that he had a word with his AWOL son. He knocked on Virgil's door.

There was no answer.

He knocked again.

Still no response.

Knowing that he was likely to receive a, not altogether undeserved, telling off, he opened the door. "Virgil?"

There wasn't a sound from the suite.

Perhaps his son was in bed, asleep? Treading quietly through the living area, Jeff entered the bedroom.

The bed was still made up.

The balcony was vacant and the door to the ablutions area open enough to reveal that it too was empty. So was the studio.

Deciding that Virgil had gone for a walk around the island, and with the intention of catching up with him on his return, Jeff retired to his desk in the lounge.

Propped up upon the computer console was an untidily scrawled note. _Gone to visit Bruce. V._

-F-A-B-

Virgil rang his friend's doorbell.

He'd endured several minutes of waiting in the dark and had rung again before there were signs of life. There was a flash of light as the camera examined him before he heard a sleep-thickened "Virgil?"

"Hi, Bruce."

"I guess you want to come in." Virgil heard the click of the front door being unlocked.

He found his way to his friend's flat and knocked on the door. There was the sound of it being unlatched before, finally, the door was swung open.

Bruce Sanders stared at him bleary-eyed. "What are you doing here? It's..." He went to look at his watch before remembering that it was sitting on his bedside table. "Early."

Virgil pushed past. "I need to talk to someone."

"You flew halfway around the world for a chat?" Shutting the door behind him, Bruce tried to wake up. It looked like his dream of a full night's sleep was only that: a dream. "Have a seat."

"Yes... I mean. No. Not a chat. A talk." Ignoring the chair, Virgil paced the floor. "I needed to talk to someone."

"And you've chosen me." Bruce collapsed onto an easy chair. He'd been putting in a lot of overtime at ACE this week and had been looking forward to a full night's sleep, even going so far as to put off a date with Olivia to achieve it. "How's Scott?"

"Okay. He got up today."

"That's good." Bruce watched as his friend continued to pace. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Stuff. Lots of stuff." Virgil reached the wall and turned back for another lap.

Bruce was none the wiser. "You want to talk about lots of stuff...? Like what?"

"Stuff."

"Stuff." Bruce felt irritation fill his tired body. "Will you sit down!"

Virgil obeyed. He sat on the edge of the chair, massaging his left hand, and not saying anything.

Bruce waited. With nothing stimulating happening, he nodded off.

"I went on a rescue."

"Huh?" Bruce woke up with a snort. "You did what?"

"That last rescue. The one where Scott was injured? I was there."

"What!? Why?"

"I flew Thunderbird Two."

"You flew Thunderbird Two?"

"Yes."

"Have you given up on giving up on International Rescue?"

"No. They... They needed my help."

"They must have been desperate if you agreed."

"They were. They needed to use Thunderbird Four, and the Mole, and the Firefly, and the Domo. Thunderbird Two needed to make two trips to take all the equipment there. And she couldn't land. I had to hover to unload..."

Bruce held up his hand when he heard noises from an alarm from an adjacent room. "Virgil, I'm sorry, but this sounds like it's going to take some time and I've got to be at work in an hour."

Virgil's face dropped. "Oh..."

"ACE is working towards a deadline. I can't be the one that makes the rest of the team miss out on the bonus your dad's promised us and gives ACE a bad rap with our customers and because we didn't finish the job on time. The company's trying to rebuild its reputation after the earthquake."

Virgil looked contrite – as if he hadn't considered the inconvenience his sudden appearance caused.

"You couldn't let your workmates down and neither can I." Bruce, equally aware that he couldn't let his friend down, had an idea. "Why don't you talk to Lisa? I'm sure she'd love the company since she's stuck at home all day with Wyndsor."

"You know things she doesn't. You're an insider, without being an insider."

"Hang on, I've got an idea." Bruce got to his feet. "Hopefully Wyndsor's got them up early." He grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialled. "Hi. It's me... Sorry to ring you so early, but I've got a favour I need to ask." He listened as Lisa said something; obviously telling him not to worry about the earliness of the call and that she'd be happy to help. "I can't make it into work this morning, and you know what a deadline we're on... No. I'm okay, but something unexpected's come up... Is Mrs R still there? ... Good. Look, I haven't rung work yet to put my apologies in and when I do, I was thinking that, if it's okay with you, and Mrs R's happy to look after Ginny and Wyndsor, I thought I might suggest that they ask you to fill in for me. That way they'll have someone who's nearly as good a welder as I am to take my place." He chuckled. "You can have my bonus as a reward..."

"Bruce!"

"Huh? No, that was the radio... Yes. I can wait..." Bruce winked at a less than happy Virgil. "I'm here... Brilliant! I really appreciate this, Lisa, and so will everyone else. Hopefully I'll be back on deck tomorrow... No, you can't do anything more now. I'll tell you the full story later... Give Wyndsor, Ginny and Butch a big kiss from their Uncle Bruce." He chuckled again. "Bye, Lisa, and thanks. Thanks a million." He hung up the phone and held up his hand to block any protests. "And before you say anything, the answer's no. Your father paid me enough while I was working on the island that I'm not desperate for money. And I want to help you. Now..." He looked at the clock. "It's too early to ring work. Give me a couple of minutes to get washed and dressed and get some breakfast. Do you want anything?"

"Let me order in breakfast," Virgil begged. "It's the least I can do."

"That offer I will accept. Be back in five." As Bruce hustled away to have a shower, Virgil got out his phone and contacted an establishment that promised to deliver a tasty, nutritious meal in minutes.

He was accepting delivery when Bruce, finally ready to face the day, exited his bedroom.

Bruce pulled up short upon seeing the pile of food on his table. "Has your grandma stopped feeding you?"

"Huh?" It was Virgil's turn to stare at his purchase. "I haven't been hungry till now."

"In that case, dish up while I ring work. We'll eat and then we can talk."

Virgil listened in to Bruce's side of the conversation. Max Watts hadn't initially sounded happy, but had been mollified when Bruce had told him that Lisa Crump was willing and ready to fill in for him.

Bruce hung up the phone. "Right." He clapped his hands together. "I've still got a job, so I can eat happy."

"Bruce..."

"I'm kidding. Mega would never sack the friend of his hero's son."

"Bruce!"

"I'm kidding, Virgil! He's not that bad, ol' Mega. Once you get to know him. And I had plenty of time to get to know him... Let's eat."

"Okay."

The two men ate in companionable silence, feasting on the meal that neither of them had envisaged eating when they'd started the day.

Finally full, Bruce pushed his plate away and got to his feet. "We can leave the dishes till later. Let's sit in the comfortable chairs." Taking the few steps to the living area, he fell into his seat. "Want to tell me what's on your mind?"

Settling back in another chair, his right hand doing its unconscious massage of his left, Virgil thought. "Like I said, I went on a rescue..."

Bruce's phone rang. "That's Olivia."

Virgil sat back. "You'd better talk to her."

"Hi, Sunbeam... No, I'm fine... Something unexpected came up, so I've arranged for Lisa to take my place... Honestly, I'm fine... Look, when things have quietened down at work I'll take you out to dinner and explain it all to you. Although," he glanced over at Virgil, "it might be better if we have that discussion somewhere private..." He leered into the phone. "Now that sounds like a plan... Bye, Sunbeam. Love you." He hung up with a self-satisfied grin.

And turned his phone off. "Right. You have my full attention. You went on a rescue..."

-F-A-B-

Jeff Tracy looked at the note again. Then he looked at the time. He pushed the speed dial on his videophone.

A neat figure in suit and tie answered his call with a broad smile. "Morning, Jeff. How are you?"

"Morning, Hamish. I'm fine."

"How's Scott?"

"Pushing himself too far, too fast, too soon, but I don't seem to be able to stop him from doing that without doing something drastic like tying him to his bed."

"But he's going to be okay?"

"Brains thinks so."

"Good. What can I do for you? Is this a business or pleasure call?"

"A bit of both, I suppose. Is Bruce Sanders at work today?"

"Bruce?" Hamish Mickelson checked his computer. "No... He called in and said that..." He read a note. "No real excuse, just that he couldn't make it and offered the suggestion that Lisa fill in for him." He clicked a couple of screens. "Max has accepted the suggestion." He frowned. "Why? Do you know something?"

"Not as much as I'd like," Jeff growled. "We haven't seen Virgil since last night and the only communication I've had is a note saying that he's visiting Bruce."

"And you're worried about him?"

"No." Jeff hesitated. "Well, yes. He wouldn't leave Scott's side while his brother was unconscious, but now that Scott's awake, he's left the island."

A concerned eyebrow was raised. "That sound uncharacteristic."

"It is... I told you that we forced him to take part in the last rescue?"

"You said that he agreed to take part."

"He knew he didn't have an option. Too many lives were at stake."

"Including Scott's. If he hadn't been there..."

"I think that's what's got him tied up in knots. He left International Rescue because he didn't want to see his brothers hurt, and then the one time he agrees to help, one of them is nearly killed."

"I see," Hamish agreed. "That's bound to unsettle him."

"Do we have any vacancies at ACE?"

"Vacancies? For Virgil?" Mickelson looked surprised when Jeff nodded. "You know I don't have anything to do with hiring production staff. Has he asked if he could come back?"

"No. But I have a feeling that, at the first opportunity he gets, he's going to tell me that he's going to get well away from International Rescue and leave the island. When he does, I don't want him to feel that I'm abandoning him."

"Jeff, your boys know that you'd never abandon them. You've always have been there for them. As much as humanly possible, anyway. Virgil's tough, he showed that by the way he survived his accident and applied himself to his rehabilitation. He didn't give up then and he won't give up now. You know that."

"I wish I did..."

-F-A-B-

"... So, you see, Bruce, that's where I'm at."

Bruce gave an understanding nod.

Virgil continued. "I need to make a decision about what I'm going to do with my life and I can't do it at home. I needed space to think about it and… And I needed someone to talk over my options with."

"I'm flattered that you chose me, but aren't there plenty of people at home you could talk to?"

"They've all got their own agendas."

"Agendas? They're trying to talk you into doing something you don't want to?!"

"No… More like they're making a conscious effort not to, but there's a subtext. I can feel it. And I needed to get away from it. I needed to talk to someone who knows enough to not be a threat, but isn't directly related to me or International Rescue."

"And that's me? But aren't you worried that I've got my own agenda? I've already told you what I think."

"And the only time that I knew that you didn't agree with me was at a time when we were both under major stress… I know I can talk it over with you and you won't be judgemental or try to push me in a direction I don't want to go."

"Your family would be equally non-judgemental," Bruce reminded his friend. "Or at least they'd try to be. Right from the day that you told them you were resigning from International Rescue they did their best to see it from your point of view. Not one of them told you that you were making a mistake. They supported you."

"I know."

Bruce sighed and checked the clock. "How about we do the dishes, and then see if we're hungry enough to have breakfast leftovers for lunch? We can continue our discussion afterwards."

Virgil agreed and stood, ready to get the first of many loads of plates. "Thanks, Bruce. You don't know how much I appreciate you being a sounding board like this."

"Anytime, Virgil… But there is one thing…"

"Yes?"

"Why do I get the feeling that, no matter what you say, or I say, or how many times we go over new and old ground; we both already know what your decision's going to be…?"

_To be continued…_


	86. Chapter 86

Jeff, hoping to be alone should his AWOL son phone him, had spent much of the day working in his study. He was therefore surprised to hear a knock at the door and see that very son standing there. "Virgil?"

"Hi." Virgil regarded him uncertainly. "Can I come in?"

"Of course, you can." Walking around his desk as the door to the study was closed, Jeff claimed one of the softer chairs and indicated the seat next to him. "Now that you know that you'll be able to get out of it with dignity, sit here."

Virgil wished that his father had remained in his office chair. Somehow, knowing that there was going to be the physical barrier that was the desk between them, had made this conversation seem easier. But, pushing his misgivings to one side, he accepted the offer. "How's Scott?"

Jeff gave a frustrated sigh. "Scott's Scott."

"He's pretending that nothing's wrong with him, even though it's obvious to everyone that he's not one hundred percent?"

"Yes. He won't listen to me or his grandmother and go back to bed." Jeff regarded his son with a speculative stare. "_I_ think he's punishing himself."

Surprised, Virgil frowned in confusion. "Punishing himself?"

"He's convinced that he forced you to go on the rescue. And he blames himself for getting into trouble and making you to face the very thing you left International Rescue to avoid."

"Ah…" Suddenly, Virgil felt claustrophobic being so close to his father. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about." Getting to his feet, he approached the window, putting the desk between them.

Jeff braced himself for whatever was coming.

"It's going to be a nice sunset."

Jeff caught a glimpse of grey overcast skies. "It is?"

There was silence.

"How's Bruce?"

Virgil looked startled. "How'd you know about Bruce?"

"You left a note telling me that's where you'd gone."

"Oh." Virgil managed a sheepish grin. "I forgot. He's fine." He turned back to the window.

Jeff waited.

And was surprised by his son's opening gambit.

"I've been running scared," Virgil told the pane of glass.

"Scared?" the human reflection behind him responded.

"Yes… I realised the other day that I've spent the last couple of years being scared. I've never really been scared before and I wasn't used to it. No matter what happened to me, no matter what situation International Rescue was in, I was never frightened. I'd be concerned, and then I'd try to think rationally and try to work out a way of changing the situation, so I wasn't concerned any more. But I was never scared." Virgil massaged his hand. "Even when the Sentinel shot me down. I wasn't scared because I knew Thunderbird Two would protect me. I wasn't scared because Scott was with me, talking me through it. I wasn't scared because I knew you and everyone else was back here at the island waiting to help me. It wasn't until I was at ACE and trapped under that furnace that I knew what it was like to experience fear. But even then, it wasn't the pain that frightened me… I didn't want it, but I wasn't scared of it. I wasn't scared of dying and I wasn't scared of what life was going to be like if I didn't die." Dropping into his father's office chair, Virgil looked down at his reconstructed hand with its broken fingernails. "What scared me was what my death or injury meant to you... And Scott... And John... and Gordon, and Alan." Desperate to explain, Virgil recited his family's names faster and faster, in quick staccato bursts. "...And Grandma, and Tin-Tin, and Kyrano, and Brains and Lady Penelope and Parker. I remembered how I felt when Gordon had his accident, and when Ma died, and it scared me that I was going to put you all through that again. It scared me that I was going to cause you all pain."

"Being scared's nothing to be ashamed of," Jeff said quietly.

"I know, but I wasn't used to it. I was scared of being scared." Virgil raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. "I wonder if Scott felt it?"

Not knowing the answer, Jeff gave his son time to marshal his thoughts.

"And then that rescue the other day got me thinking… About life and what I want to do for the rest of mine. It helped me crystallise my thoughts. All of sudden everything became clear." Overcome by a pent-up excitement that was suddenly unleashed, Virgil leapt to his feet and started walking up and down behind his father's desk. "It was a revelation! I could see my life mapped out before me!"

As he watched his son, Jeff marvelled. It didn't seem that long ago that Virgil had been deformed in ways that promised an end to the life that he was envisaging. It seemed almost impossible to believe that the man who paced up and down with no trace of limp, no hint of soreness, no suggestion of stiffness had, for a short period, no legs to speak of.

It seemed to be a miracle.

Not for the first time Jeff gave silent thanks to those people who had given his son his life back.

It was with a sense of shock that he realised that he'd missed hearing some of Virgil's ramblings. "I'm sorry. Would you repeat that?"

Virgil threw himself against the desk; startling his father so much that Jeff jumped backwards in his seat. "I want to join International Rescue again."

Jeff's jaw dropped. "What?"

"I know I can't expect to a full member of the team just like that. You'll want me to take some tests to reassure you, all of you, that I'm fit enough to be an operative, and I know that I'll have to do some major training, even in Thunderbird Two, but I really want this."

Jeff still wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly. "You want to join International Rescue?"

Virgil, pacing again, didn't see his father's dumbstruck expression. "I guess that having spent so many months knowing nothing but a hospital bed, and pain, and frustration, made me forget what was important. I'd forgotten how alive I feel when I'm out helping someone. I'd forgotten the exhilaration that goes with a successful rescue. I'd forgotten the sense of achievement I got working closely with the team. I'd forgotten the satisfaction of pulling off the impossible. I'd even forgotten the pain that comes with failure, and the determination to do better next time. I'd forgotten the warm feeling that fills you when you see the face of someone who's just realised that they've been given another chance of life. I got another chance of life and I forgot all that. And sitting back here feeling sorry for myself did nothing to help me remember."

"But..." Jeff managed to get his thought processes under control, "...you had definite, valid reasons for not belonging. You didn't want to see one of your brothers hurt. You didn't want to risk being hurt again. You didn't want us to experience the pain of knowing that someone we care about was in trouble."

"And I still don't. But I realised the other day that at least if I'm at a rescue and something happens to one of them, then there's a chance that I can do something to help him. Back here or elsewhere in the world I'm even more useless than when I was in hospital ward. Please..." Leaning across the desk Virgil almost begged his father to see things his way. "Can I join again?"

"Well, Virgil..." Jeff got to his feet, circling the desk until he was standing at his son's side. "I have to say I'm surprised at your change of heart." He laid a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "I also have to tell you that I _can't_ reinstate you as a member of International Rescue."

"You can't...?" Virgil's face fell as he sagged under Jeff's hand.

"I can't…" Jeff reached into his desk's top drawer, withdrawing something long and white. He handed it to his son. "…because I never accepted your resignation."

Numb, Virgil stared at the envelope in his hands. "You never accepted it?"

"No. I had hoped that one day, when you were fully fit again, you'd change your mind. It's only recently that I've been thinking that it was about time that I invited you in here to ask you if you wanted to endorse what you'd written."

Virgil, stunned by what he'd learned, circled the desk and sank into the chair that his father had originally offered to him. "You never opened it?" He turned the thin packet over in his hands. "You haven't read what I said?"

"No, even though your brothers were of the opinion that, as much as they didn't want it, we should respect your decision. I never told them that I'd made a commander's decision, going against the consensus and overruling them." Jeff claimed his seat and folded his hands on the desk. "After you'd dropped your bombshell, Alan told a story about when one of your brothers, I'm assuming John, wanted to take some time to think about whether or not he was going to join International Rescue. According to Alan, the rest of them said at the time that they'd just tell 'John' to follow the lead like he always did and accept that he would be a part of the team."

Virgil nodded. "It was John. We had the meeting after he'd been nominated for the Theydon Award and you'd given us till Thanksgiving to confirm if we were going to commit to International Rescue. They were all gung-ho and ready to save the world, and weren't asking John's opinion. He didn't blow his top at them like he did at you and me, but he told them a few things before he left the meeting."

"I thought that might have been the case… Alan said that you were the one who told them to respect John's right to take his time to make the decision."

"I was as gung-ho as the rest of them, but I knew how trapped John was feeling. I knew that if we forced him we could well force him away from the family."

"And that was why, according to Alan, we had to respect your right to let you do what you wanted and resign… Even though it wasn't what we wanted."

There was a slight tear along the top of the envelope and Virgil flicked at the rough edges. "You were tempted to open it?"

"Only out of curiosity about what you'd actually written. Not because I was prepared to dismiss you from International Rescue."

"I'm curious about what I've written myself. May I borrow your letter opener?"

"Of course." Jeff pulled the knife out of his drawer and handed it over handle first.

"Thanks." With no hesitation Virgil ripped the envelope open and removed its contents. "Talking dismissal, Bruce is concerned that he might not have a job anymore. He spent yesterday listening to me rant about the same things over and over again and now he's on his second day of unauthorised leave."

"Unauthorised leave that had minimal disruption to ACE. Hamish tells me that Bruce arranged for Lisa to stand in."

"Yes. She's a good friend. To us and ACE."

"And so is Bruce. You can tell him that his job's secure..."

"Do you think you could tell him? He's in his room," Virgil jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "sweating."

Jeff was surprised. "He's here?"

"To give me support. He offered to come in here and 'hold my hand'." Virgil chuckled. "I told him that I was a big boy and that I should man up and face the consequences alone."

"He's got nothing to worry about."

"Good. Thanks."

"And I'll ensure that Lisa gets something extra for her troubles."

"Bruce offered to give her his bonus if ACE gets the job completed on time."

"That won't be necessary. Besides, Bruce deserves a bonus of his own for supporting you."

"I'm not sure that he'd accept it. He doesn't like 'sponging off' the Tracys."

"Then maybe he can suggest something else."

"Maybe..." Finally flicking open the letter, Virgil read quickly before selecting a pen from its rack at the front of the desk. After crossing out and initialling the sentence that began: _I hereby resign from International Rescue_ he handed the letter and the opener back. "You can read it now." He popped the pen back into its holder.

Jeff read_._

_This is a letter that I started months ago, but have never got around to finishing…_

Jeff looked up. "When did you finish writing it?"

"Sometime when I was in hospital. I think it was after Muzz visited me."

Jeff nodded.

… _months ago, I wanted… No… I needed to tell you that I respected you, that I cared for you, that I valued your friendship, and that I loved you…_

Jeff looked up again. "You know we all feel the same way."

"Yeah, I know."

…_I do love you. I love you all. You're the people who mean the most to me in this world. I'm sure you'd say that you know, that you've always known, that putting it into words isn't necessary, but back then, all those months ago when I needed to do it the most, it seemed incredibly important. Important and impossible to say._

_Now it's just as important, if not more so after what we've all been through. You're my family and I love you all; as individuals and as a group._

_I love you…_

Even when he'd finished reading, Jeff pretended to continue to peruse the document, fighting to control the emotions that the words evoked.

Virgil gave a bashful grin. "Soppy, isn't it? I should have created a painting, or a piece of music, but I didn't want any ambiguity."

Taking more care than was necessary to re-fold the letter and place it back into the envelope, Jeff shook his head. "I'd say heartfelt rather than soppy." Hoping that his own weren't red, he looked his son in the eye. "As you said in here, putting how we feel into words isn't necessary. We know without anything being said." He indicated the envelope. "I'll let everyone read this when they're on their own. When do you want to tell everyone you're still a member?"

Virgil shrugged. "The sooner the better, I guess."

"I'll call a debriefing. You can do it there."

"Scott's well enough to take part?"

"No. But you know your brother. He's not about to let a few bruises stop him from following procedures."

"He's an idiot."

"Yes." Jeff chuckled. "But he's a professional idiot."

-F-A-B-

Despite numerous members of his family telling him that he _was_ an idiot and that he should go back to bed, Scott had been up all day. He staggered around the house, unable to settle to anything and bent almost double. That was until he'd run across someone and snap to attention in an attempt to look A-One. This inevitably resulted in a grimace of pain and a scolding, before a demand that he return to, if not the infirmary, then at least his bedroom.

He ignored them all. And when he did speak it was in a depressed monotone.

The rest of the family had been equally unsettled. They were all aware that there was a probability that there was going to be a reduction in their number living at home, and knew that they had no one to blame but themselves. But all were equally aware that, if they hadn't forced their hands, their number could have been reduced in a more drastic and permanent way.

Confused as to whether they should feel depressed about the reasons behind Virgil's imminent departure, or happy about Scott's miraculous survival, they spent the day feeling listless and with little interaction between one another. The atmosphere in the complex was strained, and the house nearly as silent as the baby grand piano.

And now International Rescue was going to have to deal with the pain of a debriefing that threatened to reopen not so old wounds.

The four Tracy boys gathered around the table, waiting for their father to join them.

"Go to bed, Scott," John told him.

"No."

"Yes."

"I'll go after the meeting."

No one believed him.

"Has anyone heard from Virgil?" Gordon asked.

John shook his head. "The last time I saw him was before lunch yesterday. He was heading back to his room. He barely spoke to me. And there's been no word since he left the island."

"He'd hardly said two words to me since before the rescue," Gordon admitted. "When did he fly out to see Bruce?"

"While we were at dinner, I guess. That's why we didn't hear him leave."

"Do you think he'll be coming back?"

John shrugged. "He'll have to, won't he? He'll want to get his things."

"Do you think he's leaving?"

"After all that's happened and why, and with what he said at Garvelevick, I can't see him doing anything else."

"I don't want him to go."

"None of us do. But if it's what he thinks he needs to do..."

Alan was nearly as depressed as his eldest brother. "This is my fault. If I hadn't suggested..."

"If you hadn't suggested, Scott would have died," John interrupted, as Scott seemed to shrink even further. "Virgil didn't have to say yes. And I, for one," he glanced at the invalid, "am glad that he did."

"Me too. But that was the very scenario he wanted to avoid. Seeing one of us get hurt. I'm sorry, Scott…"

"If you hadn' suggested it," Scott gritted out, "I prob'bly would've thought of it myself."

"Go to bed, Scott." Gordon turned to his younger sibling. "You only suggested the idea. We _all_ pressured Virgil until he couldn't say no."

Trying to make it look like he wasn't doing so, Scott squirmed, trying to get comfortable.

"Go to bed, Scott," John echoed.

Scott shook his head.

Jeff Tracy strode into the room. "Are we all here? Good. Sorry I kept you waiting, but something unexpected came up." Claiming his seat between John and Gordon, he glanced across at his eldest son.

Scott looked broken; both physically and mentally. He was pale; hunched over to protect his still tender torso; and with lines on his face so deep that they could have been gouged out by the Firefly. He looked like he'd aged forty years and Jeff thought that if someone who didn't know their relationship had walked into the room, they'd have a hard time guessing who was the father and who was the son.

Alan looked almost as strained. He kept on glancing at his big brother as if he were begging for forgiveness. Almost as though Scott's malaise was his fault.

The other two were just as subdued.

Jeff hoped that his news would cheer them all up. "I know that this is supposed to be a debriefing for the rescue of the other day, but you'll have to bear with me when I add another item to the agenda."

No one nodded their approval nor raised an objection.

"We've been struggling for the past year to find a new member of the International Rescue team," Jeff reminded them. "And I think I have found someone who will meet with your approval."

There was a glance from John, a slight frown from Gordon, a raising of an eyebrow from Alan, and no response from Scott.

"He's someone who has a good range of experience, including in space and underwater. He is a qualified pilot, although there are those who have suggested that he's overqualified. He's an expert with heavy machinery, but equally adept at tasks that require more precision. His psychological profile suggests that he will fit in well with the team, and I hope that you all will do your best to make him feel welcome."

There was barely an acknowledgement, or even a reaction, to what Jeff was saying.

"I expect you to take him under your wing, Scott. Give him guidance when he needs it, but be prepared to listen to him if he has any suggestions or advice."

Jeff watched as Scott gave the minutest of nods and croaked out a "Yes, Father."

"I want you all to remember that its hard fitting in with an established team, and I want you all to go easy on him. No unnecessary practical jokes… Okay?" Jeff reached out, grabbed his second-youngest's neck, and gave him an affectionate, but warning, parental shake.

Gordon's "Yes, Dad," was nearly as subdued as Scott's acknowledgement.

"He's expressed an interest in learning more about the stars, John, so I expect you to show him as much as you can when he visits Thunderbird Five."

John's "Yes, Dad," was an echo of Gordon's.

"It does mean you'll get less flying time in Thunderbird Two, Alan, but all you'll have to do is ask him and I know he'll be happy to encourage you to keep up your skills."

Alan gave a quiet nod.

Jeff looked around them all, thinking how unenthusiastic they all seemed at his news. Still, that should change shortly.

He stood. "He's waiting in the next room. I'll ask him to come in."

That aroused a modicum of interest. They'd all been so wrapped up in their own worlds that they hadn't been aware of the aeroplane's arrival.

Just managing to suppress a grin of anticipation, Jeff stood and walked over to the door. "We're ready for you."

His four sons, with varying degrees of flexibility, turned to see the newcomer.

"Bruce?!"

Bruce Sanders grinned. "Don't get too excited," he cautioned. "I know that you'd all like nothing more than for me and my skills to be at your side when you're out on a rescue, but I happen to be happy in my present job..." He glanced at his boss. "That's if I still have it."

Jeff smiled. "You've got it as long as you want it, Bruce."

"Thanks." Bruce mimed wiping his brow. "Anyway, I'm not here to join your team. I just hitched a ride with the guy your dad's employed. It'll take some time before you knock him into shape, but I'm sure you'll have no problems doing that." He stepped to one side to reveal...

Virgil Tracy, dressed in his International Rescue blue uniform, including his boots and belt, but without his sash, stepped into the room. "What do you think? Does it still fit me?"

There was a second's stunned silence before three of Virgil's brothers erupted at him.

"Is this for real?

"I thought you'd left the island for good."

"You never said you were considering re-joining."

"I can't believe it. I'm not dreaming, am I?"

"What changed your mind?"

"Is this for real?"

"Steady on, Boys," Jeff chuckled. "I said you were to go easy on him." Leaving the knot of younger men, he walked over to his desk. "Let me get the rest of the team in here."

He'd only moved two steps when he was clipped by what appeared to be a low flying jet engine. Caught off balance, he spun around in time to see his sons go flying before Scott tackled Virgil in a hug that had to be painful for the both of them.

"Thank you."

Virgil reciprocated the embrace. "I haven't done anything yet."

"You haven't left us," Scott reminded him. "You're part of the team again."

"Yes. I am."

"Thank you." Scott let go, taking a step back as he wiped his uncharacteristically red eyes. "Ouch", he joked.

"Go to bed, Scott," Virgil told him.

"No. Not till you've told us why you've changed your mind."

"Wait until I've got the rest of the team in here," Jeff reminded them, and made the call. "Why don't you hide behind there, Virgil?" He pointed at an oriental screen.

Grinning at the promise of more surprised faces, Virgil obeyed, whilst Bruce retired to a chair where he could watch everyone's reactions, yet not be immediately obvious to the newcomers to the room.

The rest of the family and their friends arrived one after the other. They accepted the chairs placed around the table for them by the Tracys, bemused at the sea of almost inane grins that greeted them. Even Scott seemed to have perked up.

"What was that for?" Tin-Tin asked when Alan swept her up in an embrace.

"Nothing. I just felt like giving you a hug."

"You don't normally let us take part in debriefings, Jeff," his mother reminded him. "And it can't have been a quick one. We know that you've got a lot to discuss and you've only been in here ten minutes."

"We haven't started yet. I had something more important to do first."

"And that is?"

"Introduce the you to the fifth member of International Rescue's operational squad."

"H-Intraduce h-us?" Parker queried. "You've h-employed someone to take Mister Virgil's spot?"

"Jeff?" Lady Penelope was surprised and more than a little concerned at the announcement. Every potential candidate had undergone a through scrutiny by her before even being put onto International Rescue's short list. For Jeff to have employed someone without asking her to use her resources to delve into every aspect of the candidate's life and background... "Is this wise?"

"I don't think you'll have any issues with my selection, Penny. I trust him – implicitly." Jeff grinned at his sons. "Drumroll, please."

Gordon immediately started drumming his hands on the table, but Alan stopped him. "A countdown might be more appropriate."

Jeff gave a solemn nod. "You are right, Alan. Five..."

His sons joined in. "Four..."

Even Scott found the breath to join in the chant. "Three..."

"Two!" they shouted.

"One!"

On the "Thunderbirds are go!" Virgil stepped out from behind the screen.

No one reacted.

"Over here." He waved at those looking towards the door.

"Virgil?"

All at once, the room seemed brighter and less oppressive. The pall of depression that had hung over everyone had gone. "Virgil!"

He laughed. "That's me. Operative number Five... Although I hope to work my way back to number Two someday."

"Only number Two?" Gordon's eyes were twinkling. "Not number One?"

"Nope. Two's the most important."

"Virgil...!" Running towards him, Tin-Tin wrapped him up in a big embrace; one that even Alan didn't have any qualms about. "That's wonderful!"

"I think so." Virgil turned to accept a beaming Brains' outstretched hand. "And I'll do my best not to undo all the good work that you've done."

"I-I'll hold you to that," and Brains surprised everyone, including the recipient, by giving Virgil a hug of his own.

"Do you mind, Grandma?" Virgil checked, when his grandmother's diminutive form squared up to him.

"Mind? It's the most sensible thing you've done in ages, young man. Now give your old grandma a hug."

Virgil willingly did so, before accepting Kyrano's bow of acknowledgement.

Now that the crowd had thinned and moved back, Lady Penelope got to her feet. "Well, Jeff I must endorse your selection. I should also say that it is a pleasure to be redundant. Welcome back, Virgil."

"Thanks. Except that, apparently, I never left."

"Never left?" Parker was enthusiastically shaking Virgil's hand.

"I never accepted his resignation," Jeff admitted. "I've always hoped that someday I'd be able to do this..." He reached into his drawer and withdrew a yellow item. Placing it on a cushion in a formal manner, he approached his son with both held before him. "Welcome back to International Rescue, Virgil."

"Thank you." As formal as his father, Virgil removed his sash from the cushion.

But then Jeff pulled his son into a hug. "I love you," he whispered. "Thank you."

"I love you too."

They released each other.

Wanting an excuse not to look at those who would see his watering eyes, and while Jeff retreated to the sanctity of his desk, Virgil examined the sash, his fingers tracing around the hand across the world logo. "I never thought that I'd want to wear this again, but I do. I not only want it, I need it. More than I thought I ever could. So much so that I wonder how I could ever have walked away... Once I had the legs to walk." Allowing the length of stiff material to unfurl, he pulled it over his head and did up the fastening on his belt.

"You know," Bruce stood from where he'd been laying low, "that's the first time I've seen you in uniform. Apart from that," he indicated the middle portrait on the wall. "It suits you, Virgil. Congratulations." Clapping his friend on the back he shook his hand.

"Thanks."

"Well, sit down!" John exclaimed. "And you can tell us why and how you've changed your mind."

Pulling up seats to the table for himself and Bruce, Virgil sat down. "I don't need to tell you that it was the rescue that got me thinking. Flying Thunderbird Two felt alien, and I didn't feel like I was achieving anything, or that I was a part of the team. I just wanted the whole thing to be over, so I could get back to my nice, safe..."

"Pile of rust," Alan interjected, and received a cuff across the head from an elder.

"Carry on, Virgil," Grandma told him.

"Prior to Scott getting into trouble I'd just determined that I was going to tell you that you were never going to get me out on a rescue again. If you needed another pair of hands it was time you found another pair of hands – and those hands weren't going to be mine..." Virgil held them up. "And then I felt the pressure." He put his hand to his chest. "As John said, it was like a kind of déjà vu; like I was back at ACE, being crushed. But then I realised that I was feeling the pressure on more than just my lower body and hand. I could feel my whole upper body being compacted and I felt like I was struggling to breathe. I don't know if that was the switch that turned everything back on again, but I went into automatic pilot. I knew exactly what I had to do and where everything was. Flying out to Garvelevick, Thunderbird Two felt like my hand did when I first was able to use it again; I could make it move, but I wasn't feeling any connection to it. And then all of a sudden, it was as if there was a nerve that had never renewed its connection with my brain. Once that nerve started firing it felt like I'd regained an extension of myself. Like... Like a limb had been amputated back at ACE, and I'd finally got full use of it back."

"Gruesome, but apt," Gordon told him.

"Don't ask me what I did and how I did it, because I couldn't tell you. It was like when I play the piano; I know, almost instinctively, which note to press, in which order, for how long, and which combination of other notes are needed to make the tune. I knew the cliff was there and the outcrop was there and that I only needed to nudge Thunderbird Two with that amount of thrust, before allowing her to drop down to make a safe landing. If you'd asked me to write down every step, including the amount of thrust to use, I couldn't have done it, but then, knowing Scott's life was in danger, it all came naturally."

"You were deep in thought when I was working out how we were going to pack up." John reminded him. "Is that when you knew that you had to re-join International Rescue?"

"Kind of… It was like I was waking up from a deep sleep. Up till then I hadn't really realised what I'd done. Things had been full-on with trying to keep Scott comfortable and alive, and clearing the rubble away, and then waiting for the Garvelevick team to release him from the landslide and tell me that he was going to be okay. It wasn't until I had the time to think about it that I began to analyse what had happened." Virgil looked at his hands, which lay unmoving in his lap. "Up till then I'd been one hundred percent convinced that leaving International Rescue was the right decision... Well, maybe ninety-nine on occasion... And then all of a sudden, I had these massive doubts. When things went wrong, everything on that rescue went from feeling wrong to feeling right... And that didn't feel right..." He sat back. "I eventually knew that I had to get away and clear my head to try to make sense of it all. Thanks to Bruce letting me rave on and on," Virgil grinned at his friend, "I was finally able to."

"I was glad to help."

"Not as glad as we are." Scott, his bruises nagging him and his chest aching from sitting in the same position for so long, shifted uncomfortably.

Virgil glared at him. "Go to bed, Scott. We can have the debriefing when you're feeling better."

"I…" Scott attempted a stretch, but quickly decided that it wasn't a good idea. "I think I might." He endeavoured to stand, but couldn't find his feet.

"Here." Standing, Virgil held his arm out. "Lean on me."

As Scott accepted his brother's offer of help, Gordon leant closer to Alan and John. "I think," he said in a stage whisper, "number Five just got promoted to number Two."

_To be continued..._


	87. Chapter 87

Jeff Tracy stood on the balcony of his palatial South Seas villa. The sun was warm, but not too hot; the breeze was gentle enough to be cooling, but not annoying; the palm trees were waving as the fragrances of flowering plants wafted towards him; and the Pacific Ocean was living up to its name – peaceful and blue.

He looked down towards the beach, seeing the activity that was going on down there. He smiled. He would have traded every cent of his vast fortune in exchange for the scene before him.

All was right with the world.

It was a quiet day.

That was until he heard a sound, calling him back inside...

-F-A-B-

Scott Tracy was out for a run.

He felt his bare feet dig into the warm, golden sands as he settled into a steady, relaxing jog. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady – in and out with no pain or discomfort.

He'd had a long, engaging chat with John earlier, when his younger brother had told him all about the latest in the long line of books he had written.

Alan had snuck off with Tin-Tin for a bit of quiet time together – believing, erroneously, that no one knew where they were or what they were up to.

Gordon was on his computer, surfing the Internet, hunting down the props for his latest practical joke; unaware that John had hacked into his main suppliers' systems and put a block on his accounts.

Grandma was in the kitchen, whipping up one of her world-famous apple pies and, Scott hoped, some world-famous-in-their-home-town ice cream.

Kyrano was in his greenhouses, communing with the earth as he cultivated new strains of vegetables that were healthier and more flavoursome than the rest.

Brains was buried in his lab, challenging his robot Braman to beat him at games of chess, whilst giving over a large portion of his expansive genius to analysing the laws of thermodynamics.

Lady Penelope was enjoying some time out on her yacht FAB2 and had promised Parker that when they reached shore, he would be eligible for some leave – having told George to steer well clear of Monte Carlo and other high money resorts.

And Virgil was working on his Grumman Albatross. Yesterday Scott had taken some enjoyable time out to assist him, and he had to admit that the "pile of rust" was finally becoming recognisable as a flying boat.

Scott felt at peace. His family were well, the Thunderbirds up-to-date with their maintenance, the planet's population had chosen to give International Rescue a week of well-deserved rest, and all was right with the world.

It was a quiet day.

"Race ya!" A chestnut-headed blur passed him at speed; bare tanned legs easily out-sprinting his languid jog.

"Oh, yeah?!" Unable to resist the challenge, Scott picked up the pace.

He'd nearly overtaken Virgil when both their watches emitted an identifiable beep. With no hesitation, nor discussion between them, both brothers changed direction, but not speed, as they ran towards the house.

They converged on the lounge at the same time as Alan and Gordon.

"Boys, this is a big one," Jeff told his sons as John looked down on them all from Thunderbird Five. "We'll need a full crew. Scott: get going. John can brief you as you move to the launch pad."

"F-A-B."

"Virgil: Take Gordon and Alan. We'll have decided which pod you need by the time you're ready for launch."

Virgil strode over to the painting of the rocket.

He was glad that Gordon had given up on his plan to speed up the ride to Thunderbird Two. While there were times when the extra seconds would have been good, Virgil appreciated those few moments of quiet to allow him to prepare for whatever the world was going to throw at him. Whether it was consideration about what machinery he was going to need, or a chance to enjoy the anticipation of some adrenaline-fuelled adventure, he looked on the journey as being a component of being a member of International Rescue.

Today he'd received confirmation of which pod was required by the time he reached Thunderbird Two's flight deck. Telling the computers to load up, he got changed into his uniform; settling his sash and reclaiming his seat just as he was joined by Alan and Gordon.

He looked over his shoulder. "So much for a quiet day."

Up in mission control, aka the lounge of the Tracy Villa, Jeff Tracy checked the radar. The skies and seas were free of intruders. "You're cleared to launch."

He heard two voices; first Scott's, then Virgil's. Each of them saying the same thing.

"F-A-B."

And then they were gone. Flying over the Pacific Ocean to help strangers in a far-flung land for no reason other than they had the technology, the skills, and the courage to do so.

Jeff stood on the balcony of the family home and watched as the dot that was Thunderbird Two disappeared into the distance.

Never give up...

At any cost.

Would his sons arrive home safely?

Jeff didn't know, but he hoped so.

Like he didn't know what the future held. But he did know one thing, and now he said it like a mantra...

"Thunderbirds are go!"

_The end_

* * *

Thank you to everyone who took the time to review A Quiet Day - and especially those who took the time to read all 87 chapters of it!

While I will be moving onto other writing projects, I do still have a couple of Thunderbirds' stories up my sleeve. So watch this space!

Thank you and keep the world, and values, of International Rescue alive.

FAB

:-) Purupuss


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